Panic set in. What could I do? Paolo needed help, now. There was no way I could get him back to Silverton, and there was no way he could wait until three AM. I had no idea what was wrong with him, but I knew he needed a doctor.

What was the time? Paolo's phone said it was barely nine o'clock. Way too long to sit around for Henry to potentially show up. Paolo could be—he could be dead by then! No. That couldn't happen. He had done everything to help me, and I hadn't been particularly kind to him. Maybe someone was still out there, some crazy person like us, who'd come up here late, or someone who was finishing up a trip and about to head back. It was unlikely, but it wasn't impossible. Maybe even Henry was already out there.

I jumped up and left the building, stepping into a strange gray light that wasn't as dark as the interior of the shack but that possessed an eerie quality, a quiet and shadow that seemed premonition of some misfortune. This place was aptly dubbed a ghost town; I could absolutely imagine phantoms beginning to awake and drift out of decrepit doorways to roam the forested mountainsides. Soon enough, maybe Paolo would be one of them.

I sucked in a breath of cold air and shattered the quiet with a cry for help. I just yelled for anyone out there, said I needed help, begged. It seemed so pointless to just yell out into the gloom in the middle of nowhere. Tears began to form in my eyes, more from frustration than from sadness. This had happened so fast--Paolo had been perfect this whole time--where had the sickness come from? There was no purpose in what I was doing. Nobody was out there. I had to go back in and check on him.

When I got back in and felt his chest, I was relieved; he was still breathing. But his breaths were labored. He was struggling, and there was nothing I could do. I looked at his phone again--still no reception. What was the point of a stupid cellphone if it didn't work when you needed it? The tears were running down my face and I couldn't be bothered to wipe them away. I felt so helpless!

"I'm here to help!"

The voice came from outside the building, and I practically jumped out of my skin. It was a man's voice--not Henry. But it was a person!

I rushed to the door of the building. "Yes! Yes please! He's in here. He needs medical help, now!" It was so dark that I could see only the outline of someone several yards away, and while somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I should be questioning who this person was and what he was doing there I was too grateful and relieved to worry.

The man hurried into the building after me, and by the light of both our phones he checked out Paolo, felt his pulse, listened to his breathing as I had. The man was in a black or dark hoodie, dark pants, dark backpack--I made note of it. Clearly he'd chosen his attire to be less visible in the dark. In fact, even in the electronic light, he was difficult to make out. His hood was over his head, which shrouded his face in darkness. But I wasn't going to ask him who he was. At that moment, only Paolo's safety mattered, and if this person were willing to help, he must not be terrible.

"Altitude sickness, probably," he said quietly but quickly. "Could be severe; his breathing isn't great. He needs to get to a hospital."

"I don't have reception here."

"Neither do I." The man squatted by Paolo's body, silent for a moment, presumably thinking. Then he said, "We've got to get him to a lower altitude. He'll start to improve. And the closer we get him to town, the quicker we'll get service."

"But how? We can't get him down the mountain now! It's pitch black out there--"

"I drove. I have my car."

I froze where I stood. Yes, of course that was what we should do: take Paolo back down to Silverton, make sure he was all right. He was incredibly sick, and I couldn't let him go off into the night with a total stranger whose miraculous appearance was questionable at best and dangerous at worst. Of course I should go with him--of course . . . and yet, I didn't want . . . no. I couldn't stay--but if I didn't, my chances of meeting with Henry again . . .

The stranger solved my problem for me, almost as if he knew what I was thinking. "I can't take you both. Just him. You'll have to stay. I have too much luggage and equipment in the car. No room for you."

Yes! Yes. Yes yes yes. But also . . . was I a terrible person? Damnit why had I allowed myself to care about Paolo? I hadn't cared at all before, about anyone, and it had been easier. I couldn't let this stranger take Paolo away from me, but even as I thought it, I said nothing. Not a word. It was all too fast; the man heaved Paolo up onto his shoulders (a pretty incredible feat, as Paolo was definitely bigger than he was) and hauled him off into the dark. Before I could motivate myself to move, I heard the sound of an engine and the rumble of rocks under wheels as the car headed away from Animas Forks.

I literally just stood there for what felt forever, until the noise of the car had been gone for several long minutes, and my thoughts tumbled around in my head, horrible nagging voices. What had I just let happen? How could I possibly have let Paolo get taken away by that stranger, after all he'd done for me, and after the feelings I had for him? How cold was I? How unfeeling? Would any normal person have done what I'd just done? But the circumstances were so dire, I told myself. Could I have risked offending the stranger, who could choose to leave without either of us? Paolo would surely not have recovered; he could've died, even. That man, though--he couldn't have been here by accident. I mean, maybe he could've been a tourist or hiker staying late, and I just hadn't seen him when we'd arrived (I had been pretty preoccupied). Maybe he was dressed in all dark colors because . . . well, maybe it was circumstantial. He was probably a decent person, I figured. He had to have been. He wouldn't have helped Paolo if he weren't. Unless he was some sort of insane murderer . . . and why hadn't he wanted me to come with him? Too much luggage in his car? Really? He couldn't have just shoved some out to fit me because it was weird to totally leave a person behind alone in some ghost town in the middle of the night? He was going to murder Paolo! And it was my fault! But I'd do it again--let him leave me--wouldn't I? I wanted to stay . . .

Oh God! I just couldn't get the thoughts to stop. But none of it mattered anymore--they were gone, and I was here, and I couldn't go anywhere--so I started pacing through the dark room to disengage with my circulating, vicious mind.

