Sinister

Chapter Ten

For a moment Leighton was looking at herself. Only, she wasn't herself. This version of Leighton was slightly younger, face a little rounder, more freckles. Her blonde hair hung longer too, grazing the bottom of her ribcage.

Everything else was the same about herself. She was the same height and weight, if not a little heavier. Leighton still owned the t-shirt the younger version of herself was wearing, she had just discarded it to the back of her closet.

What she saw changed then. Leighton was no longer looking at herself, she was looking at a boy. He was sixteen, seventeen a most with a devilish smile and a mop of brown curls on his head. He was cute, boyish.

But he was crying and Leighton realised that she was to. "Leigh," he said, "I'm sorry―I didn't mean to push you into anything. You know I love you right?" Leighton didn't hear herself answer but she felt violated, afraid, lonely.

The boy, Braden, grabbed her shoulders and shook her hard enough for her teeth to slam together. "Well, don't you love me? Don't you?"

Leighton's voice belonged to a mouse. "Yes."

"Then you forgive me?" Braden pressed, eyes dark and intense. Leighton felt herself fall into a mess of emotions. She did love Braden, but had had hurt her and now the foundation of trust that she had built her love for him on was cracked.

"Braden―" Leighton hiccupped, chest swelling with pain. He shook her again, gritting his teeth together as he did. Leighton felt the pressure to forgive, the pressure to forget what he did and glide past it. But she couldn't. "You assaulted me," Leighton accused, eyes lowered in submission.

Braden recoiled, releasing her completely as he took a step back, beginning to pace in front of her. "Assault? Is that what you think I did? Assault you?"

"I told you I wanted to stop," Leighton fought, her anger dissolving into shame.

Braden rounded on her. "I love you. Does that mean nothing? Don't people who love each other forgive and move past things, together?" Leighton didn't answer, didn't raise her face. "Leighton," Braden urged, fingers digging painfully into her skin. His hands moved from her shoulders to her face. He shook her roughly, as if it would make her choice easier. It did.

"No, Braden," Leighton gasped, pushing him away. Leighton could feel how long it had been since she'd defended herself. "No, I won't."

His anger swelled, climbing to a new high. Leighton shrank back, her entire body tensing as Braden lifted his hand. Despite her anticipation for it, Leighton still cried out when he caught her across the face.

Immediately he was remorseful. Braden fell to his knees in front of Leighton, grabbing at her hands. Leighton pulled away, gasping for air as the tears interrupted her normal pattern of breathing.

"I'm sorry, Leigh," Braden blubbered, "you shouldn't have said that. You shouldn't have pushed me that way, I wouldn't have hit you if you hadn't of said that." Leighton nodded, clutching the side of her face that he had hit.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, disgusting herself.

Braden smiled, coldly, like a shark. "Good girl."

Leighton pulled out of the memory, recoiling like she had been burned. When she opened her eyes she wasn't looking at Tate, she was staring at the ceiling. Shaking, Leighton sat up, pulling on the top of the couch for support.

Tate was hovering over her in an instant. "Leighton?" his voice rose hysterically. "Leighton can you hear me? Are you alright? What did you see? I'm sorry I―"

"What was that?" Leighton demanded, hands shaking. She shoved them underneath her thighs in an effort to hide them. Leighton didn't want Tate to see how deeply her own past had affected her.

"A glimpse of what I took from you," Tate whispered, "the burden I removed." Leighton shivered. If that horror was a glimpse, how much more was left? And how much worse was it? How could she have wanted that part of herself back?

"How did―" Leighton swallowed and closed her eyes, pressing her palm to her forehead as a headache surged. "How did I see that?"

Tate had both hands pressed together and his two index fingers pressed to his mouth. "You touched your impression," Tate informed her, "for the time you were connected, a fraction of it reconnected with the rest of your soul."

"How much more is there?" Leighton whispered, horrified. She closed her eyes as a bought of nausea rolled over her, spotting her vision and making her stomach heave.

Tate's eyes were darker than she had ever seen them. "What he did to you, Leighton, the kind of physical and mental strain―I can't―I don't understand how you bore it all."

A ghost of a smile graced Leighton's face. "Neither do I." Pushing all thoughts of Braden from her mind, Leighton focused on the boy right in front of her. To think that Tate had been willing to accept the burden of her old torments in order to help her live without that sort of grievance, well, it made her appreciate him more, made her want him more.

