GONE.
It was all gone.
Into the crack, Adam realized. It fell into its own image of the past.
He knew he should scream. Or cry. But he couldn’t.
He didn’t feel a thing.
Adam surveyed the smooth, unbroken ice. The snowless banks.
His arms were no longer wet. His head no longer ached.
Like it never happened.
As if he’d just awakened from another of his dreams.
Maybe that’s all it was. A trick of a disturbed mind. A four-day haze of memories coming unchained. Like Lianna said.
But it was over. And this time he remembered everything.
This time he knew the truth.
Lianna had lied to him. That was why she’d tried to take away the camera. So he couldn’t see. So he couldn’t know what she’d done.
She killed him.
Maybe.
Without the head injury, Edgar might have survived. He might have been conscious longer. He might have been able to hold tighter. To respond to Adam’s help.
What was the difference now?
Edgar had died.
Twice.
Adam realized that through all the deception, Lianna had been right about one other thing.
He couldn’t take it.
He began to shake.
A moan welled up from somewhere deep inside him, buried under four years of grief. It exploded from his mouth. Then another, and another.
No one responded. Lianna and Ripley were probably halfway across town by now.
He sat there until he couldn’t moan anymore. Until he could barely feel.
Later—how long? Five minutes? Two hours?—Adam pulled up in front of Ripley’s house.
To thank him.
To let him know how much Adam had misjudged him.
But also to ask his advice. Eventually Adam would have to confront Lianna. One-on-one. And Ripley would know how to do it.
He rang the doorbell once. Twice.
Finally he heard a commotion inside.
The door flew open. “Heyyyyy, what’s up?” called a familiar voice.
Adam’s throat locked up. He tried to speak, but no sound would come out. “Adam? Did something happen?” Adam swallowed hard and blinked. Then he looked up at his friend’s face.
Edgar.