Page 45 of Bones and Ashes

But I'll take it.

"Send me the pin," I say.

"Appreciated." Then he ends the call without announcin' it.

My phone buzzes once. A little blue dot droppin' onto a map somewhere off the 200, out past where the road stops meanin' anything. I stare at it for a second. Just a dot. Just a dot that's gonna cost me somethin' I can't name yet.

I thumb over to Diesel.

Three rings.

"Well if it ain't my better half. What's the matter, Demon, miss me already? We split up what, two hours ago? You sittin' in that big ol' ranch house cryin' into a napkin without me?"

"Shut the fuck up."

"There he is."

I almost smile. I don't. "Listen, we gotta handle somethin'. Don't ask me questions tonight, OK? Not tonight. I'll be back in the mornin’, we can talk then."

"Well, shit. Now you got me worried."

"Nothin' to worry about. Well… for now. But we will have to talk tomorrow."

A beat. Then… "Shiiiit."

He knows. He knew, before I even killed Brick, that gettin' out wasn't that easy.

Nothin' has changed.

"Yeah," I say. "But again, not tonight. It's a very small ask. There's a flat tire that needs changin' out south of 200 between Terry and Fallon. Pin's comin'. Call me when it's done."

"How many men, do you figure?"

"Two. Make it Ratchet and Crow. I don't care where they are, it's Ratchet and Crow. You got me?"

"I got ya."

"Talk soon."

We end the call.

I set the phone face-down on the marble, run the tap, and splash my face with water. When I come up and look in the mirror, I don't know who that man starin' back is.

I feel like I dropped myself off somewhere and never bothered to pick him back up. Just left him waitin' in a parkin' lot somewhere.

I know what I used to look like. Eleanor made sure of that. And it wasn't this.

Because what I see starin' back at me is a man in his early thirties who doesn't look a single fuckin' thing like the man he was ten years ago.

That's what killed me about lookin' at my book down in that photo vault.

It was… the happiness.

Mostly in that last picture of me and Eleanor in the Ashby truck, on our way to the Mayo Clinic for her treatment.

Her last treatment. Though neither of us knew it at the time. She gave up after that one. We got bad news that visit. Nothin' was workin'. It was never gonna work.

I think that might've been the switch.