I started awake the sound of a high pitch wine ringing in my ears. The constant reassuring sound of the heart monitor was gone, silenced by the rising sun that illuminated the room through the open window. I shot, up, panic-stricken, running to the heart monitor machine. No, no, no, this can't be happening, he can't die, he can't. I started tapping on the glass of the screen, but the flatline didn't falter. Then I started banging on it real hard and accidentally shoved my fist through the glass. My fist started gushing blood everywhere, now covered with cuts from the glass. But I didn't care, I went back to Allie's side and started shaking his arm more vigorously than you should shake a very sick person. The whole world went echoey and muffled, the floor swooping in and out and the edge of my vision went black.

And then somehow I ended up in the garage, smashing the windows. The only thought in my head was "he's dead, he's dead, he's dead". I don't even remember coming into the garage I was just suddenly there, as if I teleported. I almost broke the windows on the station wagon, too, but by the time I broke all the other windows my hand was nothing but a shred of skin and broken bones I couldn't. With nothing else to break, and with my hands all a wreck, I was so exhausted I fell asleep in the garage, curled around what was left of my hands.

When I woke up Mom was there and Dad and D. B. and they were holding me and telling me it was okay, but I didn't listen. I started yelling and crying again

"I'm sorry Allie, I'm sorry I didn't let you go BB gun hunting with me, I'm sorry I never let you go with us, I'm so sorry Allie, I'm sorry!" They all must have thought I was crazy because nothing I was yelling made any damn sense. Maybe I was crazy.