Emily Wahhsted to Dr. Cal Curtis: Zach says he took the rifle and went out and sat on a deck chair. As he sat there, he says, he wondered what I might think when I came home and found his body. I guess some tiny part of him realized that I “might be upset.” The blood on Alan’s face looks kinda like chocolate sauce, the kind you put on ice cream. I wish I had a chocolate sundae right now. The phone rings. A loud voice booms from outside: “ARE YOU ALL RIGHT IN THERE? IS EVERYONE ALL RIGHT? THAT WAS A MISTAKE! PICK UP THE PHONE!” The phone keeps ringing. Joey just stands frozen, staring at Alan, so I grab the phone. A voice asks, “Is everybody okay?” He sounds scared. I say, “Alan’s holding his head—he’s bloody!” “Oh, God,” the voice says back. Alan stands up, brushing off the side of his face. Little pieces of wood fall away. The bullet shattered the wall right next to where Alan’s head was. Splinters are sticking into his face, making bloody spots. I say into the phone, “Alan’s face is bleeding.”
