Page 49 of Dearly Departed

She’s not in the clearing.

I get my face closer to the window. She’s not pounding on the door. Not calling my name.

I’m on my feet before I remember how ungodly fucking tired I am. Leaning against the window frame feels like a pathetic way to stay standing, but⁠—

“Better than nothing.”

Catherine’s not here to laugh at our terrible joke, and…

It’s sunny out.

Sunny. What the hell happened to the rain? I didn’t notice it stopping. It got lighter a few times, but it still felt like it would come down forever, and now—sunlight.

I blink hard. Am I dreaming? Is this a nightmare? My vision clears when I rub my eyes.

Awake, then.

Was the gunshot a dream? Did I only imagine someone screaming? If I’ve learned anything in these past months, it’s that my mind isn’t always reliable.

There are no dead people in the clearing. No Bettencourt. No James Hill. My alive-and-in-prison father hasn’t made an appearance. I’m seeing things accurately, at least for the moment.

Every heartbeat is so powerful it makes me want to be sick. I can’t afford that. I’m lightheaded already. My balance is off. I’m almost certain I could float away.

Not an option. I need to be here for Catherine.

I’ll race the sunrise.

I know that wasn’t a promise Catherine could count on keeping. She knew it, too. We couldn’t be sure of the distance from the cabin to the radio tower. I hope to fucking God it’s a radio tower. I’ll raze heaven and turn it into a rundown strip mall if it’s not.

Regardless, we couldn’t be sure of the terrain, either.

It’s at least an hour past sunrise now. Maybe later.

Jesus. How long was I asleep? I wasn’t going to fall asleep at all. That was never part of this plan.

I sit back down and force myself to breathe until the worst of the lightheadedness has faded. Nothing’s changed in the clearing. The only difference is that the rain stopped.

That’s—

That’s good. Catherine needed the rain to stop. Radio towers work better when the weather is good.

A headache collects at my temples. I need to get my pulse fully under control. Catherine will be furious if she returns and I’m sprawled on the floor in a dead faint. She’ll be twice as furious if she returns and I can’t open the door for her.

In that case, I might get to watch her break it down. There’s no doubt she has the strength.

I breathe and breathe and breathe.

When I think the waiting itself might kill me, I get out of my chair and go into the bathroom. Cool water on my face clears my head. Brushing my teeth makes me feel like a human with a working, reliable brain who is able to think.

I put on a T-shirt. Boxers. Socks. Jeans. The jeans are stiffly clean. Catherine washed them and dried them over the back of a chair in the light of the window before it started to rain.

She did that for me, and she didn’t have to.

She didn’t have to go to the radio tower, either.

I know I couldn’t stop her, but fuck, I wish I’d followed her. I wish I’d insisted on going, too. I wish I’d said something about sickness and health.

But washing up and getting dressed means I have to sit down and catch my breath. That doesn’t bode well for a hike of any distance.