“And that’s the real reason why, I guess. When it comes down to it, that’s why.”

I stare at Emily, trying to think of a proper response. She just sits there, stiller than death,
studying her fidgeting hands intently. I think and think, and finally come up with something
decent enough to fit the situation.

“It’s funny,” I say. “Funny how something so unthinkable can be done, and then it’s just
done. And that’s the end of it. It happened, and all that’s left is you staring guiltily at your
hands.”

Emily looks up at me—looks me in the eyes for the first time since the very beginning of
this conversation—and her lips twitch into something that’s almost a smile. “Well, there’s also
bones.”

A jolt of fear runs up me, starting somewhere low in my stomach. But I don’t let it
envelop me—I fight off any shivers and just nod at her. “Bones are left over, too,” I agree.

Emily looks out into the horizon, and I look with her. We are sitting on a rickety old
wooden fence, looking out toward a large, green field where cows graze intermittently. The sun
is almost fully set in the distance, and a faint, fire-like glow radiates out from it. Behind us is
darkness—but we don’t look there.

There’s such a long silence. It’s nice, but in my head, there is no leisure—my thoughts
seem to overlap, a cacophony of voices and images flowing through the recesses of my brain,
preventing me from thinking any one thought clearly. I decide that the only thing left to do is to say what I’ve been wanting to say for a few days now, as nothing else seems to be coming
through clearly. I take a deep breath, trying to calm the discord.

“You know . . . I don’t think it’s exactly a bad thing you did, really,” I say.
She turns to me and her eyes are wide and dewy, full of genuine curiosity and a hint of
shock, as if she never expected me to get to this point. I wonder if the fact I’ve gotten there is
really a good thing or not.

I smile at her before turning back to the fiery glow. “I don’t know why I’m not bothered
by it. I should be. I really, really should be. But I’ve traveled with you for almost a week now,
and though my heart was pounding at first, I now look at you and see such incredible normalcy
that I guess I lost my fear—and somewhere in there I lost my doubt, too. I can’t seem to care
anymore. I don’t know who I am if I think taking a life can be so mundane. But I know it can,
now. It can be beautiful, even. Maybe not the act itself, but the world that waits for you when the
deed is done. It’s lovely out here. And maybe—maybe it was always lovely out here, before you
did anything. But maybe it’s because he’s gone. I really want that to be true, and I think it could
be—that his absence makes the world bloom.”

Emily blinks, staring, and waits for me to continue. I don’t know if I have anything left. I
said what had been eating me; I got it out. My distracted brain seems to have gone silent, as if it
lost the signal that connected it to the rest of the civilized world, but now . . .

Now it’s free. And when I said it, it felt less like a confession and more like a statement.
There was much less confusion, much less unease than I had expected. And now I feel,
somehow, less fear.

When I turn back to Emily, there are tears in her eyes. “Thank you for not fearing or
doubting me,” she smiles.

And then she does something she’s never done before—she reaches out her skinny arms
and hugs me, tight. I hug her back, much more lightly, hesitantly. When she lets go, she’s looking
toward the sun again. Though it is almost fully set, there’s still such a brilliant red glow over the
entire field, over the wild hairs on top of her head. And it looks like a halo.