Suffering forms a hungry absence, a black hole to which we are always vulnerable. Once trapped in the pull we can never get far enough away; everywhere we go, the event horizon tugs at our hearts. If we give in, the force yanks us into darkness. If we fight, we only delay the inevitable. Thus the asylum pulls at Daren, and even claiming its name as his own doesn’t make any of its power his. St. Anthony, patron saint of lost things, of lost people. St. Anthony, patron saint of black holes, ever dragging him back to the place of ruin. “Daren St. Anthony” has a nice ring to it, so it might as well be the name on his headstone. Part of him was buried in that place anyway, though by now he can’t remember what.