"Did you really want to outlive your girlfriend?"

That question again. He scowled, the effect ruined by his quivering jaw. "No, I didn't want to outlive her. I wanted to grow old with her. She promised." Midnight promises, like midnight kisses, with only the stars as witnesses.

"You didn't outlive her, not really," said the woman, staring up at him, her dark eyes boring into him. "You never left that car wreck."

He heard a loud snap behind him, the bonfire whining as it settled. For a second, he caught a whiff of burnt chocolate. He didn't even like chocolate, but always had some in the car for Amy. His chest constricted, like he was pinned between guardrail and steering wheel. He could feel the metal pressing into his bones.

There was a delicate pressure on his cheek as she skimmed her fingers down his jawline. Between the icy embrace of the ocean and the cool night air, his skin was numb, and there was no heat in her touch. No heat in response to that tentative touch tracing down his neck. Despite his lack of response, he held still as she aligned her body against him, wrapping her arms up over his shoulders as she leaned in.

"Only the stars as witnesses," she whispered into his mouth. He felt the weight of her kiss, flesh like frozen silk against him. He experienced the moment in texture and half numb sensations, but there was no heat in their embrace, no life. Nothing stirred in his gut or groin except the unease that crested on the salt water against the back of his neck. It felt wrong, so wrong to kiss another, to hold another.

He broke away and pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes as he tread water. The water was deeper than he realized here. He couldn't brush the bottom, only cold darkness that tugged at his veins. He could stop swimming and sink down. It would be so easy to stop.

"You're right," he said, releasing a breath. "I never left that wreck. I never moved on."

Her fingers played with the wet strands of hair at the back of his neck. "What is keeping you here?"

His brows pulled together. "What do you mean?"

"Why don't you let go? Why do you linger here?" She threaded her fingers through the hair at his nape, holding him in place.

"What--I'm here with my friends--I," he stuttered, the words halting and confused. He swallowed the rest of his answer. His guilt was a complex sailor's knot he didn't have the nerve to untangle. He never had the nerve. Not in all those months and moments since the accident. He tried to shift from her grip but her fingers held fast.

Amy once told him stories of sirens and mermaids at this beach, how they lured men to drowning. He could almost believe the strange woman in his arms was a siren, come to claim him for the sea. Wasn't it what he deserved?

That wasn't the intent he saw in her face. A muted sadness creased the lines at her mouth as she released his hair. "Are you here with your friends? Are you sure?"

"What are you talking about, they're right there--" He jerked his head in the direction of the shore. They weren't so far out as he believed, the shore a short swim away. The bonfire continued to crackle and spark, but no matter how hard Josh squinted he couldn't see the outline of their tent in the gloom. A kernel of doubt formed. He did come here with them, right? He was sure of it. He went over the evening, trying to recall the car ride here, or talking with Dan and Beth. To recall anything they talked about. He hadn't had enough beers to justify the fuzzed disconnect, not with the cold ocean sizzling against his senses. What was the last thing he remembered?

The scent of burnt chocolate overrode the bitter brine smell of the ocean. Impossible, out this far from the bonfire, the chocolate long ash, but the smell tickled the back of his throat and cut off his air. Josh's head spun so hard he clutched the strange woman to prevent himself from sinking. She held him up, though he swore he couldn't feel the disturbance of her legs kicking beneath the water.

"Why do you linger, Josh?" His attention shifted back to her mouth, her blue lips, drowned lips. His resistance fractured.

"I don't want to die," he whispered. It was the root of his guilt, a survivor's guilt, and saying the words out loud loosened the knot inside. "I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. To be with her for whatever came after. But I didn't want to die. I could feel her slipping away next to me but I couldn't follow. I held on so hard. I was so afraid." The words became thick in his mouth, choking him.

"Josh," said the woman. "You need to let go."

A shudder rippled through him. "No, I can't."

She pulled him closer, cold body to cold body. There was no heat in him, no warmth. The cold sank into his bones. She pressed her frozen lips to his ear. "Try to remember. You never left the car."

"Josh."

He looked up. Amy sat next to him, struggling to breathe. They'd been coming home, from Dan and Beth's, when the truck swerved into them. The car was full of smoke. He struggled to move, and found himself pinned. Between steering wheel and guardrail, the guardrail through him. He couldn't feel his body anymore. Amy sobbed his name. He could see her hand on his arm. Couldn't feel it, couldn't feel anything. Couldn't breathe.

There was blood on her legs, half the engine in her lap. She coughed, calling his name. The car was burning. He could smell it, the mingling scent of oil, plastic, nylon, even chocolate. His head felt dizzy from the fumes.

"I never left the car," said Josh. He waited for a reaction, for the fear. He couldn't feel his heart pounding or skin prickling. There was nothing but the cold and the numb weight of his limbs. "Amy?"

The strange woman's smile held a hint of sadness. "Are you waiting for her?"

"Yes." Josh swallowed, forcing the word out in a hiss.

"Then, let go," she said. She pushed herself away to arm's length as her hands slid down his arms to clasp his. "Let go."

He stopped treading water. They stared at one another as they sank, maintaining eye contact until the water rose up over their heads. The only indication she still held him was the pressure of their entwined hands. Soon, that sensation vanished as the cold black pressed in on him. Drowning? There was no burning in his lungs, no need to take a breath. Would he sink in the dark forever?

He didn't realize he moved upward until he broke through the surface. He inhaled on reflex, circling, confused as his feet brushed the sandy floor. He could see the light of the bonfire from the corner of his eye, outlining a dancing figure.

"Josh, are you coming?" Amy laughed from the shore, dancing in the surf with those long tan legs in cut offs. The wind whipped her blouse and hair. The bonfire snapped and sparked behind her, welcome and warm. She was waiting for him.

Salt water dripped down his face. He turned to the shore, his outstretched fingers brushing sodden cloth.

The woman floated in front of him, silent and still. He stared at the body, the corpse, floating beside him. Blue lips, drowned lips, her pale face serene in the moonlight. Her dark hair framed in her head in writhing tendrils beneath the water. He swore there was a faint smile on her swollen features. The scent of burnt chocolate teased his nose.

"Josh?" He could feel Amy's smile like sunshine, a shot of warmth to his system. Josh headed for the shore, following the scent of burnt chocolate and woodsmoke. The body sank beneath the waves.