Tate read her eyes perfectly, deducing what it was she was thinking. "We can't―" Tate cleared his throat. "What happened before can't happen again."

"I anticipated that," Leighton admitted, "although I didn't anticipate, well, all that happened before." Leighton grabbed the ends of her hair. "I didn't think I even wanted to kiss you."

Tate raised an eyebrow, smiling again. "You didn't know? You were dropping hints like crazy, I thought you were waiting for me to―"

Leighton reached forward and pressed her lips quickly to his. When she pulled away he was staring at her. "I don't wait for anything," she said, "not anymore."

Tate spoke in an interesting tone, a mix between real concern and sarcasm. "You don't want death as a boyfriend." His green eyes bore into her, so pale they were almost grey. They held a sort of shy challenge, almost as if he wanted her to agree but burned for her to argue.

Leighton raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

His grin split his face. "Because it will kill you."

Leighton grinned even wider than Tate did. "So will smoking, drinking, microwaving food and plastic water bottles. What's your point?"

Tate just smiled.

Leighton woke up to an empty house the next day as Karen had an early shift at the hospital. Stumbling out of bed, Leighton yawned and stretched as she made her way to the kitchen and boiled the kettle. Yanking open the fridge, Leighton looked for something to eat and spotted half a package of ham.

Pulling it out, Leighton grabbed the closest cereal to Chocolate-Os they had and poured herself a bowl. As she ate, her mind picked apart the tiny details of her conversation with Tate, thinking over every smile and frown and wondering if they had a deeper meaning.

Leighton pulled the ham apart with her fingers, eating small bits as she thought. She couldn't figure out why she kissed Tate, where those feelings had suddenly emerged from and if she wanted a repeat event. Even more, she couldn't deduce if she liked Tate for him, the magic of it all or if it was the parts of her soul yearning to reunite.

Dropping her spoon into her bowl, Leighton frowned. Leighton thought about what dating a Reaper would entail, thought about the mystery and excitement behind unveiling the supernatural. Was her infatuation with Tate based solely off the shock of people like him existing or was it deeper?

Leighton's appetite vanished when she looked back to her breakfast. Cereal and ham.

Leighton got up and started pacing, debating the best course of action. Surely, she had to talk to Tate. The trouble was finding out a way to do it that wouldn't reveal her obvious insecurities about the subject.

Leighton's gaze cut to the phone on the countertop. After a moment's debate Leighton reached for it, bringing her thumbs to the keypad. Leighton laughed, dropping the phone. Tate was the embodiment of death. What was the likelihood that he had a cell phone?

Disgruntled, Leighton cleared her dishes and thought of the best way to get to Tate. Her first thought was to check his apartment but in the middle of the day there was no guarantee he'd be there.

The only way she could think of to find him was to use her own inner compass. Leighton had lead herself to Tate before, unknowingly and by accident. Surely, if she focused, Leighton would be able to find him.

The kettle cried out, making Leighton jump. Leighton decided to take it as a sign. Resolved, she ran upstairs to get dressed and then grabbed the keys to her mother's car, thankful that Tom had picked her up that morning. Sitting in the driver's seat, Leighton turned the car on and closed her eyes, waiting.

Nothing jumped at her. She didn't have a vision of a place, no foreign voices whispered an address to her, the car didn't start driving on its own. Leighton frowned, tapping her fingers along the steering wheel.

She closed her eyes again. This time, conjuring a mental picture of Tate in her mind. Leighton pictured his pale green eyes. She imagined his dark hair, cropped short, his arms and neck, pale and peppered with imprints. It wasn't until she pictured her own mark, an oval with two diagonal lines, that she felt a tug in her gut.

Leighton reversed, eyes flying open as a feeling of calm overwhelmed her. Somehow, Leighton knew where he was. The information hadn't been there a moment before, but now his location was all she could focus on.

Leighton drove, leaving St. Hope without apprehension. She made turns without thinking, merged lanes fluidly, entered a town she didn't know the name of. It was only when the feeling started to ebb that Leighton grew nervous, taking in her surroundings for the first time since leaving her driveway.

Leighton made one last right turn before the feeling vanished and she was driving blind. Following the road she was on, Leighton looked around seeing nothing noteworthy. This town could have been any other, filled with large open fields, subdivisions and busy shopping centres.

