Thank you, everyone who's reading! And a great, big thank you to all who reviewed! I think you should know just how very awesome you all are.

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Chapter 2

That Friday, Zach took him out for a couple of beers, just the two of them. After a week of working long hours, Zach had crashed the moment he got home from his job, and three hours later, he'd woken up in a sweat and stumbled into the living room. He made the offer the instant he saw Sam staring at the television screen.Once he saw his ashen face, Sam almost declined, having a sinking suspicion that he knew what the topic of the evening would be.

But then he realized that if he found a way to release his pain from Jessica's death in those missing eight months, he didn't remember it. That pain still felt fresh, locked up in his mind where it was slowly fermenting.

So maybe they would both benefit from a two-person sorrow party.

"What do you remember?" Zach eventually asked him through the dull roar of speaker music. They were three beers into the evening, and it was the first time he broached the subject.

It felt strange, uncomfortable to Sam. He and Zach were good friends, had been since Sam was a sophomore and Zach a junior. But they were never that close. Yet, here they were, sharing intimately horrifying experiences. It created an automatic link, one that no one else would, or should, ever have.

But Sam couldn't get past the fact that he was nothing more than a friend. His mind insisted on forcing that distinction.

Sam guzzled the rest of his beer, about three mouthfuls worth, before he answered. Zach's question was vague, but Sam knew what he meant. "I don't," he finally admitted. "I mean, my mind is so messed up, I don't—I can't tell what was real and what's just a nightmare. I know Jess...I know she was trapped somehow, and I couldn't get to her. I keep imagining her on the ceiling, but I know that's just—I mean, no wonder I had a mental breakdown."

He snorted miserably. He didn't want to continue, but he couldn't force himself to stop. "The fire, it almost...exploded somehow. And then she was gone."

Zach nodded, picking at the label of his empty bottle. The waitress rolled by, and he indicated another round. Sam wanted something a stronger, but figured that would only make things worse.

"Do you remember how you got out?" Zach asked, failing to keep the curiosity from his voice.

Sam shook his head. "Barely. I kept screaming at Jessica, that was all I could do. I think someone came in and dragged me out, but I wasn't really paying attention, you know?" He frowned at the memory. "I probably didn't even thank him. Or her," he added, drawing a blank on his rescuer's face or even body shape.

Zach grabbed one of the fresh bottles the waitress set on their table. Sam took the other one, and brought it to his lips without taking a sip. "What about you? I mean, like, what did you see?" Once he got that out, he took a gulp.

"I was the one who found her," Zach replied darkly. "Man, I can still see it, every time I close my eyes. Tied to a chair, covered in blood, her eyes half-open but completely dead." He shuddered, barely able to finish before his voice cracked.

Sam shuddered with him.When he learned some of the horrific details from Rebecca, he was left wondering why Zach hadn't been the one to lose it. He had more right to than Sam. Sam lost his loved one to an apartment fire – that was enough to scar anybody - but Zach saw his loved one tortured and slashed to death. Sam couldn't even imagine that horror.

Zach's deep voice tore him from his thoughts. "We shouldn't have to be dealing with this, Sam. That shouldn't have happened to them," he said thickly.

Sam nodded in agreement, feeling a weight press into his shoulders, a pressure wrap around his heart. He felt eyes on him, and he looked up to find Zach studying him, looking as if he wanted to say something. He waited, not sure if he wanted to hear whatever he had to say.

Zach finally sighed. "You know, I never got the chance to thank someone for saving my life, either."

Sam looked at him, startled. That was not what he had expected to hear. "You almost died?"

"No, not exactly. But..." He shook his head slowly. "I was this close to spending the rest of my life locked up for murder. So yeah, my life was saved."

Sam's eyes widened.

"I—I remember hearing that! What the hell happened?" He hadn't remembered until just now that Zach had been a suspect in Emily's death. It stunned him that he knew the beginning of his story but not the end. Was that a memory he forgotten, or had he been so far gone he hadn't bothered with it? Sam sincerely hoped it was the former. He could deal with a faulty mind, but not with being a lousy person.

