American Rust

1. Isaac

The cop hadn’t pursued him and he could hear the sirens of a second and then a third car and he guessed they had caught the Baron. Back to the canal. Get the pack. Minute or two at most—he’ll be trying to explain what he’s doing with all that cash.

He crossed a few residential streets without seeing anyone. It was quiet, early morning, the sun wasn’t quite up. There’s the park—the canal is in those trees. But where’s that clearing? When he reached the treeline he hunkered down in the brush, trying to figure out where he was in relation to where he’d left his backpack. Sirens still coming. At least four cars now. Shouldn’t have chased him in the open like that.

You could have gotten him with the knife when you sat up but you grabbed his coat instead. That’s stupid to think about. No, it was a choice. Don’t pretend it wasn’t. There was a car coming and he crouched lower in the brush, watching a police cruiser race up the road he’d just crossed, lights flashing. Closer than you thought. They do this for a living. Forget the pack.

He didn’t want to move. I’m well hidden, I can stay here until they leave. No, he thought, get up. Get further into those trees and get away from here. Stand up. Alright. I’m doing it. He stood up. Through the trees it was twenty yards to the canal and once he reached it, he began walking through the thin woods, away from the north end of the park, away from the road where he’d chased the Baron. Where did you leave the pack? Where is that clearing?

On the other side of the canal was a broad public lawn, and up ahead, on his side, he could now see where the trees ended—a grassy common area behind a row of houses. The pack is behind you. Know where it is now. There were other sirens in the distance and the closest sirens had already stopped. How many cars is that, he thought. Six. Maybe seven. A man armed with a knife—that’s you. You need to keep going, you don’t have time for the pack.

He felt a despair wash over him. Need to think a minute. No one can see me here. Alright, the pack is gone—accept that. Change the way you look, they saw a coat and black watch cap. Fine, he thought, it’s progress. He stripped off his coat and hat and tossed them into the canal, along with the sheath for the knife. Better—brown sweater with a blue flannel shirt. Tuck in the shirt and pull the collar above the sweater. Schoolkid look. Christ it’s even colder. Twenty- five degrees, maybe. Better that than arrested.

He stood numbly for a few seconds, glancing at the houses up ahead and the blue lights flashing behind him at the edge of the park. Forget the pack, he told himself again. Best- case scenario is you get out of here without handcuffs. Get your head straight. Don’t walk too fast.

He crossed from the woods into the open area, fifty yards behind the row of single- family houses. Looking casual. Out for a stroll. Morning air clears the head. Hope no one’s looking out a window. Christ you couldn’t have done worse—big park on the other side. Half- mile visibility. Don’t look nervous. Pray for late risers. He’ll tell them you chased him with a knife, attempted murder. Who’ll believe you? Shouldn’t have brought it in the first place.

You are stupid. He could feel tears welling up in him. You could have gotten away the first time you woke up, then you’d have the money and the notebooks and everything else. I was so tired, he thought. No, you were stupid. This is the second time. No more mistakes.

On the other side there was a large public gazebo and two women jogging. Witnesses. Except the kid will make it. He refuses to do anything the easy way. Too far to see your face. More blue lights coming from the trailer park now—they’re on your scent.

He was near a large storage building, there were blue lights reflecting on the wall, he looked around behind him and on the other side of the park, a few hundred yards away, a cop car was driving slowly across the lawn, approaching the two joggers. Does he see you? No. Run or walk? Just keep going.

He ducked behind the building and kept going along the canal but there were more houses on the other side, he could clearly see a man in his kitchen, standing at his counter drinking coffee in his boxer shorts. These early risers are going to fuck you. No he doesn’t see you. Lost in his own worries.

A few hundred yards later he crossed a train trestle over the canal, it was a broad railroad cut with half a dozen sets of tracks. Now you’re south of the steelmill. You are going to be fine. Stick to the smaller streets and you’ll be fine. See them before they see you.

He’d been walking maybe an hour when he came to a wide boulevard, there was a shopping mall ahead of him and heavy traffic, rush hour, it was an overcast day. Even worse than the Mon Valley. Middle of April and just like winter. Meanwhile here comes a bus. Crowd of people. That is your bus. Get across this street and you’ll make it, where’s your wallet?

Jogging across the road, he arrived behind the idling bus and got in line with the others. A few people turned to look at him. No coat and the bruises on your face, up to no good, they can smell it. Shirt and sweater wrinkled and your pants filthy. Not to mention you’re white. He made himself fixate on a stain on the curb and soon enough people stopped looking at him. In through the nose and out through the mouth. The Homicide Kid is headed south. The entire precinct after him, he gives them the slip. Day of the Jackal. Walks casually onto a bus.

There were no seats left and he found a place in the middle and stood. Warm in here. Where do I get off? How much money do I have? He tried to think. Nine bucks after the bus fare. A few meals’ worth. Ride this till the end—put as much distance as possible. The bus went on forever, traffic was slow, he was drowsy. People got off and he found a seat. After a while he realized the bus hadn’t moved for a long time. He opened his eyes and it was empty and the driver was looking at him in the big mirror. Isaac nodded and got off and looked around.

How far did you come? Ten miles maybe. Different world here. It was very green and the houses were large with hedges or stone walls in front of their yards. He passed athletic fields, stone buildings, a school of some kind. A handful of boys, fourteen or sixteen years old and wearing blue blazers, were smoking between classes. He nodded to them and all but the oldest boy looked away. Prefer you didn’t exist. That is their desire— stop making me uncomfortable.

A block later he slowed to inspect himself in a car window. Surprise, you aren’t any cleaner. Look like a street kid. Which you are.

