His name is Omar, the bald guy with a tattoo creeping out of the collar of his jacket. I can't tell what it is but it looks big. It makes me consider the one on my left wrist, a rose with a stem. It doesn't mean anything. It's just kind of pretty looking.

Now that I've cleaned the blood off me, I feel a little less rattled. Ben is nice enough to loan me a sweater but he seems a little stand offish. I'm not sure if it's just how he is or if it's because of Andrew. Tonight has been way more than what either of us bargained for. And none of it has been my fault.

There's fuzz on the ends of the sleeves which I pull at, sitting opposite the boys who are both arched over Omar's phone screen.

Ben doesn't have any furniture except a mattress on the floor and some cushions. I've taken a cushion under me, adjusting them into some sort of make shift chair while the boys sit on the mattress. I suspect he won't be filling the room with anything other than what is already here. After all, there is no point.

"People say all sorts of stuff on the internet," Ben leans away. "That's probably fake."

"Well, I looked the guy up and apparently he's a real person," Omar explains. "He was a bioinformatics college professor in Baltimore, worked there fifteen years before he got his stag letter."

"Okay and..?" Ben shrugs.

"Charles Stewart Jr. He was all the rave three years ago when he was supposed to die," Omar pauses for dramatic effect. "But he didn't."

"And how do we know he's still alive?" I ask the obvious.

He looks at me almost like he forgot I was in the room. "There's this news report that was published by a local agency, with witness reports about people seeing Stewart days after he was supposed to die. His family moved away, yeah, but they never sold the house. Weird thing is that, nobody knows where he was buried, nobody was called to attend his funeral either. His wife made a statement when things were getting out of hand that they had a private funeral for family but nobody ever collaborated her story."

"Don't you think someone would've seen him if he was living in his old house?"

"I never said he was. Not back then, at least but why else wouldn't you put your empty place up for rent or sale?"

"Well, rich people might not feel the need to do anything about their empty house," Ben replied.

"Stewart worked in academia, he wasn't as rich as you think," Omar responded. "He had four kids and a wife, too."

"That's still not enough reason to believe he's alive," I say, pulling one of the threads from the sweater between my fingers.

He sighs before trying again, "The news article that I mentioned? It was why they called back the entire issue of the paper. Pulling back published newspapers just because of one article is strange. And the guy who wrote it never accepted that Stewart was dead, he was fired because of how adamant he was. He claimed to know where Stewart was but obviously, he was written off as a mad man."

"I get where your trying to twist this into a conspiracy but," I pause. "This isn't as solid as you think it sounds in your head."

He's quiet for a moment, staring at me with annoyance. I can tell the truth tastes bitter but it's better he realizes what he's doing before he really is out of time.

"The whole thing about stag mail," Ben rejoins the conversation. "Is that they are reliable and that they are never wrong."

"That's exactly why Stewart has gone into hiding," he clicks his tongue. "Imagine if you were the only known person who didn't die when they were supposed to. Imagine the panic it would create. The doubts and questions. If it ain't so reliable, what determines the odds? Does that mean people don't need to say goodbye to their kids or resign their jobs as soon as they get the letter?"

Ben opens his mouth to reply but Omar cuts him off. "I'd be pissed at the people sending these letters out. I'd have questions. So yes, I think Stewart is hiding because he's shit scared."

"Scared of what?" I squint my eye, dubiously.

"The company? The government? People and journalists? God, I can't say for sure."

"I've never heard of this guy," Ben says, covering his hand over his mouth as he yawns. "Like ever."

"Me neither," I concur.

"Also, what if we find this imaginary dude? Him surviving has nothing to do with what'll happen to us. People have strapped themselves to their beds because they were scared to die. And you know what happened? They still died," Ben throws his hands up.

All three of us are quiet for a while. Omar leans forward, hugging his knees while Ben stares at the ceiling light.

"I wish it was true, all of it. Trust me," Ben sighs. "I don't want to die. I want to live for my brother, see him grow up and everything. But I can't stop the universe from wanting to eliminate me. Just like all the other people who died after getting their stag mail. They were no different from me so what would make so special, that I got to survive and they didn't?"

"Those people who strapped themselves to their bed, is that how you wanna go?"

"No, of course not but I don't judge them for how they chose to deal with it."

"If it doesn't make a difference if you're in bed or on the road, then you have nothing to lose. Fuck, I don't have anything to lose. But I want to go down swinging, not in bed soiling myself," Omar pushes himself up from the low mattress, regarding me for a second.

"Where are you going?" Ben asks.

"Letting it soak in for you two," he slips his hand into his back pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. "I'll be outside, I need a smoke."

We listen to the sound of his boots eventually fade away and the front door swinging shut.

"He's locked himself out," Ben shakes his head before looking my way. "What do you think of his story?"

"It's hard to say."

"Yeah but do you really believe this Stewart is alive? And if he was, that we'd be able to find him?"

"I don't doubt that we will find him," I rephrase. "I do doubt the actual need for finding him in the first place. Stewart was a college professor, not a stag employee or something. What can he do for us?"

Ben is thoughtful for a second. "He might tell us what he did different."

I consider what he said for a while. There is some weight to it. He must have been different in some way to have survived. Otherwise, we'd be hearing about survivors all the time. But it's only Stewart who ever made the news. So, why him?

