Around midnight I wake up covered in fog. It clings to me with cold, misty fingers. When I stand up I find that the fog is only at ground level, about waist high. I can’t see my legs. Or my drink. I kneel back down and have to use my hands to find the bourbon. The bottle is on its side. I stand back up and check it out. Most of it has gone, seeped into the ground. Maybe the caretaker can enjoy it.
My head starts pounding and I reach into my pocket for painkillers. You learn a few tricks when the drinking turns from a habit into a way of life. I wash them down with more booze and for a moment consider taking all of them, given how long they’ll take to kick in. Then I stagger to my car and scrape my credit card across the windshield to clear the ice—it’s the only thing it’s good for these days. I turn the heater on full and start the car, but keep the lights off and wait for things to warm up before rolling through the fog. I kill the engine at the edge of the parking lot and take another swig from the bottle. Things are obviously turning my way—otherwise all of the bourbon would have poured out while I was asleep.
The church is still dark and the living quarters around the back are out of view. I sit in the car with the heater on, sipping more bourbon to summon up the courage, all too aware there was once a day when I didn’t need bourbon fuel to find my strength.
I need to talk to Father Julian. I can convince him to tell me the truth.
I get out of the car. I close the door quietly and walk slowly toward the church. My upper body looks like it is floating on top of the fog. The quarter moon is forming weak shadows, making pale reflections dance off the stained glass windows, making the images move, making them look like they are watching me. My toes are numb and painful, and my legs are getting wet from the fog. I’m almost around to the side of the church when I trip on what feels like rock. I go down hard, bracing my fall with my hands. There’s a fierce stinging in my palms from the stones that have cut through my skin.
I roll onto my back and stare up at the sky, but all I can see is the fog that has wrapped around my body. It’s like being inside a cloud. I reach up as if to punch a hole to look through, but it makes no impression.
I’m lying there, picking away at the stones in my palms, when the sound of the church door opening and then closing makes me go completely still. I stay flat and roll my head toward the sound, but can’t see anything. I can feel the moisture from the ground cooling the hot blood on my hands. I have to sit up to see through the top layer of the fog.
A figure moves along the wall of the church, keeping in the shadows. I stay calm, knowing there’s no way Father Julian can see me. Suddenly I feel something sparking away inside of me, something that has been numb since I killed Sidney Alderman. It’s a mixture of hope and curiosity. The ground seems to sway as I stand back up and begin to follow Father Julian. He passes my car, keeping a wide berth, finding safety in the darkness of the church, and then moving into the trees that line the path to the road. Had I still been in the car I would never have known he was there. He’s deliberately trying to hide from me.
Julian crosses the road to where his car is parked and starts to work the key into the lock. I turn back and race to my own car, then wait until I hear Julian’s starting before I start mine. Out on the road I see that he is about three blocks ahead of me. The fog that had attached itself to the cemetery and church has just as strong a grip out here, only the streetlights make it look thinner. Julian turns left. I turn my lights on and begin to follow him. I can just make out his taillights through the fog about two blocks away.
The occasional car comes toward us. Julian drives around the cemetery, then turns toward town. He starts to drive faster and I do the same, knowing if he gets too far ahead I’ll lose him as soon as another set of taillights appears. He races through the intersection and I follow suit. I close the distance until there’s only half a block between us. He isn’t making any evasive maneuvers, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t figured out I’m following him. And it’s quite clear that if he parked out on the road and snuck past my car he didn’t want me to know where he was going. I think about where he might be going that he doesn’t want me to know about. Is he meeting somebody? Is he going to meet the person who killed those girls? To counsel him? To try to make him confess?
The lights ahead turn orange. Julian makes it through. I put my foot down, gaining on him a little more quickly than I would have liked, though I’m pretty sure he’s not going to . . .
Only I don’t make it all the way through the intersection.
The car emerges out of the fog like a train. I turn my head toward it, toward the twin headlights barreling down on me. I lift my hands up to cover my face as the car slams into me, the shrieking sound of metal loud enough to make my ears bleed.
For a few moments there is nothing but madness as I scramble to gain control of the car, but it’s impossible. There is another explosion of sound as I come to a stop. The world slowly darkens around me. It darkens, it disappears, and then there is nothing.