He kept his eye out for cops but nothing happened. Hungry again. Doesn’t matter. He walked aimlessly, turning down streets at random, trying to guess the position of the sun in the overcast sky, always moving.

When night came he was on a large road, a state highway, it was near the end of the evening rush hour and there were no lights except for the cars, taillights and headlights, he could see all the people. Warm and happy. Picking their noses and singing to the radio. Don’t see you. Cheap sweater you’re wearing, wind cuts right through. He was numb with cold. If even one of them would switch with you… Inside and out, seems like a simple difference.

This wind, he thought. Should have hung on to the coat and hat. Maybe I’m not really that cold, just hungry and tired. But you ate last night, that’s enough calories. One day is nothing. Figure out your bearings. I am having trouble thinking. That is my problem. Should have stopped to eat but didn’t feel safe. This highway—ought to have boxes with food and blankets for people, like emergency call boxes. Flag one of these people down. Sir, I would like to rent your jacket. Or the backseat of your car—you’ve got the heater on anyway. Just until tomorrow. This is what it feels like to be crazy. Simple things don’t make sense.

Here by choice—you could have stopped him. When his hand was in your pocket you could have gotten him with the knife but instead you grabbed his coat. You’d still have the money and all your things, no loss to anyone. Fatal mistake, choose the hand over the knife. Nine dollars and no coat. Other guy’s sleeping at the Hyatt. More money than he’s seen in his life.

Here is the truth: you are going to freeze to death. You’ve always been precocious, ahead of schedule on this as well, makes perfect sense. Universe wants equality. Let no man be warmer than the air. Let no man hoard his heat. Stole it from someone to begin with—no change in energy since the Big Bang. Temporary borrower. The heat of my expiring body will raise the temperature of the earth one- trillionth of one degree. Detectable with the finest instruments. Mildest way to go. They say drowning but that’s impossible—choking on water—ask your mother. How long? You’ll know when you start to feel warm. From warmth and back to it.

He passed a strip mall but it was abandoned and empty. It would be out of the wind at least. No, keep moving. Lights up ahead. You’re just hungry. Get some food and you’ll see I’m right. Forty percent of calories transformed to waste heat. Fine, you talked me into it. I’ll get some food and we’ll see if you’re right. Cold enough to snow but the air’s too dry, small blessings. Won’t matter. Plenty of lights up there, a mile, maybe. One foot forward. Judge your speed. Soon you’ll have to make some decisions.

2. Grace

Billy had only been gone three days but everyone in town knew. At work they were polite but she heard them talking, Lynn Booth and Kyla Evans being the worst, though Grace’s friend Jenna Herrin was no better, all three were from Buell and they’d all seen Billy play football. How hard he’d hit the other kids during the games—You could tell he liked it a little too much… You know if he’d just shot that guy or something, but… Busting someone’s head in like that, it’s like you’d have to put some thought into it… Grace kept her eyes down, trying not to listen, pushing the fabric through the machine, making very even stitches.

In the Giant Eagle on the way back from work she’d run into Nessie Campbell, even fat old Nessie had pretended to be interested in frozen fish until Grace took her basket to the checkout, Nessie Campbell who’d chase you down in the street and sell you Amway products every chance she got.

It was not any better at home. The day had been overcast and the house was cold. It would be fine, she would get under the covers. It was April 15 it should not be so cold. Taxes due, she thought. She hadn’t finished them, started last week but then everything had happened. Still, how had she forgotten? She went to the table and opened the folder and began to look over the forms, but there was no chance. She couldn’t think straight. Taxes were the least of her worries.

Billy would be fine, he was a big man. He was a big man but that was not how she thought of him, she could see him compared to others that way but still, it was not how she saw him. Then for some reason she was thinking about her father, she hadn’t spoken to him in eighteen years, he still called every Christmas and Easter. He’d left her mother twenty years ago. Her mother did not have a flexible personality, hadn’t been able to bear what was happening to the Valley, her daughter and son- in- law living in the basement apartment, no one was making any money, the town seemed to change overnight, cars were getting broken into, empty houses with their lawns grown up into brush.

It had changed her, she was constantly riding everyone, it had gone on until 1987 and then her father announced to everyone at dinner that he was leaving, that he needed a break from things. At first Grace hadn’t blamed him and then she had, and then had forgiven him, and then she blamed him again. But in a way it had been a brave act. His children were all grown up, he’d left her mother plenty of money. She couldn’t imagine anyone being happy with her mother. Her father had moved to East Texas and she had not returned his calls. He still called at Christmas and Easter but she wouldn’t pick up. She felt all of that like a weight around her neck now. Most of her good memories involved her father, and all he had done was rescue himself. But he’d thrown a wrench into Grace’s life, because the burden of looking after her mother’s sanity had shifted onto her. That was the real reason she hadn’t returned his phone calls, probably. Selfishness, she thought. Now that you need people, too, you can see that.

There was Bud. She reminded herself of that, don’t get your hopes up yet, but it seemed to be going somewhere. She would not be alone, she had someone to love her, someone she could love. The high she had felt last night and this morning, waking up to him and making love again, had faded, there was only this worry about Billy.

She had a brother she could call, Roy he was a good man in his way, done a stint in Albion—and then she hadn’t wanted him coming around, he was a likable guy same as Virgil and she was worried about Billy, her whole life she’d been surrounded by them, men who were good in their way. They’d caught Roy coming in from the woods with a bale of marijuana plants, harvest-time, claimed he’d been doing someone a favor. For a while his phones had been tapped. Now he was living outside Houston, he claimed he was on the straight and narrow, driving for a freight company, had moved in with an older woman who helped him keep his head clear. Virgil had never liked her brother and her brother had never liked Virgil, they were the same person is why. Each thought the other wasn’t good enough for her. But they were the same, one thing on the surface but underneath entirely different. All his money gone on booze and girls and then—light bulb, Virgil remembers he has a wife who has a place he can live, a wife who would take care of him. At least she’d finally stood up to him. That, she could feel good about.

