"Do you need another blanket, Daddy?"
Satoshi Inoue smiled at his daughter. Nine-year-old Aoi was just like her mother, thinking of everyone around her. "No sweetie, I'm feeling pretty good today."
He hadn't had a headache in two days, though the dreadful voice was still there. He patted the bench, and Aoi sat beside him.
"The fair opens tomorrow," she said. "I hope it's not rigged like last year."
"Carnival games are always rigged," Satoshi chuckled. Then he froze.
His skull felt like freshly shattered glass. Purple spots danced in his eyes. He slumped forward.
"Daddy . . . ?"
