Your car falls through the air, weightless. You feel your body lift off the seat. Judith’s blade rises from your throat. The sunglasses that had been in your cup holder, the empty soda bottle, the files and wadded tissues and unused sleeping pills float past you as if you’re in space. The earth rushes up at you, eclipsing the sky.

 

The car strikes the ground and splits apart around you.

 

Your body clears the debris, and lies broken over a stretch of rock. Next to you, Judith is mangled, pulled apart. She starts to laugh. You try to take a breath—pure instinct—but you cannot. It’s like your lungs are packed with something solid.

 

If this is it, let Ben come for you in your last moment. Let him take you wherever he has gone.

 

 

 If you understand, now, what needed to be understood, turn to page 37.

If you are still convinced that there is someone watching out for us, turn to page 38.