Shoulders drooping, sagging with exhaustion, Preacher dropped down beside Debbie with a pained groan. Panic rose inside her as she wondered what she should say. Nothing she came up with sounded right, or nearly enough.
"Just the one room?" he asked. His voice was rough as if he'd spent the last several hours shouting.
"Two. And mine." Debbie dug a key out of her jeans pocket and showed it to him. Jim had paid for two motel rooms before leaving with the van, after which she'd taken the initiative to purchase a third room with her own money.
"I didn't want to bother anyone," she finished softly.
Preacher slumped forward on his knees, and his eyes found hers. Seeing the suffering look on his face, her heart thudded painfully in her chest. Instinctively she wanted to reach out and touch him, and instead closed her hand tightly around the key, squeezing to the point of pain.
"Preacher." His name was a hoarse whisper on her lips. "I … I … " She trailed off, and her eyes filled with tears. Quickly glancing away, she silently cursed herself.
Debbie jerked when Preacher unexpectedly placed his hand over hers and gently pried open her fingers. Taking the key, he glanced over his shoulder. "Lemme tell them where we'll be."
Minutes later, inside Debbie's room, Preacher fell back against the door and stared across the room as if he were drugged, looking like he might topple over at any moment.
Debbie set her backpack on the floor and took a hesitant seat on a bed. She stared at Preacher, tears still burning in her eyes, and at a loss for how to help him.
"Doc was alive." Preacher's eyes blinked furiously, and his voice was brittle and weak. "A woman found him crawlin' across the campsite, bleedin', tryin' to talk. She ran for help, but-"
He shook his head, let out a hoarse sigh, and slid down the door all the way to the floor "He was gone by the time the park rangers got to him."
Debbie continued to watch him, desperately wanting to touch him, hold him, comfort him in any way she could. Second-guessing herself every other second, and unsure of what he needed, she remained where she was, with her fists clenched tightly in her lap.
"Nobody saw anything," he continued. "Nobody saw anything, and no one knows jack shit." Preacher's head lolled back and rolled across the door. Their gazes collided. "How's that work? A whole fuckin' park full of people and no one saw a goddamn thing?"
"I'm sorry," Debbie whispered, and instantly wished her words back. Cringing, she closed her eyes. What was she thinking? I'm sorry wasn't good enough. I'm sorry was useless and trivial. People apologized when they spilled a drink or cut in line-not when someone's parents were murdered. Feeling wetness on her cheek, Debbie swiped her hand quickly across her face, wiping away the tears she had no right to cry.
When she opened her eyes again, Preacher was still staring at her. Just staring and breathing-harsh, ragged breaths that sounded as if his lungs were crumbling.
"I can't get it to stick," he croaked. "Every time I try to think it, it doesn't make sense. It won't stick."
He looked away, his haunted gaze finding a blank wall. "They're gone. But how the fuck can they be gone? I just saw ‘em-how can they be gone?"
Filled with grief for Preacher, Debbie had to fight to keep from sobbing.
"How's that work exactly?" he shouted, and shot to his feet. "They were there, right fuckin' there when we left, and now they're just gone?"
Ashen-faced, his hands running violently through his hair, Preacher glanced aimlessly around the room. "How's that fuckin' work?" he demanded.
He turned and faced Debbie, desperation and agony further distorting his bruised and swollen features. And her heart wrenched at the sight of him.
Debbie stood and stepped slowly toward him. She didn't have any idea what she was going to say or do once she reached him; she only knew that she needed to reach him.
Preacher watched her approach, glancing from her face to the hand she was offering him when suddenly an anguished groan flew past his lips and he spun away, sending his fist barreling into the wall closest to him.
Debbie scrambled backward, her hand flying to her mouth, while Preacher continued to punch the wall. And then proceeded to tear the room apart.
When he reached her, a trail of destruction behind him, his chest heaving with heavy, labored breaths, blood gushing from his shredded knuckles, Debbie thought he might tear her apart, too.
Instead, he collapsed at her feet.
Debbie dropped down beside him and threw her arms around his neck. Half expecting him to push her away, she was surprised when he pulled her into his lap instead, buried his face in her neck, and began to cry.