It was hours after they had found his body in the lake, but the image refused to leave his head. Every time he closed his eyes, he pictured Troy’s lifeless eyes, hidden under the two pennies. The image was unsettling, and it kept sleep from approaching. Guilt also kept Henry awake. It wasn’t his fault Troy was dead. The blame for that rested squarely with whoever had killed him. But it was his fault that Troy hadn’t been saved. Tossing and turning beneath the covers, Henry thought of all the scenarios in which the quarterback might have lived. If only he had grabbed the fax sooner. If only he had sprinted faster on Main Street. If only he hadn’t argued with Kat before she let him tag along. Had they happened, those events could have rescued Troy Gunzelman from the clutches of a killer. If only. Henry was accustomed to such thinking. It was a constant in the past five years. If only he had consumed one less beer. If only they had waited out the storm instead of plunging into the thick of it.
