Wapun Meadow boorish

And then it developed that Merrick was going to come closer after all. Estimated time of contact: a dwindling amount of seconds. Soon, they'd be breathing the same air molecules. The thought drives a shudder through him. Electricity racing up and down the highway line.
Every time his heart beats, takeoff and landing, he begs for a crash.
All the ticking in his brain is driving him mad. All the beeping in the control center. The levers and gears are going haywire and eating themselves and it is just the grind of metal against metal. His thoughts die helpless, fodder for fire in the fuselage. The windows of the cockpit, tinted black. I know, he grits out, I know what you're doing. Paranoia, hijacker of planes and armer of children.
Call me Fields, he says, just so he could retain a single mode of control. You've heard of this before. You've heard of this, in the stories about murderers who after having just killed a man, go out and play some board games and do the dishes at home.