“She’ll be there,” he said. “Go back.”
“I don’t think so,” the man said.
His blue jeans were nearly black with slime. His flannel shirt was a cold film of sponge around his body.
“I can’t.”
“What’s the worst that can happen?”
“She won’t be there, and I’ll fall in again.”
“Okay — and what’s something great that could happen?”
“I’ll find her.”
“Then go back!”
“Okay,” he said.
His chin rose, as if pulled by a string, and he turned walked back to the path and into the blackened woods.
