It doesn't hurt, but that must be the shock. He can see the red spreading around him, staining the table and Meyer's hands, and all that comes out of his mouth is "You've got blood on your shirt." And then he's coughing, and more blood splatters Meyer's face. He hates seeing him with blood on him, because all he can think of is that tiny nine year old kid he used to throw his arm around, the one he promised Meyer's Ma he'd look out for.

"They'll be coming back for you."