When Davis pulled the car around to drive us back across the lake, I told them I was going to walk. They asked me whether I wanted company, but knew already that I wanted to be alone.
Are you going to be alright? Timothy asked. You went a little crazy in there.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do next, I said.
Timothy suggested I try writing something. A murder mystery, maybe, he said. A proper one. With an actual murder.
We stood there awkwardly and I said I should be going. Davis came over and gave me a hug.
Perhaps you should see someone, bro, he said. I think you might be depressed.