Maverick spent four days in the hospital. He wondered how long until he was turned in to collections. Maybe he would deal with the same company handling his past due gas and electric bills? World Financial had become an integral part of his life, an angry and verbally abusive acquaintance that called on Tuesdays and Thursdays between the hours of 6pm and 9pm.

Coming home, he found the remaining portion of his trailer collapsed following a minor thunderstorm two days prior. The Monstomobile remained standing, but Maverick had no electrical access for his small AC unit.

His movements slowed. He slept more. The doctors pleaded with him to come back.

"I've talked to Dr. Hakimzadeh," Dr. Giles said. "At least have someone move in, watching you. ASAP."

Like my mother, Maverick thought. I can ignore them, stare at them with hateful eyes, like she did. They can feed me painkillers in my sleep for weeks, around the clock, waiting for an end that a hospice nurse swears will arrive any moment.

With the windows down and the humidity bearing down in the face of a coming storm, a shirtless Maverick took a breath and dialed his ex-wife.

The sweat glued him to the front seat. His nerve evaporating, Maverick almost hung up when Jet answered.

"Mav?" She asked.

"How are you?"

"Good. You home now?" She asked.

"I am. Hey, you wanna come by and talk? I just need someone to talk to." Maverick gripped the armrest.

"You wanna come here? It's roomier and there's no fire damage."

"Nah, that's fine. That's fine," Maverick said.

"Wait, okay," Jet said.

Maverick hung up.

* * *

Sleep didn't come, so Maverick saw the lights moving toward him. Jet came alone. Maverick struggled to put his shirt on.

"You here to wish me good luck?" Maverick hopped out of the truck.

"You're going back? You about died the last time," Jet said.

"Last time, that was an accident," Maverick said. "Won't happen again."

Three days. Even in the summer heat, cold managed to seep into his bones. He tried to crawl, even drag himself, but the pain tore up his legs, jumping from nerve to nerve, and dropped him.

Hunger came, but thirst overruled. His throat dry, every breath a flood of knives scrapping along the parched tissue. The heat wrung him out and every crunch of the leaves, usually the work of a small bird or squirrel, was a coming predator in search of a meal. Maverick wished for death.

"It wasn't that bad," Maverick said. "I actually needed the rest, you know?"

"You don't need to be out there. You're an old man, hell, we're all old now," Jet said. "You lost a lot of weight."

"Doc says it's coming back," Maverick said.

"You're tired. You look like you're about to pass out," Jet said.

"Healthy as I ever was." Maverick leaned on the truck.

In three days Maverick never yelled for help. He never screamed for assistance or called out to anyone. During the first two days, this was because he wanted to see it. He wanted to see the Wildman, not as silhouettes on the hill, but in the flesh. He wanted to see its eyes, the humanity in its face contrasted with the animal, the prehistoric in its ape-like form.

He wanted to see it so they would know they were wrong about his father. He wanted to say goodbye.

"I'm glad you came to see me. Don't see you much anymore without Roman hanging on, you know."

"He is my husband," Jet said. "You know we love you. So we don't want to see...you know."

"Bullshit. You don't love me." Maverick shook his head.

"I do, we both do," Jet said.

"You pity me," Maverick said.

Jet let it hang in the air, before finally agreeing with Maverick. She did pity him.

"I don't want that," Maverick said. "I don't want pity."

"Then Jesus, Mav, what do you want?"

"Fuck, I want you to love me like you did. I want you to look at me like you did-"

"And Roman?" Jet asked.

"The hell with him," Maverick said. "I know, he's my friend. But I want you, I want what we had...I just want that."

"We can't."

"Just listen!" Maverick stepped closer to Jet, who guarded herself with crossed arms.

"No, we can't," Jet said. "It does no good to talk like that."

"Even if I threw out my cameras and pushed the monstomobile into the lake? Even if I smashed my tapes and plaster casts. Everyone wants me to quit, Jet."

"Then do it!" Jet said, her anger cutting the air.

"I will. This one time. I will, right now," Maverick pleaded. "If we can go back."

Jet shook her head.

"Please, I'm serious. I'll quit, cold turkey. Right here, right now. Come on. What do you say?"

Jet was as surprised as Maverick by the tears, blurring her vision and running rivulets down her cheeks.

"What do you say? Come on, Jet," Maverick whispered, resting his forehead on hers. It wouldn't be for long, he thought.

Jet said nothing. She finally shook her head.

"Then I need to get ready," Maverick pulled away. "I have to get some sleep before I go."

Jet reached forward and grabbed his shirt, balling it up in her fist. She tugged him and he moved closer. She placed one hand on his face and then on his chest. She leaned up, cigarette smoke on her breath, and kissed him, holding her lips still against his.

"What was that?" Maverick asked as she backed away.

"I do love you." Jet's voice cracked. "Just not how you'd like."

Jet returned to her car. She backed down the drive, the lights grew small and vanished behind the trees.