At camp, they made an odd couple, Zack knew. The most popular, most outgoing kid in the cabin and his nerdy sidekick. The athletic, upbeat redheaded guy, his hair like a beacon of fun, sociability, and adventure for the rest of the cabin, and his sedentary, brooding, incommunicative pal Furman.

Zack would always wonder if it was the simple “oppositeness,” the unexpectedness and contrariness of the friendship, that appealed to him as a ten-year-old. The “otherness” that was so new to him.

But even as a ten-year-old, there was something more to it for Zack. If they could be friends (and they were), if they could connect (and they did), think what that said about the world beyond them, about the possibilities for the world, and Zack felt that this was always part of the appeal for him, and maybe for Steve too. In a way, Steve offered Zack nothing beyond his basic companionship, beyond his steady presence, but for Zack, for both of them, that was enough. That was plenty.

And maybe that’s why, as they grew older and their lives had no natural intersection, their friendship continued. Because there was no real expectation on it, no conditions on it, from the beginning. Like a kid brother. Like family. No real choice about it. Always there.

When it came to camp activities, Steve would barely even try things. Would never take risks. And then, out of nowhere, he would suddenly take a huge one.

Refusing to take swim lessons. Then jumping in the lake one evening and flailing and screaming and needing to be rescued.

Refusing to go camping with the rest of the bunk. Then one night grabbing a sleeping bag and heading off alone into the woods, going missing, and a search party had to be dispatched hours later.

Trying to suddenly prove something to everyone? To himself? This sudden self-destructiveness, this sudden personal disregard. It was easy to forget that part of Steve because he was so otherwise predictable in his steady, quiet, private way.

But what happened with Joey Richter over the past weeks—being shot, almost dying—would certainly unleash again his uncharacteristic behavior—jumping in without knowing how to swim, heading out into the woods alone, trying to suddenly prove something to yourself and the world—like suddenly grabbing your gun to hunt down an assassin. Wasn’t that the same?

Or maybe Steve simply, suddenly, felt too trapped.

Too trapped by Joey being at the door.

Too trapped by Zack’s insistent request for help.

Maybe Steve didn’t really know anything about that cell phone.

Or maybe he didn’t really care.

Zack’s eyes go wide.

He gasps.

He falls back instinctively.

Oh Jesus, no!!!

Perfect last words. Expected, conventional, utter final shock.

Joey turns to lunge for the door.

Zack is about to lunge for the phone.

But in a moment Zack realizes he is standing there, staring at the open phone.