He could feel his old self sink into the field as he walked away, and the person he was about to become rose up to enter into the same blood and bones. He got into his truck and drove to Hell's Pond, the place where she'd taken him when the world seemed so splendid and he was certain he'd have what he wanted. He got out, but he left the engine running; he wedged a rock against the gas pedal, then leapt away as the truck lurched into the waters. Already, the rain was nothing more than a drizzle, gray and heartless and cold. He stood there in a bank of pickerelweed and wool grass, breathing hard as everything he'd ever been disappeared. His wallet and identification were stowed in the glove compartment, and thinking about the way he'd lost himself, he was as sober as he'd ever been in his life.