Everyone climbs out (Late Nate's back in his traditional three-piece, of course) and Nate admires the crashing waves. "I'm going in," Nate says, removing his shirt. "Up to you," Late Nate says. David warns him not to, and Nate reminds him as he that that's what they came for. As he runs toward the surf, David calls after him that there might be sharks.
Suddenly all the colors go kind of muddy and Late Nate says to David -- who's suddenly clean-shaven, clean-cut, back in his suit, and uptight as hell, like we all know him -- "Why don't you join him?" "Why don't you join him?" David snits back. I think we're in David's dream now. Nate yells back to David, "You've gotta try this! It's so fucking warm!" But does it reek of brimstone? He dives into the breakers and disappears. His brother stands on the beach watching nervously, waiting for him to come up. But before he does, Late Nate throws an arm around David's shoulder and waves a pipe under his nose, asking, "Wanna smoke some crack?"
Close-up on David's startled-awake face as the dream ends with Late Nate's evil cackle. David fell asleep watching TV, but he's just noticed the sound of the alarm on Nate's EKG. The screen shows a zero and a long flat line. As for Nate himself, his face has gone slack, and his eyes are once again standing open, staring at nothing. David says Nate's name and tries to shake him awake, but doesn't panic or call for a nurse. Or even get out of his chair, for that matter. I guess he realizes it's already too late. This hospital sucks. Either that, or they got my check. Slowest, longest fade to white ever.
And if I weren't already convinced that the last moments of that dream were David's, the clincher is that if there's a God, Nathaniel Samuel Fisher, Jr. (1965-2005) is now melting in Hell.