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April 21, 2008

“Holy shit! Get up Ethan, you’ve got to check this out!”

For a moment, Ethan thought that the voice belonged to Holly, but then it all came back to him and he had to fight to keep from crying. Holly was dead, killed in the massacre. Other than that, all he knew was that his head felt like it had something tunneling through it and that it was way too fucking bright. If anything, he wished the headache was worse, anything would have been better than thinking about her.

“What is it?” he asked, crawling out of the unfamiliar bed to find Linden, Holly’s best friend sitting on the couch. She was clicking through the newspapers on the screen that took up most of the wall. He panicked, wondering what he had done, but then realized that he was still fully clothed.

“Oh, you’re up. Here,” she said, and changed tabs on the screen. “Isn’t that cool?” It was a picture of him. Holding a length of pipe above his head. Then he noticed the headline.

Mob attacks National Guard Barracks, 38 Dead

“Is that . . .”

“You don’t remember? Shit, Holly always said that you couldn’t hold your liquor, but . . . damn.”

The mention of Holly’s name hit her like it had hit him, he could see it in her face. He wanted to go over and give her a hug, or squeeze her hand, or something, anything. But he couldn’t. So he looked at the screen, instead, and tried to pretend that her suffering didn’t exist.

Whatever it was that was happening, he was a part of it now.

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