Larry sat down. Ever looked at Izzy as if he were about to come over, take her hand, and squeeze it. She drew her hands into her lap and pressed together her slick-with-sweat palms.

“Does anyone else want to say a few words?” Ted asked.

Some rustling, and then Selma Jenkins walked up with her guitar. She wore a crown of gauze and wire butterflies and a silver ring through her septum that made her already large nostrils appear cavernous. Her henchman Frankenstein crouched in the dirt to watch from the sidelines. Selma played “All Apologies,” which, like everything she did, made Izzy sick.

After Selma finished, she spoke. “I remember Cyrus Rivera as a little kid. Those big brown eyes. Like a calf’s. Always watching. So pretty. I wanted him to be my little sister. He got pissed at me when I tried to put make up on him once. Cyrus was big and strong, but he was vain and gentle as a girl sometimes. Which is why we loved him. Who could have done this shit to Cyrus? Whoever did this shit should be punished in the same way. I’m sorry for Cyrus’s loved ones. Cyrus Rivera, you will not be forgotten. We love you.”

“It’s okay,” Izzy said softly to herself. “They are all out of their minds. Remember why you are here.”

Someone had set up a projector and the images of Cyrus that Izzy had collected flashed on the side of the white truck. The elementary school portrait. Dimples. Missing teeth. Hair slicked back, a button-down shirt, even a tie.

The high school picture with his long hair in his eyes, a Nirvana T-shirt, and a fierce scowl. Such a tough guy.

Izzy and Cyrus at the waterfall oasis at 49 Palms.

Izzy and Cyrus at his West Shores High School graduation with their arms around each other’s shoulders. Professor.

Cyrus with his new Silverado. Both of them shining.

Cyrus, bare-chested, revealing the still-raw tattoo of her name. Best ink ever.

Izzy and Cyrus in front of the shack they had built together. Desert Gothic. Home.

Izzy and Cyrus on vacation at Miracle Manor. Someday we should get married here.

The black-and-white photo booth carnival images.

The photo of Izzy and Cyrus on the chartreuse couch on the night they’d met.

And, finally, the photo Izzy had used on the missing persons flyer. Cyrus, not smiling. If you zoomed in, he was just a million pixilated dots.

Then the still photos changed to film. Images floated—desert landscapes, fields, night skies, a sun rising, lotus blossoms opening, birds and insects flying, a woman’s naked body up close, resembling a mountain range drenched in dawn-light.