"That's exactly what the last version of you said," Skulduggery pointed out. "And the version before that. The one before that was more the quiet type, but I'm sure he would have said the same thing, given the chance - "

He was abruptly cut off when, for a few moments, he felt this particular hallucination of Gabe's existence much more strongly than he had the others. A gentle squeeze, a flood of concern that wasn't Skulduggery's, and a sudden piercing shaft of hope that he immediately tried to squash. Emotions didn't prove anything. He was losing his mind, after all.

Less easy to explain away was how a hallucination managed to possess a very real rosary. Or at least, a rosary that felt solid enough, as it was wrapped around his hand. The detective stared down at the familiar beaded cross, trying not to think about when he and Gabe had first made them. God, Skulduggery couldn't even remember when he'd dropped it, much less where. And then the bag, the bag that he knew, even before he saw the glint of white inside it, would contain the remains of his arm.

The scratching undertone of his friend's voice grew all the more alarming.

"I could be hallucinating all of this," Skulduggery tried, but even his own tone of voice had lost its certainty, and he tentatively took the bag from Gabe. "I used to be well-known for being imaginative. And, of course, I still don't know all of their tricks."