The dude in the pale-blue johnny is watching me, clearly taking in my look-alike apparel. I recognize his lighter blond hair from the diner. He looks less sweaty now than he did then. That’s all I got.
“Josh,” I say.
“Frankie Elkin?” he ventures.
That out of the way, we stare at each other. Finally, I cross to stand beside him. He’s already resumed his vigil, so I do, too, as if together we can will Miggy back to life.
“I fucked up,” Josh says at last.
I don’t say anything. All the guys said Josh didn’t like to talk. Best strategy, make him come to me.
Josh lapses back into silence. We regard Miggy’s unconscious form.
“It should’ve been me. On the trek. Not you.”
He’s apologizing to me? This catches me off guard. I’d think I’d be the least of his concerns.
“So you could be hunted instead?”
“Is that what happened to Tim?” he asks quietly.
“Most likely.”
He shakes his head. Against the brutal truth? The unimaginable horror? Once again, he falls silent.
The rise and fall of Miguel’s chest appears peaceful and steady. Forget for a minute that a machine is doing the work for him, and it’s easy to believe that at any moment his eyes will open and he’ll regard us with a crooked grin.
We survived together. I feel a deeper connection to him than I even felt with Paul. It’s probably fleeting—the result of adrenaline and cortisol and lots of other chemicals I don’t understand. I just know I need him to be okay. Anything less would be another blow to my already fragile psyche.
“I know the truth,” I say at last, in the hushed room. I don’t look at Josh, but continue to take in Miguel’s unconscious form. “The others told us what really happened that night.”
Josh doesn’t say anything.
“Do you still hate him?” I ask curiously. “Tim? Or do you hate that fate intervened before you could finish giving him the beating he deserved, or the closure you desired?”
“I keep drinking to figure that out.”
“You loved him.”
Josh doesn’t dispute that.
“According to Scott, Miggy, and Neil, he loved you, too. The bond you two had was special, even by Dudeville standards.”
Josh’s expression falters.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say quietly.
Josh looks like he’s going to cry.
We sit in silence again, listening to the machines pump and whoosh, watching Miguel remain with the land of the living.
“I don’t know your friends well,” I say at last. “But I know that when things got tough, they had my back. Neil offered to sacrifice himself for us. Scott agreed to bleed out lost and alone so that Miguel and I could live. Miggy took on an armed gunman so that I might have a chance to escape. They share your guilt. They have their own regrets.
“But in the end, it’s not the fault of any of you that Tim’s gone. The blame rests with one psychopathic asshole who decided hunting human beings made for good sport. We’ll never know everything, but from what I saw, Tim died trying to live. He was determined to get back to his friends. Because you were his people. He loved you. He wanted to make things right.”
Josh finally glances up at me. “He impregnated my sister. He betrayed our friendship. And I wished him dead while trying to kill him with my bare hands. Then he was gone, and I can’t take my final wish back.”
Josh has a point. “What do you want most in the world?” I ask him.
“Peace.”
“And how do you usually find peace?”
“Tequila.”
I have to smile. “That’s forgetfulness. Not the same as peace at all.”
Josh’s turn to smile. He returns his gaze to Miguel’s still form. “I miss the days,” he murmurs, “when all could be resolved with a case of beer, a game of hoops.”
“Then go back to it. Sober up. Reconnect with your friends. And maybe, in honor of Tim, you hit the basketball court one final time. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Josh doesn’t have an immediate answer to that. Eventually, he nods.
“AA will turn you into a regular chatty Cathy,” I inform him.
He appears mildly alarmed.
“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it.” I pat him on the shoulder. “Thank you for the use of your hiking gear. I can already tell you, most of your supplies were rode hard and put away wet. I’m sorry, by the end . . .” I shrug. “That’s one helluva tactical knife. I learned to love that blade. It’s just as fierce as it looks.”