The hairs on the back of Radar's neck stand up. He shivers, throat going tight at the horrible unfairness of it all. Nobody oughta be trapped like that. Nobody. Especially not the Father, who's been through more than any one person ought to ever go through. He wants to press his other hand to Mulcahy's arm as if to stanch the bleeding, or erase the cut entirely, but there's no point, because Two could just open another one wherever he wanted. Whenever he wanted. He could cut his own throat and Father Mulcahy would drop down dead if he wanted it.

"No," he says, very small. "Oh, Father."