I realized that I still held Paolo's phone in my hand. My chest tightened with shame, but I swallowed it down. It was good I'd kept it. I had the clock on there. I would know when it was 3 AM. And Henry would be here . . . maybe. And it wouldn't be a trap . . . maybe. And we would have each other again . . .

I had to distract myself. My body was shivering with the recent panic and exhilaration of everything that had just happened, and my brain was on fire with too much to focus on. It finally dawned on me just how dark this place was. The building I was in, which I hadn't really looked around yet, was more black inside than the starry night outside. Where the windows were cut into the walls, rectangles of a sort of deep, purplish light were visible. I considered using the phone's light to explore where I was a little, but then I thought better of it. Not only did I not want to use more of the device's energy than I needed too but also I wasn't so sure I wanted anyone outside to see my light. As weird as it had been that some man was out there precisely when I needed someone, I wasn't entirely sure there weren't more people out there, and I didn't want to make myself so obvious anymore.

My eyes had adjusted enough to the dark that I could make out the main room I was in--just a big square--and then a doorway in the wall opposite me. That doorway led to another room with a very dimly outlined staircase that went up to another floor, but I was unwilling to risk going up it. The room with the stairway was also missing one of its walls, which I supposed had rotted away, so the stairs were most likely unsafe. But that was all to the building I'd chosen. The floorboards creaked when I walked on them, but it otherwise felt solid enough to hold me until three. Then again, why wait here? I'd be bored to death for five-and-a-half hours. Henry hadn't said where to wait.

A sudden sense of suffocation overwhelmed me; I wanted to be out in that night air, under those stars. I exited the building through its front door and immediately felt better. Perhaps it was the warring going on in my thoughts; I'd just needed to get out into the coolness to clear my head.

The scenery was almost more breathtaking in the dark. When I'd rushed out to meet the stranger, I'd not paid much attention to what it looked like, but the sky was utterly clear, and I'd never seen so many stars in my life. In fact, I didn't even know there could be so many stars, so many beautiful stars. They reminded me of the night Henry and I had spent in the back of a pickup truck, how he'd looked up at them and said they made him feel there were answers out there, for us. The sloping landscape was pitch black in the distance, but where I was, moonlight shone enough to outline the other buildings, none of which were nearby. Paolo had said this place was an old mine town. I couldn't imagine living somewhere like this, especially because it probably got super cold in the winter.

The next couple of hours passed painfully slowly, but I managed to stay sane by wandering as much as I dared--some of the ground was difficult even in daylight, and I wasn't going to try anything dangerous in the dark. But I checked out some of the other buildings. No other people were around. There were some animal sounds more than once, and I wondered if there were wolves or bears or mountain lions; if there were, I had only my screwdriver, but I'd use it if I had to. Nothing appeared, though, and mostly I spent the time trying to distract my thoughts with the anticipation of seeing Henry again. I wasn't exactly worried about what would happen if he didn't show. I'd be disappointed, of course, but if nobody came, I'd just wait until daylight and then hike back down to Silverton. And I did think of Paolo--I did wonder how he was and pray (well, not really pray, but wish, I suppose) that he had gotten to a hospital and was recovering even as I wandered around in the cold starlit night. I missed his presence, his eyes, his arms, his laugh--but every time I began to sense remorse creeping in, I forced thoughts of Henry over it, or I bent down to pick up rocks to throw. I can't say I felt scared as I spent the time in Animas Forks; I wasn't one to believe in the supernatural, so ghost town or not, I didn't really expect to see ghosts. If the Circuit was out there, waiting to get me, I figured they would have done it by now; I was literally all alone in the wilderness, so if this were a trap, wouldn't they have already grabbed me?

The more time that passed, though, and the closer I got to potentially seeing Henry again, the more ashamed of myself I became. As much as I tried to stop thinking about Paolo, I couldn't. I kept finding my fingers tightening around his phone, as if squeezing it somehow made me closer to him. Such conflict stormed my head. I'd forgive myself, tell myself that everything was about Henry, that Henry needed saving. That this was my only chance to find him again and that Paolo had known there were risks to coming with me--it had been his choice! But then I'd remember how he looked at me, and how he was a decent person helping me for no other reason than wanting to, and for all I know he could be dead or dying or kidnapped. And who was that weird man?

What had I done?!

At last, about three hours after Paolo had been taken away, nearing midnight, I couldn't take the guilt that had been slowly building. Everything in me screamed that I was an idiot to go, but some weakness in me caved, and confident that the road was wide enough to see under the moonlight, I left the buildings I'd been wandering through and started back down the gravelly mountain road Paolo and I had hiked up hours before. I'd get to Silverton at some point. Or I'd get reception, and I'd call the nearest hospital. Honestly, I didn't know what I'd do. This was too complicated! But I couldn't take the shame of letting Paolo go. It made no sense, what I was doing, but if I didn't do it, I would lose my mind.

With literally every step I took, I considered turning around. And I did turn around about three times, but then I turned back down the road. I maybe made it a hundred yards, losing my mind the whole while, and frustration and confusion were burning my eyes, my face--everything felt hot. Had I made any good decisions in the past several days? What was happening to me? Why was I so infuriatingly insecure?

Oblivious to everything but my own feelings, I was startled beyond belief when a figure stepped out several feet in front of me, blocking my path.

"Where are you going?"

My heart stopped almost as fast as my feet had. My breathing suddenly seemed embarrassingly loud. The person in front of me was tall and covered in darkness, but there was no mistaking the voice--it was Henry.