Without any choice, Leighton followed the road till the end, squinting as a building came into view. The closer she got to the building, the more cars began to line the sides of the streets. After a moment, Leighton realised why, the parking lot to the building was overcrowded.

Parking along the street edge, Leighton walked the rest of the way towards the building, wondering if she had been following her own insanity and not a supernatural GPS. As soon as she read the sign in front of the gates Leighton knew she was in the right place. Stonewell Funeral Home.

Leighton was thankful for the sun that hit her shoulders as it combated the sudden chill that swept over her. Leighton hovered at the front doors, looking down at herself and deciding against entering the home. She wasn't about to crash a funeral in order to define her relationship.

Backtracking, Leighton went back to her car, rolled down the windows and turned the engine off, throwing her chair back and her feet up as she waited for the funeral to end.

Forty minutes later the first few grievers left the home, making their way to their cars. Leighton perked up, rubbing her eyes and pinching her cheeks. Leighton looked around, fingers wrapped around the handle on her door, ready to spring into action once she spotted him.

A moment later, she did. Tate was dressed in a smart black suit that made his skin look paler than it was. His eyes were heavy, sympathetic after the procession. Leighton's hand tightened on the door, but she paused when Tate came closer. He wasn't alone.

Leighton frowned, releasing the handle and slinking low into her seat, eyes hovering over the edge of the window. Tate was walking with a man who was slightly shorter and more stocky. Leighton could only see the back of the stranger's head as they came to a stop.

She squinted, trying to catch the words on Tate's mouth. The task proved to be impossible as the crowd filed out, blocking her line of sight every few moments. After a moment, the conversation between Tate and the man became animated as Tate grew increasingly angry. He waved his hands around before resting them on his waist, jaw tense as he looked away.

Another moment passed before the other man slipped into the crowd, moving too fast for Leighton to follow. Instead, Leighton watched Tate as he let his hands fall and started walking. Tate paused suddenly, eyes narrowing as he looked around.

Her heart froze when their eyes met.

Taking a moment to collect himself, Tate pressed his index finger and thumb into his eyes before starting towards Leighton. She watched him as he approached, trying to read the lines of his body and failing.

"What are you doing here?" Tate asked, hovering outside of her window.

Leighton pushed herself up in her seat, looking sheepish. "I wanted to find you."

"How did you?" Tate inquired, casting a long glance over his shoulder. Something told Leighton that he was looking for the man he had been talking with.

Leighton shrugged, not sure how to explain in detail. "I just sort of did, I don't know. I thought of you and my mark and your location just sort of came to me."

Tate raised an eyebrow. "You just did?"

"Yeah," Leighton said, "I wanted to find you and I did."

Tate shook his head in disbelief. "Okay, well, why?"

Leighton recoiled, not sure how to answer him. "I wanted to talk to you."

"About?"

Leighton felt stung. Tate couldn't have forgotten the moment they shared. So why was he acting like it had never happened? Had he not meant to kiss her? Not intended to charm her or imply that she was welcome back to his home?

Leighton looked down, losing her nerve. Suddenly, she felt stupid for driving all the way to him. "Us," she whispered, cheeks flaming. Leighton couldn't meet his eyes as he sighed.

"This is bad timing," Tate murmured, "if it wasn't such a shitty situation I might laugh."

"What do you mean?" Leighton inquired, sadness stalled for confusion.

Tate looked over his shoulder again. "I didn't come to this funeral alone."

"Who did you―" Leighton stopped herself as it clicked in her mind. "Killian."

Tate nodded gravely. "He knows about us. He literally just warned me to keep my distance from you a moment ago." Leighton watched as a man supported his crying wife as she thought about what Tate had said.

"And are you?"

Tate seemed confused. "Am I what?"

"Going to keep your distance from me?" Leighton pressed, "I'd understand if you did. I mean, what happened yesterday could have been a fluke or an error of judgement."

"If it was an error of judgement it was on you," Tate interrupted. "I figured you'd want me to back off, leave you alone. I thought maybe you'd come to your senses and realise I wasn't worth the trouble."

"Not worth the trouble?" Leighton repeated. "You took my burdens from me, protected me from memories I couldn't escape from. If anything, I'm the trouble."

