Late at night in a motel, Vincent describes lying on top of the covers, still charged with adrenaline from the murders earlier that evening. He notes he is wearing a clean T-shirt and recalls removing the shirt he had worn to school and the carnival, which was covered in blood but still smelled of detergent, and burning it to ash under a pile of trash.

Through the thin walls, Vincent hears his mother sobbing and his father trying to console her. The relentless sound grates on him, and he recalls her habitual plea for quiet with bitter irony, thinking it will no longer be needed. He stares at the ceiling, head throbbing where Danny slammed his head into a wall, and cannot calm his pounding heart.

Vincent imagines police combing the family home, the bodies already removed without sirens, and the large pools of blood left behind in the hallway and Poppy’s room. He doubts the stains will ever come out and hopes the family never returns to the house. He believes investigators will gather clues but will not perceive “the truth,” implying there are facts he is withholding.

He reflects on his new status within the family: that morning he had been the volatile middle child, but by night he was the only sibling left, already unbearable for his parents to look at because he reminds them of Danny and Poppy. His mother’s crying swells again, making their presence and tragedy known to everyone in the motel.

Vincent forces himself not to think about Poppy’s final moments and instead focuses on Danny’s struggle, recalling that he nearly died in the hallway during the attack. He closes with a secret he vows never to say aloud: he is not sad about Danny’s death and is glad Danny is dead.