She didn’t want to be inside the house. She put on her coat and went and stood in the backyard, looking out over the rolling hills, the big barn in the distance, it was very green, cool and dry, it was not like summer, stifling and humid, it was still fresh. If Buddy Harris had a son, he would not be in jail right now. That is the one it should have been. Looked out for Billy more than Virgil ever did. Owed you nothing but still he helped you. She wondered if that was why she’d always taken him for granted. Virgil always had the eye for tail and women had the eye for him and it kept you scared, the fear of losing him owned you. For fifteen years. It was amazing how an idea could hold you like that, for that long.

And now Billy is locked up and Virgil, well, who knew where he was. But Buddy Harris’s son would not be in prison. One way or the other. They said Harris had killed people but she had always doubted it, she had been positive, really, that it wasn’t true. Dopers, they said. It was just a rumor that Harris had let fly around for his own purposes, it made his job easier, but looking at him you knew it wasn’t true, couldn’t be. But what if it was? She wondered why she was thinking about these things. She wondered if it could be true that Harris had killed someone.

She felt shaken and went back inside, sat in front of the TV She flipped through all the channels, nothing worth watching, she would have to get more channels, she would have to remind herself to do that. It didn’t help—she couldn’t stop thinking about it. At first it seemed possible and then she was sure of it. Something in Bud Harris could kill a person if he thought it was best. He’d been in Vietnam.

You have to get out of this house, she thought. Harris had said he wouldn’t come over tonight, that they should take it slow. She would have to be optimistic. It was just getting started, like Harris said. There was no way of knowing what would happen. And part of her was optimistic. Part of her thought it really was going to turn out fine. It was Friday night, a week now since Billy had come home half- frozen and all cut up. She would go to Rego’s and have dinner. She called Ray and Rosalyn Parker but there was no answer, so she called Danny Welsh, who didn’t answer either. She left messages for both—going to Rego’s. She didn’t know if she should be showing her face in public. But there was not much else to be done.

When she got there, the place was busy but she spotted an empty stool at the end of the bar and made her way to it. There was a pause as she walked in, people taking note of her, extremely brief but she noticed it.

Bessie Sheetz, the bartender, came over.

“Beer and a shot, I bet.”

“Just the shot,” said Grace.

Bessie poured her drink.

“How you holding up these days?”

“I’m fine.”

“You know you’re among friends, don’t you?” The woman slid the shot over and leaned on the bar. “I doubt you remember but I lost my son a ways back. You know I never stop thinking about him.”

“How old was he?”

“ Forty- six.”

“Young.”

“It was so quick. It might have been a year but it felt like bing bang boom. Of course he’d smoked since he was twelve years old, plus being in the war and all, that didn’t help either.”

“This one?”

“No, the first one they had over there, in ’91.”

“I’m sorry,” said Grace.

“Wheel of life, that’s what I tell myself.”

“Ma’am, we’re interested in some counter service as well,” called a man from the other end of the bar. He was joking. He winked at Grace.

“You don’t tip,” Bessie called back to him. “Wait till she gets to know you. She’ll start tipping less, too.” “Yeah yeah, you spend five dollars in here. A dollar an hour.” “Don’t let me keep you,” said Grace.

“Screw them,” said Bessie. She stood up straight and shook her head. “Ma’am. You believe that crap?”

Half an hour later, Ray and Rosalyn still hadn’t shown up, one of the women at the bar had caught her eye and smiled at her a few times, a bottle blonde, the wife of Howard Peele of Peele Supply, a company that sold pipes and tubes to the coal mines and one of the two biggest employers in town. She was a few years younger than Grace and maybe twenty years younger than her husband, tight black pants and a tight pink top, always wore heels. Grace tried to remember her name. Caught Virgil making eyes at her at someone’s barbecue, that’s why you never liked her. Heather. Real istically, of course, someone like Heather wouldn’t risk that for someone like Virgil. Hard to admit that at the time. Right now, at the bar, two men were laughing at something Heather had said but Grace could tell they didn’t really think it was funny.

She was getting up the nerve to leave when Ray and Rosalyn came in.

Ray smiled guiltily. “Sorry we’re late—Pirates against the Cubs.”

“We’re sorry,” said Rosalyn. “This asshole.” She pointed to her husband. “I’ll get us some drinks. You guys want to get that table?”

Ray kissed her on the cheek and sat down across from her. “So how you doin, princess?”

“I guess I’m doing good,” she said.

“Well, I could understand that.”

Grace looked into her drink.

“What I mean is you know you got my sympathies, Grace. You know… Christ.” He shook his head. “I’m a bad talker.”

“Thank you, Ray,” she said. She patted his hand.

“Waiting on anyone else?”

“Not really.”

“I’m sorry I made us late.” Someone came up behind him and Grace looked up. The bottle blonde had come over.

“You two met?” said Ray.

“About ten times. I’m Heather, she’s Grace.”

“I remember,” Grace said.

“I’m gonna sit down, you two mind? Need to get away from those numbskulls.”

Ray swept his arm toward the seat just as Rosalyn came back with three glasses of wine.

“Oh hi sweetheart,” said Heather.

“You need another,” said Rosalyn.

