Corrival didn't have nearly the kind of efficient control over his car that Skulduggery had over his Bentley, but they still made record time, particularly with a minimum of traffic lights. Ghastly passed it by staring blankly out the window, trying to do what Skulduggery did and notice the small things about people walking by. A mismatched coat here, a couple arm in arm over there. A woman on her mobile while she pushed along a child in a pram. A man in a bowler hat and a coat, standing idly at a bus stop.
How many of them would Skulduggery know more about, just with a single glance? Ghastly found, with a start, that it wasn't quite as hard as he thought. Now that he was using it as a distraction, now that he was trying desperately hard not to think about something else... it became less of an admirable but out-of-reach feat, and more of a necessary game. A man who'd either slept in, or was colorblind. A man who'd just proposed to a long-time girlfriend. A working mother being chewed out by a boss. A businessman whose car was in repairs, and he either didn't have the money or the patience for a rental.
Ghastly didn't know how much of that was actually the truth, but that wasn't the point. He suddenly understood why Skulduggery had such a reputation, how he'd gotten so good at this. It was practice, that was all. A way to control your mind, repeatedly, over and over again.
He didn't have any sudden aspirations to become a detective, but Ghastly could appreciate why Skulduggery had found the work such a necessity. It wasn't just about redemption.
Ghastly didn't realise that he had his hands clenched into fists in his lap until the church came into view. With a slow exhale, he unclenched them and spread his fingers out over his legs. In another pitched effort not to think about this morning, Ghastly started wondering what else might go wrong with this plan. What if Prave caught wind of what was really going on? What if a Sanctuary official was following them? What if, as they were transporting the body, Corrival was pulled over by a mortal cop?
They were ridiculous and mundane questions, and Ghastly just managed to stop himself from asking them out loud. Instead, he moved on to something a little more immediately urgent. "Can we be sure that Prave has left already?"
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How many of them would Skulduggery know more about, just with a single glance? Ghastly found, with a start, that it wasn't quite as hard as he thought. Now that he was using it as a distraction, now that he was trying desperately hard not to think about something else... it became less of an admirable but out-of-reach feat, and more of a necessary game. A man who'd either slept in, or was colorblind. A man who'd just proposed to a long-time girlfriend. A working mother being chewed out by a boss. A businessman whose car was in repairs, and he either didn't have the money or the patience for a rental.
Ghastly didn't know how much of that was actually the truth, but that wasn't the point. He suddenly understood why Skulduggery had such a reputation, how he'd gotten so good at this. It was practice, that was all. A way to control your mind, repeatedly, over and over again.
He didn't have any sudden aspirations to become a detective, but Ghastly could appreciate why Skulduggery had found the work such a necessity. It wasn't just about redemption.
Ghastly didn't realise that he had his hands clenched into fists in his lap until the church came into view. With a slow exhale, he unclenched them and spread his fingers out over his legs. In another pitched effort not to think about this morning, Ghastly started wondering what else might go wrong with this plan. What if Prave caught wind of what was really going on? What if a Sanctuary official was following them? What if, as they were transporting the body, Corrival was pulled over by a mortal cop?
They were ridiculous and mundane questions, and Ghastly just managed to stop himself from asking them out loud. Instead, he moved on to something a little more immediately urgent. "Can we be sure that Prave has left already?"