Rebecca Schaeffer

She was socially inept, she hated people, and the only thing that made her feel calm and at peace was cutting up dead bodies.

Morals were nothing but things to be manipulated with. They were tools you could use against others, and weapons others could use against you. She didn't need them. Didn't want them.

“That’s very clever. Why didn’t I think of that?” “Because there’s no violence,” he teased.
She cracked a smile.
“Maybe.”

I think, more than anything, people like to feel superior to others.
Canadians like to feel that they’re better than Americans. Americans love to feel they’re better than the whole world.
And when people feel superior, it makes it harder for them to see the problems just beneath the surface. They don’t want to believe them, to face them, because if they did, can they really claim to be superior anymore?

... Shall I leave?”
“No,” Nita whispered, for the first time in her life wanting company, even if it was a psychopath.
“Let’s play.”

There was something calming about the still hearts, floating in formaldehyde. Something peaceful. No more beating, no more thumping rhythm and noise. Just silence.

Nita had learned a long time ago - you don't want to know anything about the person whose body taking apart.

I’m sorry, did you say your full name was Squirrel ?

He swallows, eyes closed. "I don't want to lose you." He bites his lip so hard it draws blood, and he can't meet my eyes. "I-I've been so scared for so long that what I've become will be the end of my life. That I'll never make a real friend again. That no one will ever trust me again. I can't-" Finally, he raises his eyes to mine. "I can't mess this up. I can't lose you."

Sometimes freedom comes at an ugly price.

People never really change. They repeat the same patterns over and over in their lives.

"It would be a lot easier if we could stop caring about the people ho hurt us."

She raised her eyes and met his.
“I don’t care about anyone in the world except those close to me. You could skin the fucking pope alive, and as long as I didn’t have to see it, I wouldn’t care. Because he means nothing to me, and you mean everything.”

Kovit was at a table with a pink tablecloth with red hearts patterned on it, and Nita tried not to laugh at the incongruous sight of him sitting there, casually picking blood from underneath his fingernails.

Going home was the easy choice. And the easy choice was almost never the right one, in Nita’s experience. The easy choice was hiding, letting other people make decisions for her. Nita didn’t want that.

He shrugged. “If you ask the wrong questions to the wrong people, sometimes the answers get locked away and the keys thrown in the ocean. It’s a delicate art.”
She snorted. “You’re a kelpie. Since when has a key being thrown in an ocean been an impediment for you?”

“You think we’re stupid?” Lorenzo sneered, then sniffed loudly. Clearly someone had been overusing. “Everyone knows zannies can feel pain. The only way to sneak up on them is to have no pain.”
That was smart. Smarter than Nita would ever have given them credit for. There was a lesson for the future, if she survived to see the future.
Never underestimate the intelligence of underlings. They had access to Google too.

But it still felt like a revelation to Nita. Because, on some childish level, she’d expected Mirella to get her justice. Because that’s what happened in stories—the good guys reached their goal before they died.
It was a rule. But it was a rule of fiction. Stories here didn’t get neat endings tied up in a bow.