Epilogue
Ethan wakes up with a tube in his throat.
To his left, a ventilator wheezes tired breaths directly into his chest. His skin prickles with needles. Through plugged nostrils
he smells blood and disinfectant. His thoughts swim through an anesthetic haze, and he struggles to focus his vision, first
on the fluorescent lights overhead, then on the room around him.
A shadow stands by the window.
“Hi, Ethan.”
He tries to swallow but gags on hard plastic. He can feel the endotracheal tube shifting inside his chest, an uncomfortable
pressure.
“My name is Layla Washington,” the figure says. “I’m a detective with the Stevens County Sheriff’s Department.”
He tries to speak, but his vocal cords are compressed.
“You’ve just been through major surgery, but they tell me you’re recovering. Eventually, when you’re able to talk again, I’ll
come by and take a full statement. But only when you’re rested and ready, Ethan. No rush at all. I’m just glad you’re alive.”
With cracked lips, he tries to mouth, Allie.
“I’m not here for anything procedural.”
He tries again: Allie—
“The truth is . . .” The detective smiles, warm and knowing. “The truth is I came here because I have something incredible
to show you.”
Then she leans around the ventilator to hold her phone close to Ethan’s face. Blinking with papery eyelids, he recognizes a text message chain. It’s too blurry to read, but in the lowermost left bubble, the newest text message, he can just make out three shapes.
Three words.
He blinks again and they sharpen.
WE SAVED HER