At what stage of grief am I right now? What did I read about that once? Oh yeah, five stages… something about denial, then followed by anger. I gues... I’m at anger. Mad at me. Mad at Peg. Mad at God. Especially mad at God. Why me? And where the hell are you now anyway God? The funeral kinda took care of denial. Not much choice in that one. Oh shit, next comes depression. I’m not going to make it. There’s no way I can get past depression. Oh God, help me! That’s right, bargain with God. Talk to. I shot eight or nine times, straight down her throat, then pulled back for the next dozen or so, watching her gulp down mouthfuls of the elixir. She couldn't take anymore and backed away, aiming me at a five gallon bucket she had in the garage. By the time that was full, there were only another three or four spurts more and she'd recovered enough to swallow them.She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked up at me, still on her knees. "I want your baby."I reached down and tweaked. More

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