Then his fingers find the lighter. He pulls it out and realizes he’s been holding his breath. Dropping the lighter on the seat next to him, he breathes heavily and wipes his hand on the side of the seat.
He sits there for a minute or so, eyes closed, catching his breath, feeling his heart pound away in his throat.
You need to do it, he tells himself. Before you can’t. If getting the damn lighter was that hard, imagine how setting the fire will be if you wait much longer.
William begins to cry. It’s been a long time since he did that, and he’s forgotten how it feels when tears spill over and run down your cheeks.
“All right, buddy,” he says, sniffling and breathing faster. “Let’s get it over with. You ready?”
Without looking at it, he picks up the phone and hits send, feeling suddenly determined, while at the same time having the queer sensation of moving in a thick haze.
It’s done, he thinks dreamily as the text flies off into the ether. I’ve said my goodbye. Now I can’t go back.
He picks up the lighter and—
* * *
Want to know how it all began?
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