Page 124 of One Step Too Far

“I’ve decided not to wear a tux.”

“Excellent.”

“And there will be no groomsmen or bridesmaids. We’ll do it our way.”

“Perfect.”

“That man, Martin really killed him?”

“I saw it with my own eyes.”

“Good,” Neil says fiercely. “Really fucking good.”

I smile. “The police are going to need your help,” I inform him gently. “With Martin’s body and, eventually, with Tim’s.”

“Okay.” No hesitation at all, just as I thought.

“Do you need anything more?” I ask him.

“For Scott to open his eyes. For Miguel to breathe on his own.”

“From your lips to God’s ears.”

I stay with him a bit longer. Then I find a nurse who assures me I can sign out, but I definitely don’t want my old clothes back, not to mention the police seized them all as evidence.

An hour later, I’m sitting in a rental car with Luciana at the wheel and Daisy grinning from the back seat. Luciana has brought me a clean pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes, items from my suitcase, which she must have commandeered. I had no idea I could be so grateful to be reunited with my meager belongings.

It’s bright and sunny outside. I find that disorienting. It should be nighttime, but maybe that’s just my mood. And so many people, milling about the parking lot, climbing into their vehicles. The world, still turning, as if nothing happened. As if eight people hadn’t gone into the woods, but not all eight of them made it out again.

Luciana takes me straight to a hamburger joint. We order everything. Cheeseburgers, fries, milkshakes. Even Daisy has her own meal. I find myself nearly in tears over the concept of pulling up to a window and being handed hot food. If I ever do settle down, pick a residence, I’m gonna install one of these. Definitely.

After stuffing our faces—we eat at the same speed as Daisy, and I take pride in finishing first—we drive the hour back to Ramsey in near silence. The food resolved the first issue, leading to the second—bone-deep exhaustion.

Luciana leads me to the motel room. Same as before. Two double beds and simple adjoining bathroom that features hot water and indoor plumbing. Paradise.

Against the far wall sits an entire pile of backpacks.

“The search teams have been bringing them in,” she tells me, following my line of sight. “No one was sure what to do with them, so I took over. When Miguel, Scott, Neil, and Nemeth get discharged from the hospital, I’ll reunite them with their gear.”

I nod, spying my own, or really Josh’s. There’s blood streaked on the outside. I don’t look at the backpacks anymore.

“Shower,” Luciana informs me. “Sleep. Drink tons and tons of water. Daisy and I have a SAR team debriefing. We’ll be back shortly.”

She hands me a key, stifling a yawn. Then she and Daisy backtrack to their car, leaving me alone.

I step into the bathroom. I shed my clothes and turn the shower on as hot as it can possibly get.

Then I climb feebly over the lip of the tub. I turn my face straight up into the needling spray. It stings my bruised and battered cheek but I don’t care. I will the water to cleanse my body. Erase my mind. Free my soul.

But I won’t forget. I never do. I just head for the next town.

I start to tremble then. I shake and I shake. I think of too many things. Past and present. Dreams and terrors. The things I still want. The things I can never have.

The water goes from hot to lukewarm to cold, and I never want to feel like I’m freezing again. It gives me the incentive to pull myself together and turn off the nozzle.

Towel dry. My own threadbare T-shirt, feeling like a long-lost lover against my skin.

I am okay.

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