I sobered then, as though dunked in ice water. A curse that forces me to remember the next moment in stark detail, no matter how much I try and bury it under lies. The image of my son floating in slow motion through the air. Falling with his arms reaching out as though wanting to be held. Silent, now. No longer screaming.

But now I am – really bolting it out when his head hits the ground – and in my mind I haven’t stopped.

I am in my son’s head, and always will be. He’s damaged because of me. And I’m the only one who knows.

It feels like my body is burning from the inside out as I relive this night, so much of it obscured by the haze of alcohol I have to use my imagination to fill in the blanks. And it’s not fair that I’m snuggling in bed with this woman I lied to. I should be locked up or have had my own head bashed in by someone equally as belligerent. And now I know I can’t sleep, because every nerve ending is sizzling and comfort is too unsettling and it’s hard to breathe and if there was a gun here I’d use it or wish I had the courage to. What can I ever do to atone, if anything? Put me in a room with my old self and I’d kill the bastard. That’s what I try and do every day. Bury who I used to be.

I woke up soaked in cold sweat. My jaw ached from grinding my teeth. More anxious than I’d been since this whole thing got started. Snakes coiled in the stomach, spewing venom.

Sunlight streamed through the window sheets. Late morning, judging the brightness. Cassie was still asleep, but jerked awake when I swung my legs to the side and sat up.

“Rox!” she said, like that night she saw him on the floor, giving me fresh resolve.

“We’re going to get him today.” Perhaps this is my day of atonement.

I smelled like vinegar, but fuck showering. Fuck anything that makes me feel good again. “I’ll brew coffee and then we’ll get ready to go.”

Cassie scrubbed her face with both hands, stretched, and her spine popped. “Okay,” she said.

We climbed down the spiral staircase together, me going to the kitchen, her toward the couch. “Jesse?” she said, and her tone made me cringe.

I turned.

“Did you take this out?” she asked, pointing to the Ouija board that was laid open on the coffee table.

I shook my head. “At least, not that I remember.”

She approached it slowly, studied it, then picked up the planchette and held it toward me. “It says, ‘The Key’,” she said, and I could see those words written in stacked lines across the top.