A moment passed before Zach answered. "They caught the real killer." It was an abrupt explanation, and Sam could tell there was something more to the story. But if Zach didn't want to explain, Sam didn't have the energy to press him.

"Good. Glad to hear that," Sam replied lamely, unsure of what to say. He blinked a couple of times and then squinted his eyes. His head felt dull and his stomach churned.

"God, this sucks." Here they were, two friends sharing a few bears and wallowing in their misery, suffering from a pair of losses no one should have to endure. Meanwhile the world continued on, yanking them along with it, when Sam wasn't ready for it. "This all sucks."

After a pause, Zach gave himself a visible shake. He met Sam's eye and raised his bottle towards him. "Here's to their memory. We will never forget." Sam clinked his bottle with his.

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Sam finally came up with a word for the wrongness he felt whenever he tried to think back to the time he had lost. It wasn't the perfect term, but it was the closest he could come to describing the feeling. Darkness. Whenever he tried to dig into the back of his mind, all he could sense was darkness.

So he hadn't press too hard, afraid of what he would find hidden there. Afraid of what he had done in those eight months that had been so horrible his mind repressed the memories. He hesitated, not wanting to explore that blackness.

But after his life had started to settle, he started to grow brave, and curious.

He finally felt he was ready to ask questions, starting with the night he showed up at the Warrens' door. It turned out Zach had been away when Sam arrived so Sam had to wait until Rebecca came home. A few restless hours later, he was finally able to corner her in the kitchen. As they sat at the table, she reluctantly agreed to help him, but she warned him there wasn't much to tell.

His first question was a basic one. "How did I get here?" he asked her.

Unfortunately, he didn't get an answer. Rebecca shook her head and shrugged. "I couldn't tell you."

Sam frowned, disgruntled. "You don't have any idea? The bus station is on the other side of town--did I look like I walked the entire way?"

"Not really..." she said, looking sheepishly unsure.

"You didn't see a taxi?" She shook her head in answer.

"Well, I didn't drive here, right?" If he had, a car would have been parked outside somewhere.

"No, you didn't."

Sam bit his lip. Would he have hitchhiked? That seemed awfully dangerous to him, but who knows what frame of mind he had been in. He was just about to ask when Rebecca stopped him. "I wish I could help you, but I didn't see how you got here."

Suppressing a sigh, he tried another angle. "Okay, how did I explain the cut on my back? Or was I already passed out when you treated it?"

Rebecca started at that. "What cut?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowing together.

"When I woke up, there was a big bandage on my back." His eyes widened and he tilted his head. "You mean you didn't put that there?"

"No," she said. "Uh, maybe you did."

Sam dismissed that with a shake of his head. "No, it was on my shoulder blade—I doubt I could have reached that and made it so neat." He looked at her. "So who did then?"

She looked away. "Sam, I...I just don't havethose answers for you." The frustration in her voice was enough to warn him not to continue.

"All right," he relented with a sigh. "You said I was out of it. I wasn't drunk, was I?"

"No," she replied.

This was getting ridiculous. Sam felt like he was a panelist on an old gameshow, one who had to ask the right questions to come up with the mystery answer.

"Well, did I act like I was drugged? Sick? Crazy?" He pushed forward, undeterred. "Was I confused? Could you tell if I was-"

Rebecca shook her head again, her movements growing more jerky, restless. "No, no! Nothing like that." She shifted in her seat, pushing herself back against the chair as she brushed her hair off of her forehead.

Sam leaned forward in retaliation. "What did I say? What were my exact words?"

"I don't know!" she burst out.

Stunned, Sam stared at her, gritting his teeth, wondering what had just happened. Rebecca was almost near tears, and Sam had rarely felt so frustrated.

He knew was getting nowhere. "Is there anything, anything at all you can tell me about that night?" he finally asked, forcing his voice to be soft.

"I'm sorry, Sam," she replied, looking down.

After that, Sam stopped asking.

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