"It will come in time," he says.

I don't tell him that I don't know what time is.

He doesn't speak, but I know he's there.



I can pick up on things now.

Small things, like twitches of expression, and private eye signals. Things people don't want me to know.

Was this natural? Or a product of the bio-engineering.

I don't think I'll find out. I'm leaving tomorrow. Leaving, to go somewhere cold.

But first, I need to say goodbye.

He walks out of the bushes, a silent emptiness, where there should be something.

"Goodbye," I say. "I'm leaving tomorrow, I wanted to say goodbye,"

"I know," and then he does something I don't expect.

He kisses me.

And then he leaves.

'Goodbye Dane," I say.