“Hell no. I need someone to put a stop to me.”

“Ray, why don’t you get your ass up and help me carry the food.”

Ray followed Rosalyn back to the bar.

Heather smiled at Grace. “Your poor son. I was so sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you.”

“You know, if there’s anything you ever need…”

“We’re fine.”

“I understand what you’re going through, I really do.”

There was an awkward silence and Grace looked over toward Ray and Rosalyn, who were still at the bar, caught up talking to people.

“Remind me how you and Howard met,” said Grace.

“He hired me as his secretary. I was tending bar in New Martinsville and he came in and offered me a job. Which was pretty obvious but, well…” She shrugged. “I made him work for it.”

“You miss your hometown ever?”

“Hell, no. Howard had to spend ten grand just getting my teeth fixed. See?” She grinned. “I used to be bucktoothed, you should have seen me.”

“I doubt that.”

“Sad but true. But…”

Grace looked at her.

“I really mean that about your son. I just always thought there was something about you and I was so sad to see that paper the other day.”

“It’s not over yet. Just getting started, really.”

“Probably the last thing you want to think about right now.”

“It’s alright.”

“I’m always apologizing,” said Heather. “It’s my special talent.”

“Manicotti,” said Ray. “Plates for everyone.”

“How’d you get that so fast?”

“Called from the road.”

“I can’t even look,” said Heather. “I ought to use the restroom.”

Rosalyn checked to see that Heather was out of earshot, then leaned over toward Grace. “You ought to see their goddamn house. Every single piece of furniture is black. They got a big exercise room and there’s art on every wall.”

Ray said, “You mean those pictures that look like a retard drew them?”

Grace rolled her eyes.

“I’m not kidding you,” said Ray. “Looks like someone drew them with their eyes closed. Then you hear what they paid for them.”

“Like you would even know.” She turned back to Grace. “She told me they’ve spent two hundred thousand dollars on those paintings. Said it’s all doubled in price just in the past year.”

Ray snorted.

Heather was back, sniffling. She didn’t sit down. “I’m sorry y’all, I really ought to get going.”

“Good to see you again,” Grace said.

“You too, sweetheart.” She squeezed Grace’s shoulder then walked out, tottering slightly on three- inch heels, the men at the bar watching her tight pants as she left, the door banging behind her.

“Moneyman must be calling,” announced someone at the bar, after the door had swung shut. A few people chuckled.

Ray tapped his nose. “Thirty thousand a year goes up there, from what I hear.”

Grace was surprised at this slight cruelty. But then she was guilty of it herself.

“Anyway…” said Rosalyn.

The front door banged open again and Heather reappeared, heading back toward their table. When she reached it she leaned over to Grace. “You let us know if you need anything, hon.” She pressed a scrap of paper into Grace’s hand. “Just in case, whatever, you call me.” She noticed everyone staring at her and walked quickly out of the bar before Grace had time to respond.

“What was that about?” said Rosalyn, once she’d left again.

“Everybody loves Grace, especially women who—”

“Stop it,” said Rosalyn. She punched her husband on the shoulder, hard. “What the hell is wrong with you today?”

“My piehole needs manicotti.” He spooned a large portion onto his dish. “I’m just hungry, is all, it’s just my sugar.”

“I’m sorry we’ve been away,” said Rosalyn. “How’re you holding up?”

“I’m making it,” Grace told her. “Staying optimistic.”

“You really think it’ll be okay,” said Ray.

“Yeah,” said Grace. “Somehow.”

3. Poe

He was lying in his bunk, thinking about what he would have to do to the guard, thinking about his lawyer coming and what he would have to say to the lawyer, when the cell door clattered open and a young inmate appeared, escorted by a CO. The inmate was about twenty, a sandy- haired country- boy type, a hucklebuck, despite being in the hole six months the kid still had freckles around his nose. He was much smaller than Poe, thin and good- looking in an almost girlish way but his arms were covered with tattoos the same as the others, a green shamrock prominent on one arm, the letters AB on the other, spiderwebs around each elbow. The CO closed the cell door and walked off down the tier.

Poe sat up in his bunk.

“I’m Tucker,” said the inmate. “They told me about you.”

Poe introduced himself and they bumped fists.

“Heard you’re gonna take care of that piece of shit Fisher tomorrow.”

Poe didn’t say anything.

“You got something to get him with?”

“Yeah, but I’m not sure about any of it, to be honest.”

Tucker got a confused look.

“I’m still waitin for my trial.”

“Well did you tell them that? ’Cause they told me you was a definite.”

Poe shrugged.

Tucker said, “I know you just got in and all, but these ain’t a bunch of people you want to fuck with. You gotta put your mind to this shit. I’ll go along and keep lookout if you want, but you got to be the one doing the hitting.”

“I want to get out of here,” said Poe.

“Well you fuckin won’t,” said his cellmate. “If they even overheard us having this conversation they’d cut you into fuckin pieces. Larry and Dwayne got about a half dozen life sentences between them.”

“I’m more worried about Clovis.”

“Clovis is just muscle. Fuck Clovis.”

“I dunno,” said Poe.

“I’m telling you don’t go back on your word. I’ll fuckin forget we had this talk. Knowin how they work they’ll stick me on the other end of the knife that goes in your fuckin neck.”

“Whatever.”

“You don’t do it,” said his cellmate. “You might as well just fuckin hang yourself. This is a bad place for a young white man to go walkin around without friends.”

Poe went back to staring at the ceiling and Tucker took out his foot-locker and began to arrange his things.

“You touch any of this shit?”

“I didn’t even see it. They must have just brought it today.”

“I’ll know if you did.”

