I didn’t go to school the next day. From what I heard from Adrian, nobody did.

I got up with my alarm that morning and just sat up in bed staring at nothing, reminding myself of his death so that my hopes didn’t rollercoaster. Ash is dead. Ash is dead. Ash is dead. Not once when I said that to myself did I believe it, but I knew that saying it was necessary for my healing. Still, it was beginning to feel impossible.

“I don’t think I’ll believe it until I see him.” I texted this to everyone I knew, and they all responded the same way:

“I don’t think you want to see him.”

The thing is, I needed to see him, or I’d never get over it. I’d go all my life believing that he’ll show up at my doorstep one day. Why? Because that’s what has always happened. That time we were floating on the river and his tube veered away from the group half-empty, he showed up at the very end of the route after we had almost broken down worrying about him. That time when we were biking down the street and Ash had gotten hit by a truck, he showed up at my door a week later perfectly fine. No, it didn’t make sense how he did it, but that was the miracle of Ashton Sunny. He’d show up. Seeing him cold in a casket was the only thing that could shock me into reality.

When I texted Adrian about it, her response was different than the others.

“Jer, I really don’t think that they’ll be able to do an open-casket.”

After she sent it she kept typing, the ellipses on my screen would pop up and go right back down over and over, and with every passing second my heart would pound harder in my chest.

“Breana told me about the details of the case. Just please don’t tell anyone.” she sent.

Just some sidelight information: Breana was a cop, as well as Adrian’s second cousin. It’s a small town, so she was on the scene. Evidently, she was still on the scene. I didn’t want to explore the implications of that on my own.

“I won’t tell.”

“They haven’t found a body. They know he’s dead because of the amount of his blood on the scene, but his body and his killer are nowhere to be seen.”

She paused.

“Was that too much for you? I’m sorry if it was.” she asked.

My heart fluttered at the very minor possibility he made it out of there alive. Ash could be chilling in some abandoned barn with a self-stitched stab wound in his belly, sipping Peace Tea and talking to himself. But just as my heart lifted, somehow it dropped in the same minute. I started sobbing out of nowhere.

It was a short cry. I’d had erratic crying fits all morning. All of them were short bursts of hopeless tears. It was the aftermath that sucked up time like a vacuum. Every time I cried I’d spiral into my own mind. I’d start breathing faster and faster until I was straight up panting uncontrollably, tears getting squeezed out of my eyes and rolling down my cheek. My arms and legs would twitch. Finally, I’d go stone-still; I wouldn’t be able to move or even remember how movement was even possible. The shortest this could last would be twenty minutes, but this time it was a long one. Adrian’s last text was sent at 8:59 AM. I got back to her at 11:32 AM.

“I’m alright. Just a little shaken.” I told her.

I put my head in my hands and rubbed my face of all my tears. Even thinking about getting out of bed sapped my energy. At the same time, however, staying in bed was beginning to feel gross, like I was covered in ooze and needed a bath immediately. I just kept thinking about the last time I saw Ash. He was sitting on the foot of my bed just over the weekend. He was breathing just this weekend. I was sitting where I am now. At his back was the window; I can remember so clearly his brown, Einstein-esque hair turn into a golden halo in the sunlight.

Looking at that window nearly made me cry, but something caught my attention that made me forget about my grief momentarily. A tiny, rectangular shadow on my windowsill sat just behind the curtains. At any other time of day I wouldn’t have been able to see it, but at this hour of dusk the light shone much like it had in Ashton’s hair.

I crawled as fast as I could--which was actually kind of slow--over to the edge and reached a hand out to try to lift the curtain, while still on hands-and-knees on my bed. I fell. On my face.

It took a bit to gather all the smithereens of my dignity, but I managed to stand up and fulfil my mission. I lifted the curtain to find a royal blue business card waiting patiently for me. On the front was something written in what I’m going to guess was white colored pencil. The first detail about the writing was that it wasn’t my name, but the nickname that Ashton had given me. The second thing was that it was in Ashton’s handwriting.

“To Gare-Bear”

The tears were welling up. I squeezed my eyes shut and took a few deep breaths to prepare for what might be on the other side. And in this moment, my life broke to pieces for the second time.

“I wish to inform you that Ashton Sunny has faked his death.’’