The man who called himself Eric was gone now. Dante couldn't tell if he'd just gotten three of those 'memories' in a row or if one of them or all of them were real or-
"Sweet Jesus." He was talking himself into convoluted circles. After feeling like he'd just shot a couple of people and took his shoulder out with them, and getting stabbed, puking and wanting to drink blood like some sort of fucked up vampire fetishist, he wasn't in the mood for convoluted circles.
And yet the image of Aubrey wanting to feel up a girl's tits was kind of funny. They weren't going to feel much different than squeezing another guy's ass. What did Aubrey think they would feel like?
Dante lit up another cigarette - he had kind of wasted the last one when the shotgun started firing - and took his time smoking it, half expecting to wake up from a strange dream at any moment.