“Don’t worry yourself,” Poe said.

That night when all the lights were shut off there was a tapping at the bars and Poe woke up. He looked out and saw a guard standing there. The guard looked up and down the cellblock, then unbuttoned the front of her pants so her pubic hair was visible. He heard a rustling in the bunk underneath. That fuckin pervert is jerkin off, Poe thought. To that fat fuckin guard. He watched the guard for a time, out of curiosity more than anything else, and then lay back on the bed until it was over.

After some time he heard: “Don’t look at her again. I been down six fuckin months and I paid for that shit.”

“I wasn’t looking,” said Poe.

“I heard you looking. I know you were looking.”

“I got no interest in your friend,” he said. “I didn’t know what was happening.”

Tucker grunted and didn’t say anything further. Poe tried to fall back asleep but he was thinking about the guard. It was maybe a setup. They jerk off to one guard but want me to flatback the other one. He couldn’t make sense of it. He wondered if they were all working for the DA, trying to trap him further. Except he doubted the DA had any idea what went on here, he doubted anyone did, they wouldn’t allow it, it was gladiators every day. It was Roman times. Except maybe he had been sent here on purpose. They acted one way, they wanted the law served, but they didn’t mind if you got raped in the shower or your skull cracked by a combination lock. Really, there was no such thing as the law. There was only what people wanted to do to you.

He lay still for a while and he was shaking, fear or anger he didn’t know. He thought if I don’t beat that guard I got all of them after me, the whites and the blacks both, and the guards won’t care. If I do hit the guard I got the guards and the blacks after me. Except certain guards had side deals. Invisible webs. There were deals going down everywhere, only not with him.

He thought about it more and more and he wanted to punch something, he slammed his palm into the wall and rocked the bed, the wall didn’t move it would never move, his cellmate punched his mattress from the bottom. He would ignore the cellmate. But still he had just been punched. Though no one had seen it he would let it pass.

He wished Isaac was in front of him, he would knock the shit out of Isaac. All he’d done was get his throat cut and his balls nearly yanked off. He’d paid enough. He’d paid enough that night for anything he’d done. Isaac hadn’t paid at all, not a fucking thing.

There was the same din going on outside, the same pointless shouting and music, underneath him his cellmate moving around on his mattress, trying to get comfortable. Isaac would get massacred. The whole hundred ten pounds of him. He would be a snack for these people. That was why he, Poe, was here. He was doing the right thing. He was being a hero. He would act like other people were watching—it would keep his thoughts and actions pure. That was the key to anything: pretend others are watching. It was just like the field, a bunch of big guys wanting to knock the shit out of you, it was your choice. Wolf or sheep, if you didn’t choose it was chosen for you. Hunter or hunted, predator or prey, everyone knew it was the ancient relationship.

But it was not just that. It was not just pure nobility. In simple truth this place had been waiting for him. There were those who had capabilities and those who didn’t and even in his glory days he had known it, known they would figure it out one day, a bullet he would never dodge. His mother she’d had her hopes but he had known. It was his own in-sides. He’d run out his luck and was living his fate and things considered, he’d been lucky.

He would knock the shit out of the guard. And whoever else. He would treat it like a game he had to play He would go down to the hallway early and run it through his head, visualize the other guy already on the ground. He would take the guard from behind so his face wouldn’t be seen. All that mattered here was your deeds, your acts as others saw them, he hadn’t known it that morning in the cafeteria but now he did. Then he thought: no. He could not do it. He could not hit the guard. His legs were shaking again and he had to piss and he got down from the bunk and afterward he ran the water in the sink and washed his face.

He heard Tucker say, “You’re wakin me up when you do that. Once you’re up there you need to stay there for the night.”

“You woke me up jerkin off and now you’re telling me when I can piss.”

“That’s right,” said Tucker. “I ain’t gonna tell you again, neither.”

“You can talk all you want,” said Poe. “I don’t give a fuck what you say.”

He was about to get back into his bunk when he heard Tucker’s weight shift, he swung hard and hit Tucker in the face just as he was standing up, Tucker fell back to his bunk but then seemed to rebound off it, he was on top of Poe, he was very fast. They throttled around like that, they were rolling around in the tiny space between the wall and the bunkbeds, grunting, it was a slow fight it was a wrestle for leverage, to get a chokehold, only Poe was much stronger. He got a few hits in and soon enough he had Tucker’s head in both hands and was knocking it against the floor.

Then he realized that Tucker had stopped hitting back and that the lights had come on. The guards were already outside the cage. He put his hands up but they peppersprayed him anyway and cracked him in the back and legs with their batons, it wasn’t like getting hit with a fist, he could feel the damage it was doing. He covered up and finally they stopped hitting, he couldn’t see a thing, his eyes were burning, he was shouting for water. He let himself be cuffed and lifted to his feet, he was dragged down the tier, the inmates were all shouting things, everyone was awake and watching, he was blind, he was choking and crying, wet everywhere, he couldn’t tell if it was water or spit or tears or blood. He stumbled into someone, a guard, they thought he was trying to break loose and they were hitting him again, he went down. Then they were dragging him again, it must have been a lot of them. They dragged him down a flight of stairs, he pulled his head up so it wouldn’t hit the cement, they threw a bucket of water into his face, his eyes felt better, they hoisted him up and bent him over something, this is where it comes, he thought, this is where they take that from you. But then there was more water on his face, a hose, they were squirting it right into his eyes. It was just a sink. They were washing his face. He was taken to another part of the prison, it was the basement, he was in a cell the same size as his old one only there was one bunk. He was on his back on the thin mattress, feeling the relief of his eyes not burning anymore.

