Helga and the others were busy, doing what, Michael didn’t know. He couldn’t bring himself to ask. Tomorrow, he kept telling himself. He’d be rested and rejuvenated, ready to kick some butt.

At some point that night, between fitful dozes, he realized he couldn’t stand the silence anymore and spoke to Bryson.

“You awake?” Michael turned and looked at his friend, lying on top of the covers of the other bed.

“Yep.”

“How’s it hangin’?” Michael asked him, the words coming out a bit croaky. “Besides the obvious.”

Bryson answered after a heavy sigh. “Besides the obvious, I’m doing downright swell. Quite lovely, old chap.” He mocked a British accent again there at the end, doing a crap-poor job of it.

“I think that’s more, like, Australian,” Michael said. “Maybe drunk Australian.”

Bryson sat up and yawned. “I was going more for Madagascarian.”

“I’m sure that’s a thing.”

“It’s a thing.”

They stared at each other, then burst into one of those hysterical late-night laughing fits that couldn’t possibly happen during the light of day. It was a start.

“I keep picturing her parents,” Bryson said several minutes later, after they’d sobered up. “I almost feel worse for them than I do for Sarah herself. I mean, can you imagine telling them? I gotta be honest, I hope I never see them again. I can’t do it. It’s gonna kill ’em.”

Michael knew that was totally selfish. And yet he felt exactly the same way.

“They’ll blame us,” he said. “And they’ll be right.”

Bryson shook his head. “Nah, man. Come on, we’ve got plenty to beat ourselves up about. And plenty to cry about. Now we need to focus on moving forward. We’re the good guys, and we could’ve given up a long time ago. Anyone who thinks differently can kiss my big white butt.”

“Amen,” Michael said. “And that’ll be punishment enough. Where’s Gabby?”

“She’s in another room, sleeping, I’d guess. She’s really feeling stupid about the whole thing. I had a talk with her, though. Honestly, man, I think she’s okay. She didn’t have a whole lot of choice in the matter. They made all kinds of threats.”

Michael shrugged. “Yeah, I figured. I’ll talk to her tomorrow. I’m just glad she’s alive.”

Bryson didn’t answer, and the silence felt heavy.

Michael finally changed the subject. “I’m so thirsty I can feel my tongue cracking into dust. I’m going to get a drink out of the vending machine.” He got up from the bed and rubbed his eyes, let out a big yawn. “You want something?”

“Whiskey?”

Michael just stared at him. “How about a nice cold cola?”

“That’ll do.”