“Do
n’t,” I whisper. No, I don’t wanna know. I don’t want—
“It’s over. She’s dead. She went peacefully, in her sleep. You need…”
His voice is fading. The blood rushing in my ears is too loud. I need to sit down. I need to start running. I don’t know what the hell I need.
“… funeral,” Matt is saying. “Tomorrow morning, in Bolinbrook. The viewing is tonight.”
Tomorrow. The funeral. Emma’s funeral.
I try to speak, but no sound comes out.
“Zane, are you there?” Matt’s voice cracks again, and I close my eyes. I feel as if my head’s gonna explode.
“Yeah.”
“Will you come tonight?”
I nod stupidly, standing on the sidewalk, talking into my cell. “Yeah.” My voice barely comes out, scratchy and hoarse. “Yeah, I will.”
“See you later, then.”
The call disconnects, and I find myself standing, yet not really feeling my feet. Not feeling anything. Except my chest hurts. I look down, expecting to see a bullet lodged smack in the middle of it. A gaping wound. A hole.
But there’s nothing. Nothing on me to show what just happened. How much it hurts.
Emma.
I didn’t get to say goodbye. She was barely conscious the whole weekend I was there, and when she was, she didn’t say a word. She did smile at me once. I recall her smile, and my fists tighten.
Not fair. Not fair that she’s gone. She can’t be gone. She can’t be.
The cell casing creaks. I force myself to unclench my fingers before I break it, because... I stare at it blankly. Something I need to do.
Tell Ash. Or Rafe.
No, that’s not it.
Call Dakota.
My lungs feel too small as I search for her number. Breathing is difficult. No idea why. I’m just standing here. Standing still while the world is spinning madly.
I call, but I get no reply. The pressure on my chest is crushing my lungs. I put the cell away mechanically. My brain is mostly blank. Can’t even recall what I wanted to tell Dakota.
All I know is that I need to get into my pickup truck and drive to Bolinbrook. Need to see Emma one last time. Need to tell her goodbye.
I turn away from the shop and start walking, occasionally stumbling. Still can’t feel my feet much. It’s as if I’m floating, and they’re rocks, anchoring me to earth. I drag them behind me like dead weights.
Say goodbye. Somehow I hope Emma can still hear me, from wherever her spirit is. I’m going to her funeral. I owe her that much. It’s the last thing I can do for her, and I’ll be damned if I lose my shit before I get it done.
The viewing is held at a funeral home. I can’t see the kids, and fleetingly, I wonder where they are, but I can’t focus enough to hold on to that thought.
Emma is laid out in a dark wooden casket. Her small face is powdered and rouged, her pale hands folded over her chest. There are flowers around her. I sit there and look at her. I feel dizzy when I stand, so I just sit and look. She seems asleep.
Please, wake up.
People have drifted in and out of the room. Now they’re gone, and it’s just me and Emma.