A small memory then: the sound of Sean crying after a diving meet his freshman year where he was disqualified for taking too much time. His door was open a crack, and when you tried to go in to comfort him, he slammed it in your face. Then later at dinner, he smiled like nothing had happened. When you brought it up, he seemed befuddled, like he had excised it completely from his memory.
“Okay,” you say. “So… what didn’t he show me?”
“There were two people,” she says. “There was Sean, and then there was Sean the destroyer.”
You can’t help it: You laugh a little bit.
“Sean the destroyer?”
“That’s what I called him. That version of him.”
“Okay…”
“Things would be fine,” she says. “He’d be totally good. For months sometimes. Confident. Charming. Then some other part of him would come out. Some compulsion to tear everything down. He’d do risky, dangerous things. Mess up his life. You didn’t really know this part of him, I don’t think.”
You traipse forward. The island isn’t huge, and you wonder how far you are from meeting up with the other half of your group, and what you’ll do if there’s no sign of Silas. You try to look through the trees, but they’ve gotten too thick to see through now. You think of Sean ripping down all his mantras and quotes.
“That’s why it’s not your fault, Case,” she says.
You don’t respond. But she is not done talking.
“It’s mine.”
You stop walking.
“I knew what he was capable of,” she says. “I knew he needed help. But I didn’t do anything. I was too angry. And because I couldn’t get over my anger, he…”
The scream doesn’t come right away.
It feels like it does, but there’s probably a five-second pause, give or take, where you’re waiting for Diana to finish her thought. To hear why she blames herself. But then, suddenly, there’s the sound of Fran shrieking, and before you and Diana can even look at each other, you’re running again. Straight through the woods. You’re bone tired. Your head hurts. But you find enough adrenaline to race toward your screaming friend.
The woods are thicker in the middle of the island. There isn’t much space, but there’s also no real path. Just dense vegetation, all of it up to your thighs. The group is somewhere toward the other coast, at a different point of entry. And when you find them, they’re huddled close to one another. Troy is holding Fran. Will is leaning against a tree. They’re all looking down, and you know what you’re going to see before you see it. But you have to look anyway, just to confirm that it has happened.
Blue lips. Open eyes. Foam around his mouth. Vomit on his shirt.
His T-shirt is ripped, and his legs tangled in a strange way.
There are bugs flying around him.
You look away.
“We found these,” says Fran through sobs, handing a bag to Diana.
It’s filled with thick white pills that don’t look like any benzoyou’ve ever seen. They’re clearly something different. Something stronger. Diana takes one look and hands them back.
“Opioids,” she says. “Probably fentanyl.”
She doesn’t break her stare down at Silas’s body.
“They’re really dangerous, let alone if you combine them with sedatives,” she says.
She finally looks away. She walks slowly over and hugs Fran. You’re not sure what to do, but you know enough to know that people who have just seen a dead body are probably not okay. You reach out and put a hand on Troy’s shoulder. Then, gradually, Will heads over and puts an arm around both of you. You stand like this for thirty seconds. Maybe a full minute. And when you start to cry, you’re not fully sure what you’re crying about.
Some of it is for Silas, to be sure.
He put you in grave danger. He did something unforgivable. But there was something about finding that mantra he dropped that altered your thinking. He was trying to get sober. He wanted a better life. He just couldn’t get there. Of course, he shouldn’t have been leading you, but you are also no stranger to self-delusion. How many days of constant panic attacks did you tell yourself you were fine so you wouldn’t have to get on medication and confront the fact that you had a disorder? Silas made a terrible mistake, and his timing might get you killed, but he didn’t deserve this. No one does.
Also: You are so tired and so hungry and so confused. Your head feels like it’s caught in a vise. And the last time you saw a dead body was the absolute worst day of your life. You sit down, and a few others join you. And there’s no worry about judgment anymore. You let yourself cry, and you wipe your snotty nose withyour dirty T-shirt. Then, after a while, you stand up and you pull off Silas’s shirt. It isn’t easy to get it over his stiff limbs. But you pull it off and drape it over his face so you don’t have to look into his vacant eyes. If anybody was in denial, they aren’t anymore.
