But Matthew wasn’t listening. He turned the shotgun on himself, tilting his head back and pressing the barrel under his chin. His eyes flicked to Crystal. “You should do the same,” he said. “It’s better this way.” He pulled the trigger. The top of his head split open, the blast tearing a hole in the roof of the tent, revealing unblemished blue skies through the twists and vines of the tree tops.
Holy shit.
