Theodore was glad that his grip on her hadn't frightened her. He felt a bit as though he'd walked into a nightmare - waking up to find his father dead without any memory of how it had happened counted as nightmare material, didn't it? - and it would only become more nightmarish if he became something Tracey feared. Perhaps it was because there was a vague part of his mind that wondered whether he'd gone insane, or been controlled, and had been an active participant in his father's murder.
He sat down beside her, stiffly, turning his hand over to take hers now that he didn't need her arm for support. "I have a few ideas," he said. "It wasn't - wasn't natural. At all. And I was there when it happened, I think. I wish I could remember." Or maybe he didn't. Would he want to remember, if he'd been responsible?