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His eyes settle on Buck. There he is, on the sunny pavement just a few feet away. His face is warm. Smeared with dirt and blood. Eddie is thrown back to small red glasses around his best friends neck, all the air in his lungs suddenly snuffed out like a candle.
I'm sorry, Eddie, he keeps saying, as Eddie's vision starts to swim. But it's not dark here, Buck's neck is red with blood instead, the pavement is warm and Eddie's mind screams with the memory of a yellow blouse in plastic.
“I'm sorry,” Buck rasps, in a twisted echo of the past.