Devilish - Softcover

On the entire train ride to Boston, I sat across from Elton and Ally and dug my imaginary grave. I considered the length of the shovel handle, how long it would take me to climb out of the hole, just how much satisfaction I would derive from showing dignity in the final moments of my life.

I always used to wonder about whether or not I’d do it. I think I’d probably throw down my shovel and say, "You do it. You’re going to shoot me anyway." But then again, if you dig really slow, you get to live that much longer. And there’s always the possibility that you’ll figure out a really clever way of evading your captors, probably by whapping them with the shovel or throwing dirt in their eyes.

By the time we got into South Station, I had decided that I would probably start a refusal speech, but then they’d lower the barrel of the gun at me, and I’d immediately crack and start crying and begging. Then they’d shoot me before I was done, just to get me to shut up.

It’s the worst ending to the scenario, but I knew it was the most accurate one. At least for the way I was feeling at the moment.