Edmund tried not to think about it. Tim said that he would go in and talk to Amber, that he would explain the situation to her and make her see reason. He seemed confident, deflecting any “What if you can’t?” comments from Robert and any “What if she calls the police?” questions from Pru. He just said that he could and that she wouldn’t. He got out of the passenger side door and disappeared into the dark.

He was gone for a long time. Edmund kept his hands on the steering wheel, knowing that if he loosened his grip, they would just shake uncontrollably. Even as it was, his hands were twitching.

He felt like he was dead—like he had somehow been the person who had died at the side of the road. And then he realized he didn’t feel like he’d died. He just wished he had.

No one talked in the car. No one even breathed loudly. Edmund shut his eyes and felt like he was alone—because in many ways he was. He should have felt love for the others. The others who were standing with him through this ordeal. But for some reason, he didn’t feel love. He felt afraid of them. All of them. And maybe Tim most of all.

The radio clicked into life and Edmund opened his eyes. Robert had reached from the back and turned it on. Rock music blared out for a couple of bars before Pru reached forward and wordlessly and mercifully shut it off. Robert didn’t protest. The entire exchange was mute, but meant more words than they could ever speak.

After what seemed like hours, Tim came out of the night and opened the passenger door. “Let’s go.”

They all got out of the car, Edmund last, and he looked up to see another figure emerging from the darkness.

Amber.

She didn’t look scared. She didn’t look apprehensive. She looked positively indifferent. She said nothing, just joined them.

Tim opened the trunk, giving a slight grimace at the scene he was presented with. Like Edmund, maybe he was hoping that the woman would evaporate, become a collective hallucination. But no, she was still there.