While I suck in what could be my last breath, Bill crumbles into joyful tears. “Ricky, it’s me!” he cries. “I’ve been waiting for you!” My knees weaken, forbidding me from taking another step closer to the closet. I desperately need things to start making sense.

After a few snaps of his fingers, Marcos charges past me to the closet. He’s braving this first for me; I could kiss him. He turns the knob, but then hesitates—none of us are prepared for what’s inside. It opens wide, but from my position, all I can see is Marcos’s backside. When he faces me again, he’s covering his mouth in shock. I abandon Darcy at Bill’s cot and sprint to Marcos.

In the dark, empty closet, Ricky sits on a shelf. An urn. A decorative blue vase that I don’t have to open to know it contains the remains of Ricky Hannigan.

In the midst of my unrelenting panic, a calming thought pokes its head inside: Ricky didn’t trick me. I’m not happy he’s dead, but at least the ground under my feet is solid. Ricky passed away one week ago…which means he didn’t write that letter.

The Reverend tricked Bill.

“Ricky, I’m sorry!” Bill calls from the hallway. He doesn’t know yet. He hasn’t seen. “I’ve thought of you every single day. EVERY SINGLE DAY. Rigo too. I keep your picture at my bed. It was such a beautiful day. I’m so sorry. Twenty-two years, and I’d change everything. If I could time travel and stop myself. If I could time travel, Ricky, you don’t know how many times I dream that I time travel and do it differently and give Rigo back to you and we’re all a family again, but then I wake up and I’m in Hell.” As Bill rambles, Marcos and I lock eyes on Ricky’s remains. All of Bill’s apologies and hopes for the future fight and lose against the finality of the urn. “Oh my God, please don’t be scared to come out. I won’t hurt you. I’m sorry I hurt you. Please, let me see your face again.”

The Reverend orchestrated this perfectly. He wrote that letter tricking Bill to set up this exact moment. The moment I’m about to deliver.

“Bring Ricky out,” the Reverend orders, boiling over with glee. “Let him say ‘hi’ to Dad.”