"And you're willing to put in the time to go looking for him?" I ask, crossing my legs. The cushions are starting to get uncomfortable.

"If it means more time staying alive, then maybe," he shrugs. It's clear that he's confused, almost as much as I am. And I get it. I haven't put much thought into this whole dying thing either. I stabbed Andrew in a fit of rage and I'm not even sure I can show my face out there anymore. If he's alive, he'll know where to point at for the police.

Do I even want to be around to see all of that pan out? To have mom visit me in jail for the next twenty years?

I get up and the joints in my knees crack simultaneously, feeling oddly good. Ben watches me, questioningly as if to ask where I'm going.

"I need some air, too. I'll be outside for a bit."

I leave him behind in his sad little bedroom and open the front door. Somehow the temperature outside is exactly the same as inside, just a little more humid. Omar is perched on the porch staircase railing, his boots swinging above the steps.

"Smoke?" he asks.

I've never smoked. I have wanted to in the past but I guess, I never got the chance to. It's just one of those things that you think you have forever to try but you end up, never doing it. I take it from in between his fingers and put it to my mouth without thought.

I think I sucked it in too fast through my mouth and nose that suddenly, I'm hunched over, coughing my lungs out. Fuck, that went worse than I thought it would.

He's watching me with a tint of judgement as I hand him his bud back.

"Don't," I say before he can get a word out.

"I wasn't going to say anything."

"Yeah right."

"Why are you out here anyway?" he asks, smoking effortlessly. Why do people make it look so easy?

   "Do you have a problem with it?"

"You're real confrontational, ain't you?"

"Can you blame me? You literally tailgated me back at the bar."

   "You stabbed a guy," he reminds me, softly.

I shake my head at how pointless this conversation is. I'm beginning to wonder why I even came out. Behind me, the door clicks shut and I purse my lips.

  "There goes the lock," I mumble.

"So have you guys had time to think about it? About Stewart."

"Seems too good to be true," I look him in the eyes. "And besides, what good will it do me? I stabbed a guy, remember?"

  "Maybe you got lucky and he died," he shrugged.

"Or police are reviewing tapes of my escape right as we speak while he gives them a very detailed description of where to find me."

   "What do you have to lose?" he sounds like a douche but he's right. If I go home, I'll be a sitting duck in a pond. They'll arrest me on first sight.

Ben opens the door and joins us on the porch, his keys jingling in his pants. He's pulled a fresh hoodie over his t-shirt.

  "Sup?" he pushes his hands into his pockets.

"What have you guys decided to do? Are we looking for Stewart or have I just wasted my time?" Omar asks, blowing smoke out his mouth.

  Ben wags his hand across his face, fanning the smoke away in irritation.

"You want to go to Maryland?" Ben props an eye-brow up.

   "It's barely a two hour flight from here."

"Where would we stay? Hotels suck you dry."

"Book a motel then," Omar shrugs. "We'll be there a day, two tops."

   Ben looks at me as if to ask me what I think.

"I need to get money for my brother and this trip will not help," Ben's shoulders drop. "If I had the money, I'd join you."

"How much do you have?" Omar asks, putting Ben on the spot.

   "Not enough."

"Look, if flights are too much, the bus takes $70 one way. It'll take us longer but if you can manage $150 for the journey, I can cover you for a night's stay. We can book a twin room or something, lower the cost that way."

   "You're crazy if you think I'm sharing a room with any of you. Also, I have my mom here, I can't just get up and leave," I add.

"Then don't tell her the specifics. It'll be better than waiting around to get arrested," Omar goes on. "And if you've got the money, you can take up your own room. Nobody goes to Baltimore, it will be cheap."

"I'm not so sure about that," Ben looks at his shoes as he speaks.

Omar slides off the rail, his boots landing on the steps with a gentle thud.

"So what's the verdict?" he looks between Ben and I, waiting for our final answer.

"I agree with Ben here, I don't think I can gather that much money for a whole trip," I swallow. "These things are usually more expensive than what you plan for."

"Unless we can tap into some money," Ben stirs. "It would make all of this so much easier."

"Any ideas?" Omar asks him.

Ben looks at me with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. He told me before, at the bar, what he wanted to do before dying. I pray he doesn't say it again.

"We can rob a bank," he says out loud. There we go, again.

Omar's expressions don't change. "Are you trying to get yourself blacklisted from flights and the greyhound?"

"How else would I get the money?"

This time, it's Omar whose eyes twinkle. "Ever rob a gas station? They carry more than you would think."

  "I'm out," I announce, starting for the steps. "I'm probably already on the database after tonight."

"Hold on," Ben says, making me stop and turn. "So if you help me out with this and we score good, I'll go to Baltimore with you."

"Done deal. What about you, stabby? You sure you want out?" Omar turns to me. I'm a little thrown off by the condescending nickname but I choose to ignore it.

  "What will I get from him robbing a gas station or you finding your professor?"

They're quiet for a moment before Omar shrugs,

"I don't know but you might regret it if this all works out and you're not there to see it. You might make some money to leave behind for your mom if all else fails."

"And if we get caught? I'll have homicide and robbery on my ass."

"Good thing you'll be dead before your trial," he takes one last puff and throws his bud under his boot, rubbing it into the dirt.

"Suppose I say yes," I say after some thought. "Do you have any place in mind?"

Ben grins, "A couple."