I stripped off the clothes, wadded them up, and shoved all of it into the trash can. I’d collect it later and dispose of it somewhere else. Then I stepped into the shower and stood for a long, long time with the hot water smashing me between the shoulder blades.

“Junie…,” I murmured. “Junie, my love … I’m so damned sorry.”

Saying the words to myself because I was too ashamed and too much of a coward to call her. Too weak to even send an email for fear that it would somehow infect her with the darkness that seemed to own my body and soul.

“I’m so sorry.”

I wondered, not for the first time, if I would ever see her again.

I did not have to wonder if I would ever deserve to see her. I already knew the answer to that.

The shower curtain was opaque and rippled from the breeze created by the water. I saw it darken a moment and was about to growl at Toys to tell him I didn’t need him to wash my back, but when I peered around the edge, the bathroom was empty.

That was strange. I was positive there had been someone standing on the other side of the plastic. I let it settle into place again and waited.

Nothing happened.

After almost a full minute, I began to sneer at myself for being spooked by the shadows in my own head. So, I poured some shampoo into my palm and began working up a thick lather. I scrubbed my scalp until it hurt, rinsed, repeated.

The shower wasn’t huge, and my shoulder kept pushing against the curtain.

And then something pushed back.

I recoiled, then whipped the curtain back, my eyes still filled with soap, but my hands ready to fight.

There, in the blear of vision, in a microsecond before the water rinsed the suds from my eyes, I saw a figure. Only a hazy outline, but there for sure. A tall man, big as I, but older. He was turned away from me, but I could see his face in the mirror.

My knees buckled at once, and I sank to the bottom of the stall as water splashed on me and bounced out, pooling on the floor.

The figure was gone as soon as I blinked my eyes.

I’d seen it, though.

The set of the shoulders, the dark hair, those familiar eyes.

Eyes I’d known my whole life but set into a face of charred flesh and exposed bone. A smile missing all the teeth that had been blown out when the bomb went off.

It had been my brother, Sean.

And even though he was gone—the illusion or hallucinogen or whatever it was ended—there was a scent lingering in the air. The sharp, rancid, cooked-meat stink of burned human flesh.

CHAPTER 74

ROTTERDAM THE HAGUE AIRPORT

SOUTH HOLLAND, THE NETHERLANDS