Poe could hear that one of the guards was still there. He heard the guard light a cigarette and he smelled it.

“You got any money,” he said.

“No,” Poe said. His nose was still running profusely from the pepper-spray and he had to sit up to blow it on the floor.

“Must have someone you can call.”

“Not really.”

“Well,” said the guard. He looked thoughtful. He offered Poe the remainder of the cigarette and Poe got up from his bed to take it.

“For reasons you may or may not know,” said the guard, “we’re all glad to see that particular white nigger get beat. But that was real dumb on your part. They ain’t gonna let you walk away from that.”

4. Harris

Of course he wanted to see Grace tonight but Even Keel knew it was better to wait. Take things a little easy. He was halfway to the compound when the idea of being home all night with the dog seemed more lonely than he could handle. He pulled over and went through his cellphone and found Riley Coyle’s number.

“I’m out with the regular crowd of pricks,” said Riley. “If you want to meet us at the Dead End.”

Harris went home and changed out of his uniform and headed back toward town. Of course half the reason, no, not half, maybe slightly less, twenty percent, was that if he had a few drinks he would call Grace. And she would answer, and then…

The Dead End was one of the few bars that had remained open the entire time since the mill had closed, and the joke was it hadn’t been cleaned since before the mill had opened. It was a long wood- paneled room, dim and comfortable, with a view from the back deck over the water. Riley, Chester, and Frank had worked at the mill before it closed. Eventually Frank had gotten rehired at U.S. Steel in Irvin, Riley had opened a small machine shop, and Chester had gotten an MBA. He now ran with a slightly different crowd, consulting work for drug companies. When Harris got to the bar, all three of them were sitting at a table, flirting with the owner’s wife.

“Boys.”

“Mr. Johnny Law,” said Riley He turned to the owner’s wife, a pretty brunette about Grace’s age. She’d stiffened noticeably since Harris’s arrival. “He says he’s thirsty.”

“I’m fine,” said Harris.

“He’s thirsty,” Riley insisted. The woman smiled at Harris and went back to the bar. It was hard to believe she was married to Fat Stan, the owner. Pickins in the Valley must be slim. Obviously, he thought. Look at you. A woman like Grace… He decided to sit down.

“How’s everyone?”

“Doing great,” said Frank. “Best day of my life.”

“Frankie just got a new toy,” said Chester. “Would have driven it here if the wife let him.”

“You finally get that ’Vette?”

“Nah,” said Frank. “It’s just a four- wheeler. But a 660 Yamaha, four-wheel drive, automatic, snowplow, winch, the works. Cart that hooks up behind it.”

“Probably cost more than your truck,” Riley added.

“There’s skateboards that cost more than my truck,” said Harris. He nodded to Frank. “Company looking after you?”

“Yep. Got us on this profit- sharing plan, stock’s up a hundred percent. We just hired Benny Garnic’s son, matter of fact.”

“I thought he was a computer programmer.”

“Shipped his job to India,” said Riley. “Kid goes to school so he wouldn’t get laid off like his dad did, but then…”

Harris shook his head.

“It does make you feel better about things,” said Frank, “in a purely cynical way. Those kinds of people didn’t have much sympathy for us twenty years ago, I can remember it was asshole after asshole going on TV and saying it was our faults not going to college.”

“Benny Garnic’s son probably doesn’t feel better.”

“I got him started at nineteen- sixty an hour,” said Frank. “He won’t lose his house the way we all did.”

The owner’s wife reappeared with a tray of drinks. “These are from Fat Stan. On the house.” From the other side of the bar, Fat Stan waved and Harris waved back. Fat Stan’s wife set a glass of beer and a shot of whiskey in front of each of them but only glanced briefly at Harris. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Sheriff.”

“I’m just a policeman,” said Harris. “And I’m off the clock.”

“Well, nice to meet you anyway.” She smiled but then walked away quickly.

“Mista Sheriff,” said Riley “you’re not going to use those handcuffs on me, are you? I been so bad…”

Harris looked into his whiskey and tried to remember. Had he ever arrested her? It could have been a brother or something. Or her father, or her boyfriend, really, it could have been anything. Some people were just nervous around cops.

“Careful if you drink that. Fat boy over there probably needs help collecting money.”

“Or he’s got a growroom in the basement.”

Harris sipped the drink. “Least he knows I don’t come cheap.”

“Quality costs.”

“Tell by his wife.”

“Word is she came mail- order.”

“No. Serious?” The woman was dark- haired but Harris hadn’t noticed an accent. She might have been eastern European, but so was half the Valley.

Riley burst out laughing.

“She’s from goddamn Uniontown,” Chester said, “she used to dance at that place he had over there.”

“Speaking of,” said Riley, “how’s your squeeze, Johnny Law?”

“Which one?”

“Grace Poe. Or just plain Grace, if that’s now how she goes.”

“No idea,” said Harris. “That fizzled out a long time ago.”

The table was quiet for a few seconds and all four men looked in different directions.

Chester turned his glass in his hands. “Well, you know we all sympathize with what happened to her son.”

“Get your waders on. It’s about to rain horseshit.”

“Be serious a minute, Riley,” said Frank.

“I am being serious. If we brought all those boys back from the sandbox, gave them blue uniforms and let them keep their M16’s, pretty soon we’d have a crime- free society. Stop wasting money on Arabs and put it to work right here.”

“What are you talking about,” said Chester.

“We could walk three blocks in any direction and score whatever we wanted. That’s what I’m talking about. No offense to Johnny Law, he’d need about three hundred guys to get this place under control. So you can’t expect kids to grow up here and not do dumb- ass shit.”

