WORTH 50,000: DAY TWENTY-SEVEN -

[Source.]

They pack the basket. It holds figs and prosciutto and slices of fresh mozzarella and fresh bread, water from the well and red wine from the market, the wire they were missing last time, the glass bulb they need to read the energy. They start across the field holding hands. Any people from the town who happen to see them smile to themselves, because young girls need friendship, and their friendship was so beautiful. Always together. Always safe. Always staring up. In the woods they let go of each other and use their hands to keep the tree branches out of their hair and the moss out of their faces. At the door they can hear him inside. He's whimpering still, just like he had been last night. His throat must be raw with it. Before they go in they kiss each other's cheeks and promise it will work this time. It has to work this time. They're running out of places to put the bodies.