Edward Kastenmeier, Pantheon Books, on editing Andrew Vachss

I didn't want to be doing this.

Not ever again, not any part of it. It was all wrong. Every interlocking piece of it, wrong.

The worst part was that, once I started, it didn't feel wrong. Not once I found that place inside me that didn't feel anything. Inside that world of ice–pure emptiness, there is only this: la mission est sacré. As a child, I had been directed to that world as another might have been to a boarding school—to learn how to conduct myself in a place already reserved for me.

I left for one world; the man who told me where I must go left for another. I was forbidden to follow him, and there was no question as to my obedience. How could I not obey the only person who had ever loved me?

I was certain I'd forever left that place I'd been sent to, but later I found that I could return at will. And I wouldn't need a map. That place wasn't a geographic location—it was an implant.

Until Dolly, that training I got there may have kept me alive, but I felt no gratitude for that. Instead, I often blamed it for my always–empty life.

Before Dolly, no matter what path I walked, the road would fork at every juncture. But those were nothing but illusions—there never had been more than one path for me to walk ... not if I wanted to keep walking. The destination never mattered, only the departure.

But those who had abandoned me, used me, even paid me—their implant never reached my core. Deep inside myself, I waited. Should I ever come across a chance—a real chance—at another life, I'd take it.

If anyone tried to stop me, I'd take theirs.

It wouldn't matter whether I had to hack my way through vegetation, or flesh and bone. If I ever saw such a chance, I knew it would be a tiny candle, burning in a black cellar. A flickering candle, with very little remaining light.

Whatever that cost—I'd pay. Or I'd make others pay.

The only way I knew to leave the place that trained me was to use that training.

By whatever miracle, I'd managed to do that. The opening appeared. The instant it did, I leaped blind. And landed at the one place I'd always been seeking.

In my world, secrets were weapons, and you never abandoned your weapons. Surrender wasn't an option—not when you're fighting those who didn't trade prisoners, and being paid to fight by those who had no prisoners to trade.

Whatever had compelled me to leap so blindly had been true. I thought I'd paid in full, but it turned out that all I'd paid was the price of admission. If I wanted to stay, I'd have to return to what I once was.

And, that time, it was my choice.