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“Caleb?” Noemi says, touching his arm tentatively.

He turns, fist raised until he sees who it is and then lowers it. He leans in and whispers conspiratorially, “You aren’t really here, Mi. I’m having a nightmare.”

“What the hell is going on?” the newcomer says.

“You, good sir, are dead.” Caleb stalks toward the man. “And since this is a nightmare, I get to tell you exactly what I think of you. I’m sorry you died. Truly. But you are a shit human being who nearly killed Noemi, and if you had done that, I’d have hunted you down and killed you myself.”

“What the fuck?” Raymond says.

The newcomer blinks at Caleb. “Do I know you?”

Caleb’s laugh rises, high and hysterical again. “You motherfucking piece of shit. I take it back. I’m not sorry you’re dead. Sorry for your wife. Sorry for your kids. But nobody poured that booze down your throat and handed you the car keys.”

I ease between Caleb and the man. “Caleb? What’s happening here?”

“I already told you. You’re in my nightmare, stranger. This is the … what’s the word? Culmination. Everything has been leading to this moment, where this motherfucker walks in.”

“He’s dead,” Noemi whispers, her voice barely audible but her gaze on me. She swallows. “He hit us. Four years ago. Caleb was driving us to an evening study group. He—this man—he ran a stop sign and hit us.”

“Slammed into the passenger side,” Caleb says, his own gaze burning into the newcomer. “Noemi was trapped for hours. It’s a miracle she wasn’t killed.”

“But he was,” Noemi says. “He wasn’t wearing a seat belt. He flew through the windshield. He died on the scene.”

TWENTY-SIX

“What the hell?” the man says, getting to his feet. “I’m not dead. I was in an accident, yes. I missed a stop sign. It happens. I hit a car with…”

He stares at Noemi, his eyes widening. “You. I saw you. Looking out the side window, just as we collided…” He trails off and shakes his head. “I’m sorry if I crashed into you.”

“If?” Caleb says. “If?”

“It wasn’t my fault. I missed the sign.”

“You were going sixty miles an hour on a residential street!”

“I was late for dinner.”

“Holy fucking shit,” Caleb says, throwing up his hands. “My big moment to confront this asshole, and I get excuses and backhanded apologies?”

“You’re fine,” the man says. “Look at you. You’re both fine.”

“Because it’s been four years!” Caleb shouts. “You’ve been dead four years.”

“I’m not dead. Obviously.” The man sweeps a hand down his unblemished torso. “I’m hurt, and I need a doctor, but I’m not dead.” He pulls back and looks around at us. “Is this some kind of court-imposed punishment because I was drinking?”

“Is it what?” Raymond says, face screwing up.

“Like immersion therapy,” the man rushes on. “Scared straight. I had a few drinks and hit a couple of kids, and this is my punishment. They get to confront me and act as if I died.”

“You did die!” Caleb roars. “I went to where you were buried. I kicked your goddamn gravestone.” At Noemi’s soft inhalation, he turns. “I’m sorry, Mi. You were still in the hospital, and I was so angry. I wanted to tell him what he did. So I went to his grave. It was dumb and immature, but I was…” Tears spring to his eyes. “This asshole could have … could have…”

Noemi hugs him, and he falls into her embrace.

I turn to the bartender. “What is going on here?”

He arches his brows. “Why are you asking me?”

“You know why.” I step toward him. “You know what’s happening.”