Chapter 15
Dustin couldn't sleep.
It had nothing to do with what Greg had told him at dinner. He wasn't thinking about the teaspoon of soul or the notebook full of last words. Nor was he thinking about the way Greg's face had shuttered when Dustin asked if he'd ever let himself want anything else.
Nope, his insomnia had nothing to do with any of that at all.
Marco Adelmo Reyes-Ybarra (Denver) was easier to find on the internet than Sarah had been.
Dustin found out that he was a retired electrician.
There was a mention in a local newspaper from twenty years ago about a union dispute.
There was also a Facebook page with the privacy settings cranked up, though the profile picture was visible: a heavyset man with a gray mustache, squinting at the camera like he wasn't sure why someone was pointing a phone at him.
Dustin clicked through to what little he could see. There were only a few public posts, years apart. A photo of a fish he'd caught, captioned simply: Big one. A birthday message to someone named David that had gotten zero replies.
The most recent post was from eight months ago: Moved to new apartment, loving the quiet neighborhood. I could use a couch if anyone's getting rid of one.
Three likes. No comments.
Dustin stared at the screen for a long moment.
The man was sixty-seven years old. He was in a hospital, probably alone. And tomorrow, sometime between 11:23 and 11:30 AM, something was going to happen in room 4W-12 that would end his life.
Dustin leaned back and stared at the ceiling.
This wasn't like Sarah Meadows. Dustin wouldn't be able to jump in front of a truck for him. If Marco was dying of organ failure, if his body was just... giving out... then what was Dustin supposed to do?
Yell at his kidneys?
Yeah, right.
But there was still a chance that Marco's death would be caused by a nurse or doctor making a mistake.
Maybe someone would administer the wrong medication or miss a warning sign.
Maybe the doctors would be slow to respond to a code.
Maybe there was a piece of equipment that would malfunction at exactly the wrong moment.
The odds that Dustin could affect any of those things were low. Less than ten percent, probably. Maybe less than five.
But not zero.
And he knew himself well enough to know he wouldn't find peace unless he tried.
Dustin sat back on his bed and exhaled.
He needed a distraction. Before he could stop himself, he opened his email.
The first unread message was from Apex Energy.
From: Apex Energy Partnership Team Subject: Expanded Collaboration Opportunity + Exciting Merch News!
Hi Dustin!
Just following up on our previous message about expanding our partnership. We're thrilled to announce that our new Xtreme Doug merchandise line is launching next month, and we've shipped a box of samples directly to your home address!
The collection includes:
·Xtreme Doug keychains (rubber, collectible, very squeezable!)
·Xtreme Doug phone grips
·Limited edition Xtreme Doug plushies (12” and 24” sizes)
We'd love to discuss promotional opportunities and get your input on the upcoming campaign. Maybe a fun unboxing video? Our analytics team thinks your audience would really respond to something lighthearted after the recent incident. Turn lemons into lemonade!
Let us know your thoughts!
Go longer, go harder, go Apex!
Dustin read it twice.
Rubber ducky keychains. They were sending him rubber ducky keychains. And they wanted him to do an unboxing video.
He should close the laptop. Go to sleep. Deal with this tomorrow.
Instead, he opened Instagram.
It was worse than he'd thought.
The duck incident had legs. Someone had autotuned his “I hate that fucking duck” into a remix with a surprisingly catchy beat.
There were memes—dozens of them. His face, mid-smother, plastered next to images of rubber ducks with threatening auras.
A fan account had posted a side-by-side of him getting buried in vinyl next to a nature documentary clip of a goose attacking a jogger.
The comments were relentless.
bro got humbled by a mallard
death by sponsor is CRAZY work
Xtreme Doug: 1, Dustin: 0
I would literally pay money to see the full unedited footage
Fuck death? More like duck death lmao
the way he just DISAPPEARED under there
Our boy Dustin got Daddie'd by a Duck and I can't stop laughing
Dustin nearly threw his phone across the room after that last comment.
He needed to do something. Something big enough to get people talking about something else. Something that would remind everyone that he was the guy who laughed at gravity, not the guy who got taken out by a cartoon waterfowl with a thumbs-up.
He knew exactly what he had to do.
There was a jump he'd never done. A jump he'd never had the guts to do, if he was being honest with himself.
Devil's Needle—it was a wing-suit flight through a gap in the rock so narrow that only two people had ever pulled it off. Everyone else who'd tried had either bailed at the last second or become a cautionary tale.
He and Tyler used to watch the footage late at night. They'd argue about approaches, analyze the successful flights frame by frame, and talk about what they'd do differently.
Someday, they used to say. When we're ready.
They never got ready. Tyler died, and Dustin put Devil's Needle in a box in his head labeled things that don't matter anymore and never opened it again.
Until now...
Maybe it was time to find out if he really couldn't die.
Before he could talk himself out of it, Dustin hit reply on the Apex email.
You want brand visibility? How about this: I'll try the Devil's Needle jump. Look it up. It's a wingsuit flight through a gap.
Only two people have ever pulled it off. I'll be the third, and you'll get full footage. Are you salivating yet? You should be.
My terms: If I manage this, I'll wear your logo. I'll do interviews, promos, whatever you want. But I'm done with Doug. No duck on my gear. No duck on my merch. No duck anywhere near me ever again.
Let me know.
Dustin
He hit Send.
For a long moment, he just stared at his phone.
His manager would be shitting bricks when she saw this.
And Apex probably wouldn't go for it. They'd say it was too risky. They wouldn't want the liability. Their lawyers would have a stroke.
But if they did say yes…
Dustin closed his laptop and lay back on the bed.
The ceiling had the same cracks as every other motel ceiling he'd ever stared at. He traced them with his eyes, not really seeing them.
When we're ready.
“Guess I'm ready now,” he said to no one.
Sleep didn't come for a long time.
The next morning, Dustin stood in the medical supplies aisle of a Walmart, staring at a rack of scrubs.
They came in more colors than he'd expected. Various shades of blue and green. And Dustin had no idea which one would let him blend in at St. Anthony's Hospital.
He pulled out his phone and searched St. Anthony's Denver staff photos.
The results were inconclusive.
Whatever, Dustin thought, grabbing the navy. Navy felt safe. Navy said I belong here and no one should question that.
He also headed over to Walgreens to buy a stethoscope, which was probably unnecessary, but it completed the look.
No one asked him what he needed the items for, and once he had everything, he found a bathroom to change in.
Five minutes later, he emerged looking like someone who had a legitimate reason to be in a hospital. The scrubs were slightly too big and the stethoscope hung around his neck like a costume prop. But he'd learned a long time ago that confidence covered a multitude of sins.
Of course, if anyone asked him a real question, he'd be exposed in seconds, but until then…
Dustin squared his shoulders and checked the time.
10:47 AM.
The collection window opened at 11:23.
He had thirty-six minutes to get to St. Anthony's, find room 4W-12, and figure out if there was anything—anything at all—he could do to stop death from taking Marco Reyes-Ybarra.