“We aren’t quite there yet. It isn’t quite anarchy yet, is it, Bud?” said Chester.

“No,” said Harris. “Far from.”

“Well, there’s a lot of loose talk about what it would mean if a person was literally allowed to get away with murder.”

“I have no idea about that.” But he was thinking about the jacket.

“The rumor mill is in high gear right now, is what Chester’s getting at.”

“I don’t give a fuck, Bud,” said Riley “Just for the record.”

“This could still be a good place. It’s just that the laws have to be enforced and people are worried about that you know, crime stats get up too high, no one wants to move here, gets hard to attract business, et cetera.”

“Chester,” said Riley, “that kid isn’t even a goddamn blip on the kind of radar you’re talking about. It was a goddamn derelict, even if he did do it and it wasn’t self- defense or something. Probably the same piece of shit that stole the camper shell off my truck.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Chester.

“Well you do know there was ten, fifteen smaller plants that closed around here just in the past year or so. I mean, you can’t smell it from your place in Seven Springs, but it’s still happening. Our time might have been the big bloodbath, but they’re still shooting the survivors. There’s gonna be fallout to it, just like there was in our time and hangin some kid out to dry doesn’t do shit for anyone.”

“Aside from all the HUD people,” said Chester, “this is still a good place to live.”

“I need a drink,” said Riley.

Harris pushed his untouched beer over.

“Listen, Bud, we all know it seemed like the right thing to do when you got Billy a slap on the wrist last year.”

“Only now,” said Frank, “from certain people’s point of view, I’m not saying my own, but from certain people’s viewpoint, Billy Poe should have been locked up and then this other thing wouldn’t have happened.”

“None of us knows what happened there,” said Harris. “There’s no one who knows.”

“Well, we all hear he’s not talking. Which might make him smart, but it doesn’t make him innocent.”

“I’m not involved.”

Riley was halfway through Harris’s beer. Fat Stan and his wife were both watching from the bar. Harris wondered how much they could hear.

“There’s people out there who want you to be involved,” said Chester. “It would make them happier than pigs in shit if they were to hear you’re still messing around in Billy Poe’s business.”

“That’s right.”

“There are people who think that boy is a bad seed, and that the reason he was on the loose is you.”

Harris shifted in his chair. He could feel that his ears were warm. Well, he thought, what did you expect. Better to know it.

“Keep your sails trimmed,” said Chester, “that’s all we’re saying.”

“Yeah, right,” said Riley. He glanced at Harris. “What I hear, they’re looking to hang you on the cross along with Cunko.” He tossed down the rest of the beer. “Think of it as a reward for a lifetime of service.”

“Who is it?” said Harris. Then he said: “Actually you guys don’t have to answer that.”

“It’s a lot of people, Bud.”

Riley smirked. “It ain’t that many. It’s Howard Peele of Peele Supply and Tony DiPietro. And Joey Roskins along with them. Basically your whole cocaine- snorting, wife- swapping chamber of commerce.”

Chester gave Riley a look.

“Fuck those people,” said Riley.

“It’s not just them.”

“Buddy,” said Riley. He leaned in close to Harris. “I know for a fact that Howie Peele gets his nose powder dropped off once a week by a guy from Clairton. You get in a jam, you got that in your back pocket.”

Chester’s face had become very stiff and Harris was feeling worse and worse. He’d let Howie Peele off for a DUI a year ago, made him call his wife for a ride home. Wrong message, he thought. It had seemed like a mistake at the time, but he hadn’t known why. No, he thought, that’s the wrong way to think about things. He wondered if he should talk to Glen Patacki again. He needed to get somewhere he could think about this.

Riley interrupted: “I can see you too, Chester. I ain’t afraid of that prick and I don’t care who you tell.”

“Settle down,” said Harris.

“A murder is a serious thing,” Frank said quietly. “No one would deny that.”

“That depends,” said Riley, coming back to the conversation.

“People are worried it might be time for new blood.”

“Well,” said Harris. “They’re probably right.”

5. Isaac

Ahead of him were the lights and signs of a Wal- Mart. He was walking very slowly; it took forever just to cross the parking lot and when he got inside he stood in the doorway in the blast of hot air until the greeter motioned him forward. Salvation Army type—looking you over. Probably call security.

Bright in here, he thought. I just want to sleep. Find a quiet corner. No, eat first. Do not leave without eating. Taco Bell right there and a Pizza Hut, you can spend two dollars. He made his way to the line for the Taco Bell and looked at the menu overhead. What has the most calories? Two bean burritos and a taco. Balanced meal. The body a temple.

After his food came he took a glass of water and sat slowly eating. Almost too tired to eat. Give it a few minutes. No, your head is clearing already—coming up from under water. Blood sugar rising. Close the eyes, just a minute.

“Young man? Young man?”

He opened his eyes. An old lady at the next table was looking to him. “You fell asleep,” she said.

He nodded. Alright wake up. Look at her—satisfied—acting like she saved you from something. Find another place to rest. No that is not a real option; the store will close eventually, you’ll be right back where you started. I could find a shelter, he thought. Except that is the first place they’ll come looking for you. A vagrant felon. Anyone else would have skipped town. Except I don’t have a coat and I don’t know where I am, he thought. He looked out over the store. Fine. Fine, I’ll do it.

There was music playing in the store, easy listening, as he pushed his shopping cart down the aisle. The other customers stared intently at their merchandise until he passed. Embarrassed to look at you. Who wouldn’t be? Except the kid does not care. Possessed of a higher mission— self- improvement. Resource gathering. Like the original man— starts from scratch. A new society. Beginning in Men’s Outerwear. All those coats. Never know how much you value a coat. Took months to make in the old days. Now you just go to a store. Don’t be nervous, she’s looking at you.