Tate grinned, easy confidence returning. "So we're on the same page, then?"

Leighton leaned through the window and kissed him. "Definitely."

Leighton laid out the cutlery, circling the table as her mother hummed in the kitchen, keeping an eye over the roast and stirring the gravy. Leighton set four places at the table. There should have been five but Tate had backed out on the dinner at the last moment.

"This smells so good!" Karen beamed, "I just hope Tom gets here soon!"

Leighton straightened out a place matt. "Who's he bringing?"

Karen waved a hand in the air dismissively. "His new friend, apparently they met at some fancy lawyer mixer―you know how Tom is, so outgoing and friendly! He makes acquaintances so easily."

Leighton hid behind the bouquet of flowers in the middle of the table to hide her frown. The last thing she wanted to do was spend an entire dinner talking to some arrogant lawyer. Leighton however, knew how much it meant to her mother to keep Tom happy so she complied.

"Great," Leighton answered, "that's really awesome for Tom."

Karen sighed. "Well you know, Tom used to spend a lot of time with Mr. Norton but after Jack... well, Tom's been looking for a friend." Both women turned at the sound of the door opening.

"Hello?" Tom boomed. Leighton heard a shuffling of feet and the sound of murmured conversation. Karen grinned and hurried down the hall, off to greet Tom.

Leighton rolled her eyes and continued perfecting the table, hoping to avoid the new dinner guest for as long as possible. Leighton caught her own name as Karen ushered the guest into the kitchen, introducing her.

Leighton knocked over a glass when she saw him.

The man from the bar smiled. "It's a pleasure, Leighton. My name is Killian." Leighton stared at Killian's outstretched hand like it was a death sentence, and for all she knew, it was.

Karen scowled at her daughter. "Leighton, don't be rude."

Miraculously, Leighton managed to shake his hand without cringing. "Nice to meet you," she mumbled, eyes low.

Killian didn't seem bothered, he just smiled and placed his hands into his pockets, at perfect ease. "Lovely home, Ms. Connors. Beg my pardon, are you still Ms. Connors?"

Karen blushed, glancing at Tom quickly. "I usually go by my maiden name now but you can just call me by my first name."

Killian was gracious. "Forgive me." Karen smiled at everyone before padding into the kitchen to check on the food, Tom clapped Killian once on the back before following her. Leighton fidgeted with the table settings.

Killian looked to the table and frowned. "I thought there would be five of us dining." Leighton wasn't fooled by his light tone. She knew exactly what he was implying.

Leighton shook her head, teeth grinding. "No, it was always four." Killian's lip curled but he didn't protest. Leighton glared at him, voice lathered in sarcasm. "So you're a lawyer."

Killian smiled, dragging a finger along his bottom lip. "Not yet, I'm just studying law. I find order and rules to be fascinating and the idea of punishing those who break them... well it sounds enthralling."

Leighton didn't miss the obvious glint in his eyes. "Well, good luck with that."

Killian wasn't the kind to spit on a fire. "Surely you understand why I'm here, Leighton. You're a smart girl, aren't you? You must know my reason for attending this dinner wasn't to entertain your mother's boyfriend, correct?"

Leighton's tongue felt numb. Prior to Killian's arrival she had missed Tate, but now, she was yearning for him. "I can't imagine another motive," Leighton replied. Killian might not be the type to dance around a problem but Leighton planned to until she had a partner.

Killian took a seat at the table, crossing his legs in a self assured motion. "Karen," he called over his shoulder, eyes stuck on Leighton. "Everything smells wonderful."

Karen bustled into the dining room then, carrying a tray of roasted carrots and a boat of gravy. "You're very sweet," she told Killian with a charming smile. Tom came around her and placed the roast beef down before settling himself into the top seat at the table. Karen followed suit and encouraged everyone to dig in.

Leighton couldn't eat; not when Killian sat across from her, shovelling food into his mouth, telling smarmy jokes, smiling secretively at her like they shared some sort of history. Every time Killian asked her for the salt she had the urge to chuck it at his head. Leighton pushed her food around, avoiding her mother's careful observation. Karen had a keen sense of knowing when her daughter was uncomfortable.

When dinner was over Karen and Tom cleaned the dishes, denying both offers of help from Leighton and Killian. Leighton, feigning sick, fled to her room in hopes of avoiding their dinner guest. It didn't take long for her to realise the choice she had made was the wrong one.

