“Charlie’s dead,” he said harshly, the words rasping in his throat. It had been a long time since he spoke the words aloud. Jessica stopped in her tracks; he kept going.

“John, at least talk to me.”

He didn’t answer.

“You’re hurting her,” she added. He stopped walking. “Don’t you understand what you’re doing to her? After what she went through? It’s insane, John. I don’t know what that night did to you, but I know what it did to Charlie. And you know what? I don’t think anything hurt as badly as having you refuse to speak to her. To say she’s dead.”

“I saw her die.” John stared out into the city lights.

“No, you didn’t,” Jessica said, then hesitated. “Look, I’m worried about you.”

“I’m just lost.” John turned to her. “And after what I’ve been through, after what we’ve been through, that’s not an unreasonable reaction.” He waited a moment for her to respond, then looked away.

“I get it. I really do. I thought she was dead, too.” John opened his mouth to speak, but she pressed on. “I thought she was dead until she turned up, alive.” Jessica pulled at John’s shoulder until he met her eyes again. “I’ve seen her,” Jessica said, her voice breaking. “I’ve talked to her. It is her. And this …” She let go of his shoulder and waved her hand over him as though casting a spell. “This thing that you’re doing, that’s what’s killing her.”

“It’s not her,” John whispered.

“Okay,” Jessica snapped, and turned on her heel. She walked back to the car and after a few moments, pulled back out into the road, then made a screeching U-turn. John stayed where he was. Jessica roared past him, then stopped abruptly, her breaks squealing, then backed up to where he stood. “We’re meeting at Clay’s house on Saturday,” she said tiredly. “Please.” He looked at her; she wasn’t crying, but her eyes were shiny, her face red. He nodded.

“Maybe.”

“Good enough for me. I’ll see you there!” Jessica said, then she drove off without another word, the engine roaring in the quiet of the night.

“I said maybe,” John muttered into the darkness.

CHAPTER TWO

The pencil squeaked against the paper as the man at the desk carefully filled out the form in front of him. He paused suddenly, a wave of dizziness overtaking him. The letters on the page were fuzzy, and he adjusted his reading glasses, his head swimming. The glasses made no difference, and he took them off and rubbed his eyes. Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the sensation was gone: the room righted itself, and the words on the page were perfectly clear. He scratched his beard, still disconcerted, then began to steadily write again. A ring sounded and the front door opened.