I’m not a joiner. Any time you work with people, they turn out to be inept clowns. — Tim Powers

“She chose to reject me!”

That wasn’t a choice, lad—that was an empty gun saying click.”

After a few seconds, he said, “You’re devout, aren’t you? Some species of Christian, I imagine?”

She smiled faintly. “Yes.”

“I would say that was a mark against your intelligence, but since you’re both nice girls, I won’t say it. But you assume a sequel to this life, one in which noble sacrifices are rewarded, or at least noted. I’m convinced that no note is taken at all, and that, as far as any one of us is concerned, the universe comes to an end at the moment of his death.”

Gabriel scowled through his glasses. Why were ghosts such imbeciles? Who could be blamed for striving, at any cost, to avoid forever the decay-of-self that death was?