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It's barely dark outside when we leave, but by the time we reach the end of the block, we have bags half-full of sweets and the street lamps have come on. Casper's steps are slower than I remember them being, and I'm about to suggest we go home when she trips over—something. A crack in the sidewalk, her own feet, I don't know.

Between Adam and me, we barely manage to keep her from face-planting on the pavement, and I panic because her eyes are closed and I think she's unconscious. She sucks in a breath, cursing, trying to regain her bearings, which doesn't seem to be happening.

"Fuck, I need—goddammit." She leans into Adam, abandoning her bag. "I need to sit down."

I rescue her candy and we usher her to a bench at the park across the street. Casper slumps forward, head in her hands like she might be sick. Swearing over and over again beneath her breath.

"We can carry you home," Adam whispers. "Or I can get your dad. Have him drive up here."

"So he'll never let me out of the house again? Right." She hiccups, sniffs, and I realize she's crying. I have never seen her cry before. "I think we got enough candy. Let's go home."

Just like that, our trick-or-treating adventure is over. Casper cries silently the whole way home. I try not to think about how this is the last time she will ever go trick-or-treating, and how she spent it hardly able to walk.

Robert and Amanda retire for the night when we get home, giving us free reign of the kitchen and living room for our horror movies and food. Adam makes some popcorn while I get Casper settled on the pull-out sofa bed—trying to be obscure so her parents don't realize how much she's worn herself out—and retrieve blankets and pillows from her room. I'm not sure her parents considered the idea of us all sleeping out here together, but I decide not to mention it. Lucky me, I get to sleep in the middle.

Together we curl up on the pull-out, staying awake late into the night. Adam is the first one to fall asleep, nestled up against my side with his back to me. We've shared a bed before, always with Casper, sometimes on the floor, but I've never wondered as bad as I'm wondering right now what it would feel like to wrap myself around him and press my face into his hair.

Casper's head rests on my shoulder, her eyes half-lidded. I'm not sure either of us are watching the movie anymore so much as we're fighting sleep.

"Are you still awake?" she whispers. I make a noise to confirm that I am. Casper tilts her chin back, trying to look up at me. "When I'm gone, I want you to give the police all the screen-shots and emails I saved regarding Suicide Watch. Give them my emails from Joey. I want them to know he wasn't ready to die."