Frank saw Price stiffen when he answered. He assumed that something had happened and he saw it through the crazy-filter, or he just forgot it and replaced it with a too-real dream and Forte couldn't tell the difference. Either way, it looked like Price was involved in some way. Was he there, did he know what really happened or would he remember some monster too? On second thought, who cared, Frank wasn't a detective.

The next question was a much tougher one. Frank leaned back and closed his eyes. He stared at that face again, and thought about what he'd said to the crazy guy in the cafeteria. "I... doubt it. I can't remember what's real and what isn't." Thinking about ending that man's life, the blood running down his chest... his stomach twisted, and he felt the guilt on him like a weight, like the world was trying to crush him in place. He wanted it to stop, to be someone else that didn't feel like that all the time.

He opened his eyes again and realized he was grimacing. "No, this is probably where I belong."