Leighton jumped up from her bed, heart sporadic as the door opened without warning. Killian held up a hand as he entered, his mouth lifted in a smile and his brown eyes lowered to look earnest. Leighton didn't buy it.

"What are you doing here?" Leighton barked, proud her voice wasn't quivering. She looked around her room quickly, suddenly self conscious of her private space being seen by a stranger.

Killian grinned as he shut the door, letting it slid into place softly. "You wouldn't believe how many rooms I've snuck into. I'm great at entering places undetected."

Leighton folded her arms over her chest, trying to dispel the shivers that crawled along her skin. She was watching his every move. "Can you please leave?"

Killian picked up the picture of Leighton's mother from her desk, running his fingers over the popsicle stick frame. She had made it in the second grade. "It's crazy," he commented, "knowing exactly how and when people are going to die."

Unlike Tate, Killian didn't radiate cool air. His demeanor was enough on its own to send another shiver running through her. Killian clicked his tongue and set the picture frame back on her desk, peaking up at Leighton through thick lashes.

"What a shame."

"Stop it," Leighton commanded, "and get out."

Killian pulled out Leighton's office chair and sat down, swinging himself from side to side. "We have things to discuss, Leighton. I was rather hoping you'd be civil about it."

"Whatever you want to discuss with me you can bring it up with Tate," Leighton fired back. She had no interest in playing whatever game he was interested in, especially when she didn't know his rules.

Killian's smile was grim. "I wish it was that easy. I've already tried speaking to my brother, he isn't of the temperament to respond to common sense." Leighton's ears picked up on the word brother.

"If Tate won't listen, than what makes you think I will?"

Killian shrugged. "I already told you, I think you're a smart girl. You're infatuated with Tate, yes, but who wouldn't be smitten with such an exciting person? I expect that to a mortal Tate seems like a much needed break from the mundane."

"I don't―"

Killian waved a hand, dismissing her protests. "I've seen it played out a thousand times before. Tate has a real talent for charming human girls. They're all the same of course, star struck and stupid. In you, I sense a small amount of hesitancy."

Leighton couldn't hide how much she had been stung. How many girls had Tate persuaded to give him a chance? To hear him out? Leighton remembered Petra's words, about there being others who had been touched by death. Others like Leighton.

"What are you trying to tell me, Killian? That Tate's playing me?"
Killian scoffed, "No, of course not. Tate means what he says when he says it. It's only upon later reflection that Tate understands his mistakes. I'm afraid he's terribly bullheaded when he finds something he likes." Killian's eyes flicked up and down her body.

Leighton shifted on her bed. "I don't think I can help you."

"The souls of St. Hope are on a backlog," Killian stated, cutting through the delicacies. "In fact, this entire county is. Do you know who takes the blame when souls aren't collected when they should be?" Killian leaned forward, lip raising in distaste. "I'll give you a hint, it's not Tate."

Leighton sucked in a breath. "That's between you and him, not me."

Killian sighed. "All the girls Tate's had in the past. They're just like you, Leighton. Pretty, young, vulnerable to a point. But the thing that really draws him to girls of your kind is your fight for life. Do you think you're the only person with a tragedy in their past?"

Leighton bit into her lip, tying not to give into weakness. She knew Killian would tear her apart if she did. "So, he has a type. Everyone does. I don't like blondes."

Killian's eyes narrowed a fraction. "In some ways, Leighton, you're the embodiment of life. The complete opposite of Tate. You fight for the living, for your own life. Do you understand why that makes my job hard?"

Leighton shrugged. "I don't see why you feel inclined to put your poor job performance on my shoulders." Killian looked as though he was about to lunge at her. He took a long moment to collect himself, breathing deeply through his nose and closing his eyes.

"Every time Tate goes on a job, he's thinking of you, debating whether or not collecting the person's soul is necessary. It's so easy to think of a thousand reasons why someone should keep living but here's the thing Leighton, when someone is marked it's because their time is over. End of story. Tate doesn't like deadlines―excuse the pun."

"And how do you know, Killian?" Leighton pressed, "How do you know who to mark? How do you know their time is over?"

Killian didn't seem playful anymore. "Tate gets his orders and I get mine."

"Orders from who?" Leighton pushed. Even Tate didn't seem to know the answer to this question.

