Chap­ter 32 begins on an unusu­al and chill­ing morn­ing that marks a turn­ing point in Mani­ac Magee’s life. The silence in the air is unset­tling, bro­ken only by the eerie still­ness that fills the room. The space heater, which would nor­mal­ly hum to life in the ear­ly hours of the day, is silent, leav­ing the room cold­er than usu­al. Even more star­tling is the absence of Grayson, who had always been up at the crack of dawn to pre­pare break­fast. Instead, Grayson remains under his cov­ers, unmov­ing, as if lost in some deep slum­ber. Mani­ac, sens­ing that some­thing is ter­ri­bly wrong, approach­es his com­pan­ion and gen­tly shakes him, only to find that Grayson’s hand is cold to the touch. A deep chill spreads through Mani­ac as he rec­og­nizes the heart­break­ing truth—Grayson has passed away dur­ing the night. In that moment, Maniac’s ini­tial instinct is not to seek out­side help or pan­ic. Instead, he remains by Grayson’s side, hon­or­ing their shared jour­ney with qui­et reflec­tion. He speaks soft­ly to the man who had become a sur­ro­gate father fig­ure, recount­ing their mem­o­ries togeth­er, speak­ing to him as if he were still there. Mani­ac then opens one of Grayson’s beloved books and begins to read aloud, let­ting Grayson hear the words he had always trea­sured. As the evening approach­es and the weight of the loss becomes unbear­able, Mani­ac curls up beside Grayson’s mat, tears stream­ing down his face, unable to find any com­fort in the cold, emp­ty room.

The days that fol­low are filled with grief and a qui­et lone­li­ness that lingers in the air. On New Year’s Day, Grayson’s funer­al is held. Mani­ac, still pro­cess­ing the loss, shares the news with the zookeep­er, though he does so reluc­tant­ly. He has already dis­tanced him­self from oth­ers, retreat­ing into soli­tude to bet­ter cope with the loss. The funer­al itself is under­stat­ed, a sim­ple affair that feels more like an after­thought than a trib­ute to the life of the man who had meant so much to Mani­ac. Grayson’s body, placed in a hum­ble wood­en box, is car­ried by the mem­bers of the town’s san­i­ta­tion depart­ment, their pres­ence marked by the faint odor of pine and refuse. Mani­ac stands alone, hop­ing that someone—anyone—will join him, per­haps the park Super­in­ten­dent or one of the atten­dants from the sum­mer food stand, peo­ple he had come to know and trust. But no one comes. The ceme­tery is eeri­ly qui­et, save for the funer­al staff and a cou­ple of pall­bear­ers who seem detached from the grav­i­ty of the moment, off to the side and smok­ing as if they were wait­ing for a bus instead of hon­or­ing a life. Mani­ac feels the full weight of his iso­la­tion, as if he were the only one who tru­ly under­stood the impor­tance of Grayson’s life and death.

As the min­utes stretch into hours, the funer­al seems to lose its pur­pose. The pall­bear­ers, who had ini­tial­ly stood in respect­ful silence, grow increas­ing­ly agi­tat­ed as time drags on with­out any sign of the min­is­ter. What had start­ed as a somber, reflec­tive gath­er­ing now feels more like a wait­ing game. The pall­bear­ers’ con­ver­sa­tion shifts, no longer focused on the sad occa­sion but on mun­dane top­ics like dough­nuts and hot cof­fee. Their voic­es, once qui­et and rev­er­ent, now chat­ter casu­al­ly, cre­at­ing a stark con­trast to the seri­ous­ness of the event. As more time pass­es with no min­is­ter in sight, the mood shifts from frus­tra­tion to open impa­tience. The pall­bear­ers even begin to hint at leav­ing, mur­mur­ing that if the min­is­ter doesn’t arrive soon, they will go home. This con­ver­sa­tion, which might have been a dis­trac­tion under nor­mal cir­cum­stances, feels like a betray­al to Mani­ac, whose heart is heavy with grief. The lack of respect for the cer­e­mo­ny only deep­ens his sense of loss, leav­ing him feel­ing even more dis­con­nect­ed from the event.

Over­come with emo­tion and dis­il­lu­sioned by the casu­al­ness sur­round­ing Grayson’s final moments, Mani­ac can no longer bear to stay. The weight of the sit­u­a­tion press­es on him, and he real­izes that wit­ness­ing the rest of the funer­al will only add to his sor­row. Feel­ing over­whelmed, he turns and begins to run. As he moves far­ther away from the ceme­tery, the sounds of the pall­bear­ers’ voic­es fade behind him, replaced by the sound of his own foot­steps echo­ing in the still­ness. Mani­ac runs not just from the cer­e­mo­ny but from the over­whelm­ing grief that has tak­en root in his heart. His deci­sion to run rep­re­sents more than a phys­i­cal escape—it is a sym­bol­ic act of dis­tanc­ing him­self from the harsh real­i­ty that Grayson is tru­ly gone. It is a moment of pro­found iso­la­tion, as Mani­ac faces a world that feels dis­tant and cold with­out the one per­son who had tru­ly under­stood him.