It's not quite like that open, trusting look Edgar's turned on him so many times. But god, combined with shit like feeding it a piece of your flesh, it's close enough to widen the cracks in his memory --

he shouldn't worship me the way he does

and for an instant, he can hear screams, and smell the unutterable filth that permeated the tail as those first weeks wore on. Curtis' throat works; he tightens his grip, lowers his head.