An employee in a smock passed by, giving him a long look. Isaac de-toured around to the other side of the store, the pharmacy aisles, found a razor and a travel- sized soap and shaving cream. Perhaps some deodorant. Plan for the future. In another section of the store he picked up a handful of energy bars. Same ones Lee eats. Kid gives his highest endorsement. Don’t take more than you can carry, though. Now sporting goods—wall full of hunting knives. Put one in the cart. Four inches. The kid knows the truth: man without a knife is not a man.

Back in clothing he found a clean pair of pants, button- down shirt, socks, underwear, a pack of T-shirts. Fresh new smell. A few aisles away he took the thickest coat they sold, blanket- lined heavy canvas. Practically a sleeping bag, this coat. Get another fleece as well. The kid appreciates quality. Now a hat and maybe a second one. Sleep like a king in two hats. The kid, he is concerned with his future. A maker of preparations. Here comes a meddler.

A different employee, a short thin woman in her late sixties, came over and asked if he wanted to try anything on.

“No ma’am,” he said. “I know my sizes.” He smiled at her.

“Yes, sir,” she said. She stood there. Thinks she sees through the kid. Suspects him of plans. Meanwhile he could be her grandson, but she doesn’t care—her loyalty is to the company. Company over humanity. Head to the checkout. Act like you’re buying.

He waited at the cash register, listening to a man ahead of him talking on a cellphone. The store is busy, he thought, and the kid is small and unthreatening. He sends out vibrations—a hundred ten pounds of love. No reason for suspicion. Plenty else to look at.

The queue was moving slowly and finally the employee watching him went and did something else. Isaac broke out of line and pushed his cart toward the dressing rooms. Hope they’re unlocked. Get in quick. There’s one.

Piling all the loose items onto the coat, he carried everything into the small room, locked the door, then stripped off all his clothes. He began to put on the new pants. Hold on, change your underwear. Small dignities. He undressed fully and paused in front of the mirror—the sickly kid, his hair filthy, a week’s scraggle on his face. Your standard refugee. Any skinnier and the wind will take him to Kansas.

He dressed himself in the new clothes, then put his old clothes back on overtop of them. Look about the same. Maybe lumpier. Knife in your belt, soap and razor in your pants pocket, energy bars in your jacket. Ready for combat. Handsome Charlie. Hang the coat on your shoulder like you own it. The kid can be slowed but not stopped. Those above would prefer he froze—their money, his life. But they have not walked in his shoes and he holds no hard feelings. Truly a generous kid.

He checked both ways as he left the dressing room, then walked quickly toward the exit, already beginning to sweat from the extra clothing. Beating them at their own game, he stares at the linoleum, not nervous. Long lines of people wasting money. Exit right. Thirty seconds. Uh- oh. Here’s trouble. Time to put on the coat.

“Sir,” a woman’s voice was calling. “Sir you need to pay for that.”

Don’t turn around. Act like you don’t hear. Get that coat on. He felt a surge of adrenaline as he approached the doors, keep walking, he thought, keep walking you are nearly there Sir, he heard, sir we need to speak to you, and then people were yelling and something came over the loudspeaker, all employees report for a code seventy- six.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone running and then he started to run himself. The only thing between him and the door was the old man in his blue vest, the store greeter, they locked eyes, Isaac was running at him full speed and finally the man stepped out of his way.

He stumbled against the doors and lost ground but then he was out into the parking lot, it was wide open, what is the shortest distance go right. They’re behind you. Pull that cart to slow them. No, don’t. He was running all-out toward the wooded area at the edge of the lot. Past idling cars, past people with shopping carts, he heard footsteps just behind him. He felt his muscles burning and he saw every step he would take. Reach the woods and you’re safe. Just get to the woods. Something brushed against his coat, a person’s hand, but he heard them stumble and fall behind. Still there’s someone else.

At the very edge of the parking lot he heard the footfalls slow and cease and he jumped the high curb without slowing, plunging into the grass and running downhill, you’re going to fall, he thought, but he kept his footing. Then he was into the woods, safely into the darkness, still running.

6. Henry English

His daughter had gone to sleep and Henry was sitting in the wheelchair in his bedroom, trying to get the nerve to get into bed. It had been the den, a spare bedroom, maybe the nanny’s or the maid’s.

There was a handrail at the head of the bed but still. Usually the boy gave him a boost. Now it was a gap he had to make, grab the rail with one arm and try to heave himself over, legs dragging along behind him. He’d made it the last five nights but only barely. If he fell, he’d spend the night on the floor. Freeze to death, probably. He had not wanted Lee to help him. Better to manage on his own. It would cost.

He was worse off than he thought, the boy being gone forced him to admit that. Even if he made it onto the bed it would take him forty- five minutes to get undressed, planning his strategy and levering himself, move the first leg a few degrees, then the other leg, bend the knee so much, then the other knee, hope the first knee doesn’t pop back while you’re doing the second. He was weaker and stiffer, like having rigor mortis. I’ll sleep in the chair, he thought. But that was not a real option. He wouldn’t be able to keep it from her much longer, the truth of his condition. He needed a bath, he hadn’t had one since the boy left, he knew she could tell. The way she looked at him when she said good night, like kissing a baby. That was bad enough. Put you in a home. Isaac wouldn’t, it had never crossed Isaac’s mind, but his daughter was practical. Her heart ran a couple degrees colder.

It is the boy distracting you. Gone six days. