Eyes closed or open, all he saw was her. Hands bloody, clasped against her chest. The look on her face. Shock. Betrayal. A childlike sadness. What he’d seen in her eyes, more than anything else, was this: Michael, I don’t want to die. Please don’t let me die.

Twice she’d said she loved him. Had the first time really been only that morning? He knew she’d meant it. It was the love of pure friendship, something that one day might’ve blossomed into something greater, eternal, powerful. He loved her back. He loved her so much.

Michael shook silently as tears squeezed their way past his closed eyelids and trickled down his face.

2

And so it went for hours. Michael was in shock—too numb to be angry and hurting too much to speak. He had no idea what was next.

So he just followed, blindly, for hours.

They drove.

Arrived at an airport. They were ushered through a private entrance.

Went to a small hangar, to a plane.

There was another man, another woman. As faceless to him as the rest. He followed his friends up a set of stairs into the plane. Sat down. Buckled in.

The plane exited the hangar and at some point took off. Michael leaned against a window, his cheeks still wet, his eyes burning. He watched as the ground slipped away below, endless trees and hills and buildings and streets shrinking. And soon after, darkness swallowed the world.

They flew for several hours, in a roundabout route, to get to Washington, D.C. Helga explained that it was time to regroup and that they were taking the opportunity to hide, in the air. She tried to talk to Michael several times, but he pretended to be asleep.

At some point, in a welcome escape from the pain, Michael actually did fall asleep, fleeing into an even deeper darkness, where no dreams waited.

3

It was Helga who woke him up. She was sitting next to him when he opened his eyes. It took a moment, but the pain came crashing back in.

They’d landed, and Michael looked around, saw that they were the only ones still on the plane.

“Michael,” Helga said, her voice soft and gentle. “I haven’t wanted to disturb you, but—”

Michael stood up and moved past Helga. He still wasn’t ready to talk. He walked down the aisle, toward the door. It was open, and he descended the stairs.

“There’s always hope,” Helga shouted to him. “Remember that, Michael. There’s always hope.”

He ignored her, walking blindly into the mist enveloping the tarmac.

4

Helga let him go, which really surprised him. As stubborn as he was, she’d always been a lot more stubborn.