He was so angry. And it wasn’t just the anger that springs when somebody ticks you off but the kind of grief that doesn’t want to accept that awful things happen in the world. He asked me to help him look for a snake and kill it. Not just kill it, but make it drink some sort of petrifying acid that would turn it into stone so he could keep it. The snake was dangerous to children, I guess, because he wanted that snake so it wouldn’t harm his daughter.
“And for all the kids,” he said.
I wasn’t buying that, he was too angry. I knew his daughter was already dead. But once you have a stake in something, an invested interest, nobody trusts your motives anymore. And I said I wouldn’t help him.
And then the snake killed my daughter and then I killed the snake.