“I’ve been lying here, not sleeping,” says Steve quietly. “Watching you sleep, Zack. Lying here awake, thinking, replaying things.”

Zack nods with sympathy, understanding, shifting on the floor.

“Joey, here in the apartment. I can’t get it out of my mind,” Steve says, “and the other thing I can’t get out of my mind, Zack, is what I did with that phone.”

“But you knew what you were doing, right? You were pretty sure it was safe?”

“It was something I told myself, Zack, because in that moment with Joey here, I didn’t care what happened to me. If something happened, it would have been a kind of justice. Put myself out of my misery and finish Joey off, and you, Zack.” He looks at him. “It might have been the right thing to do, for the way you’ve treated your oldest friend…”

“Now wait a second, Steve. You said you were willing to help.”

“Zack, you gave me about fifteen seconds to think about it, with a killer waiting for my answer outside my door. You think that really lets me answer?”

“But Stevie. You didn’t—”

“I was ready to kill myself with that phone, Zack. Do you know that? I was perfectly willing to kill myself with that phone.”

“Steve, I wouldn’t have brought it, I would never have asked, if I knew that.”

“What kind of choice did you give me, Zack? Making me feel like our friendship hinged on my helping you. Making me feel like a tool, a piece of technology here to do what you needed. Coming to me ’cause I’m a nerdy electronics guy. Looking for my knowledge, for my brain, with no thought to how I would feel, to what it would do to me.”

“Now wait, of course I was—”

“But this is what you do. Not just to me. This is what you did to Emily. You lied to her, kept her in the dark. It was obvious in her expression and her reaction. So it’s not me, Zack. It’s you. That’s what I’ve been lying here thinking about—how you’ve shown who and what you really are.”

Zack feels his chest clench.

“I need you out of here, Zack. You can’t stay here. I’m learning from Emily. Learning a little late, but learning. Get the hell out of here…”

It couldn’t get worse, Zack thought. But it did.

66.

66.

“Can you give me extra shifts?” Zack asks his new manager, Dennis.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“I’d prefer nights. Closing.”

“Really? That’s the worst shift…”

“That’s okay,” he says, figuring the subtext is clear. I need the money.

When the real subtext is slightly different.

At one in the morning, Zack sweeps up, wipes down the counters, and finishes the last of the cleanup tasks.