Every second counts right now, so I need to remember where they are. A picture flashes through my head—the floor of my bedroom, almost under the bed.
I will find the keys and get help. I will motherfucking undo what has been done, and Sam will not…Sam will not…
Sam willnot. The end.
He just won’t because I cannot handle even the thought, so I will fix him.
I’ll drag Sam into the truck and crash through tree limbs, and I will…I will…I will fucking turn back time, so Sam and I are in each other’s arms, and there are no guns and no Costa and…
Costa might still be around, but he didn’t kill me earlier. He won’t kill me now.
And if he does? If Sam is gone, then I don’t care what happens to me.
I’m still getting us out of here.
Except…except I start to understand, there is no point. Nothing I do will change what has happened.
I cannot force life where there is none.
A wall of clarity slams into me, and it’s a miracle that I do not collapse against the brutal force.
Sam is dead.
I felt it happen.
The only reason that I’m in this truck right now is because my demons resurfaced to confuse my reality, to let me deny the truth.
Sam is dead.
I walk back into my apartment. I want to lie on the floor next to him and hold him. It’s the last time I’ll ever do that. But I can’t even look up as I enter the living room because I’ll see Sam and the blood and the mayhem.
My face falls into my hands, and I let myself sob until I’m brave enough to look up and accept that Sam is dead. When I finally gather the strength, the floor of my apartment is empty.
There is no Sam.
There is not even a trace of blood.
I shut my eyes. I was wrong that I could see truth because I must finally be going solidly crazy. I’m having a coping reaction or…maybe I don’t want to see what hurts too much. I don’t know anymore.
I have a glimmer of hope. I’ve made mistakes before. I remember. I didnotsee Amy when she was clearly in bed on the day she attempted suicide. Sam could be here. It’s a force of will, but when I look again, he is still gone.
No body, no blood.
Nothing.
What the fuck is happening to me?
I look at my hands. They’re clean.
No, it’s not possible.
I look down and see my shirt is also clean. Any trace of Sam and of violence and death is gone.
My knees give out, and I drop to the floor. I pound the old wood boards with my fists until my own blood colors my hands, and I feel something resembling human.
I stumble to the bathroom and intentionally avoid looking at the wall with Sam’s words. I lean on the sink and stare into the mirror.
“You are crazy, Stella.” Calm envelops me now because I understand the only truth there is. “You are totally fucking nuts, and you cannot save yourself, so go hide. You’ll never make sense of the world because you are too broken and too far gone.”
