James began to make the long walk back to his car with Mary's body cradled in his arms. The town was empty now. No monsters, no people, and the broken roads were now fixed. He hadn't realized until now that this place had been feeding off his guilty subconscious the whole time. But now he wasn't sure if the people he had met up with ever really existed. Was there a way to tell? He didn't know. What he did know was that he found the person he had been looking for. He had found his dear, sweet Mary. When he was first able to touch her again and feel her cold, lifeless skin, he couldn't help letting out that sob. It had risen from the back of his throat that killed her brought the tears. They slid down slowly at first to the corner of his twitching mouth then all at once they came gushing out.
Coming to this town had brought good and bad memories of the life he once had with Mary. He could remember the arguing; he could remember all the hurtful words they spat at each other out of frustration. How many times had he heard Mary crying when he left the room? And each time he had been too stubborn to apologize and admit that he was wrong. But Mary had such a kind heart. She forgave him even when he didn't deserve forgiveness. Then when she went to the hospital, things only got worse. Their feelings for each other became spiteful instead of more loving.
His first visit with her was the best moment he'd ever spent with her since she became ill. That was the last time they reminded one another of their love. James remembered stroking Mary's hair as she lay on the uncomfortable bed. She turned her head away each time she coughed, and every time she did that it was like a stab to his heart. "You'll get better," he kept telling her that day. "You just have to get through this." He said it as though it were the easiest task in the world. He said almost every comforting thing he could think. But when he came home that night, he sulked through the empty house. He climbed into bed and wept uncontrollably. In his heart, he knew that there was a chance that she wouldn't live. All he could do was hope.
James hoped ad wished for three years. In those three years, Mary's health only declined. She became extremely pale. She was agitated very easily. He'd decided to stop visiting her after she yelled at him when he brought her a bouquet of flowers. After that happened, he was filled with the desire to hurt her in some way. At first, he thought about finding another woman. He could find one that was exciting, a girl who was willing to take a risk. Easier said than done. He'd seen a ton of attractive women, a few even flashed him a flirtatious smile. But as much as he wanted, he couldn't bring himself to have an affair with any of them. He tried to think of a new plan but came up with nothing. Then just as he was beginning to cool down, he got a call from Mary's doctor. They were allowing her to come home. "We don't know how much longer she has so it might be best if she goes home for a few days," the doctor had said. So James picked her up from the hospital. The whole way home she snapped at him and complained. James's knuckles grew white as his grip on the steering wheel tightened.
The end of the day left him with a throbbing headache. Against the noiseless walls of the house, Mary's constant coughing sounded as though it was in stereo. James couldn't sleep. Any time he was about to get up, a weak voice called out to him, "James? Where are you going?"
"Nowhere," he always said with a sigh. "Nowhere at all."
A few days passed and she was still going. James's anger grew more intense with each call. "James… James… James…" Always she was calling him for something. By the fourth day, he became fed up. He ignored her sickly voice and stayed outside until the stars replaced the sun. When he came in, all was quiet. In order to keep the peace he shut the door without making any noise. She felt his presence when he entered the room. He could tell because she sat up. "James?" she said weakly. "Where have you been?"
"I've been out. I went out." He turned the light on before walking to her side. She was squinting; obviously her eyes were not adjusting well. When he looked at her now, he could see how different she looked. She no longer resembled the beautiful, sweet woman he'd married years back. As he recalled these events now, it all seemed so unreal. He felt like he was watching a movie in his mind. He remembered the soft feeling of the kiss he planted on her forehead. He remembered the words "I love you" leaving his lips. He remembered staring down at the sickly woman as she lay in bed. He didn't remember taking the pillow out from under her head. He didn't remember pressing it forcefully against her face. He didn't remember her arms flailing and smacking against his body. He didn't remember going back to the living room after she stopped breathing. He didn't remember falling asleep on the couch.
As he recalled it once more now, carrying Mary's body back to the car, he started to weep again. Even now he didn't understand how he could forget something so devastatingly awful. But someone once said, "Whenever something is too unpleasant, to shameful for us to entertain, we reject it. We erase it from our memories. But the imprint is always there". He thought this over as he reached the bowling alley. One step at a time, he was finding his way back. Mary's head rested against his shoulder. Her cold skin gave him goose bumps. It was a little comforting too, to be able to touch her again. He just wished that he hadn't… If only he could take it back somehow.
Back through the graveyard where James had met Angela, through the rusty gate, and up the winding path of dirt he traveled. There in the parking lot was his car. It wasn't locked because there was no reason to lock it. There was no one there to break into it. He opened up the back door and laid his slain wife in the backseat. She didn't look the way she did when she died. She wasn't sickly looking like she was when he…
The door slammed shut and James got in the driver seat. He knew he couldn't go back home again. It would be too hard for him to live with the overwhelming guilt he felt. He put his car into gear and began to drive but he didn't head home. He didn't even leave the town. "Now I understand the real reason I came to this town. I wonder what I was afraid of?" he said as he drew nearer to the lake. "Without you, Mary, I've got nothing. Now we can be together." Then suddenly his car was in the air. It seemed to go in slow motion. The car hit the water hard. James's head smacked against the steering wheel because from the sudden jerk. As the vehicle sank down, he began to read Mary's letter. Blood dripped from the injury on his forehead onto the paper while he waited to die.