Killian was apparently done playing games. "You need to stay away from Tate, I don't care how deeply your puppy love goes. I don't want you around him anymore."

Leighton stood, her chin up. "Tate came to me. He can make his own choices."

"I'm trying to save him," Killian barked, "Did you really believe him when he told you he doesn't remember our start? Do you really think an immortal mind needs to be cleared?"

Leighton's voice betrayed her, wobbling. "What are you talking about?"

Killian swore. "I remember everything. Tate's memory doesn't hit reset on its own. Every few centuries he finds a girl like you, makes the same mistakes. And every time he does he's punished, reset, and sent back out to do his job."

Leighton shook her head, not sure what she was protesting. "You're lying."

"Lying?" Killian scoffed. "The only one who's lying to you is yourself, Leighton. You think I hate my brother? I don't. I love Tate. I'm just trying to look out for him."

Leighton sunk into her bed, pulling her knees up with her. How could Tate not know this about himself? How could he not know Killian was his brother? And even more, how could she stop herself from telling him?

"Tate needs to know," Leighton muttered, "he needs to know everything."

Killian rolled his eyes. "He's been living with this lie for hundreds of years, telling him now won't change anything. Mortals, you're all so egocentric."

Leighton glowered at him. "This is his life! He has the right to know."

"What would you know of his rights?" Killian seethed, suddenly towering over her. "Up until I told you differently you swallowed Tate's lies and called them truths. You know what you've been led to believe, don't pretend to have knowledge outside of those few facts."

Leighton sighed. "It doesn't matter, Killian. You can't ask me to stay away from him." Leighton thought about the piece of her soul he took. She knew what it was like to be drawn to it, to him. There was no avoiding Tate. "We're―"

"Meant for each other?" Killian guessed, clearly repulsed. "Let me kill that romantic notion for you, okay?"

"That's not what I―" Leighton began to object.

"You and Tate meeting wasn't an accident," Killian announced, stopping Leighton's voice in her throat. What was he talking about? "Tate looked for you specifically, chose to kill Jack Norton when he did because you were there."

Leighton's hands trembled. "What?"

Killian was anything but patient. "Think, Leighton, who marked your old boyfriend for death? Who collected Braden Perry's soul? Who would have known everything about your fighting spirit as soon as Braden's soul passed through him?"

Leighton couldn't digest what she was hearing. "What?"

"Tate wanted to meet you," Killian told her. "He wanted to be with you specifically because he's drawn to your type. The type that makes him forget what it is he is meant to do. The type that persuades him to be something more. The type who tells him he has a soul."

"I don't..." Leighton didn't know what to say. She felt sick.

"Did you really think that Tate took one look at you and knew what part of your soul to remove?" When Killian caught the look on Leighton's face he smiled. "Yes, I know what he took from you."

"Tate wouldn't―"

"It's not malicious," Killian assured her, holding up his hands. "He didn't do what he did to you out of some sort of premeditated scheme. No, he just couldn't help himself from getting to know you, from saving you. Isn't it odd how doomed people are always the ones with the hero complexes?"

Leighton closed her eyes. "I can't believe this." It was one thing to unknowingly drag her into his world, for her to witness death by accident. But to target her? Leighton couldn't rationalize Tate's motives.

"There's an easy fix to both of our problems," Killian told her. "You ignore that instinct of yours to visit random places. In fact, go the opposite way. When your feet tell you North, go South. You'll stop seeing Tate and he'll focus on his work."

"I need to see him," Leighton argued, "now more than ever. I need to talk to him."

Killian pouted, mocking her. "What's your plan? To hash out your petty insecurities with an immortal reaper? How much do you think he cares about you, Leighton? When he's had so many others before."

Leighton wouldn't let herself be tormented, or teased. She had enough of her own insecurities, she didn't need to be hand fed them by Killian. "You're not going to convince me not to see him, Killian, you may as well give up."

Killian all but growled at her. "Fine, let me try this last angle. Tate's been reset far too many times and the truth of the matter is, the makers don't like having to go through the trouble of fixing a faulty soul collector every hundred years. Tate messes up again, and he's not going to be reset, he'll be deactivated."

Leighton didn't have a reply.

Killian smoothed the non-existent creases on his sweater. "Do with that information what you will, Leighton, and goodnight."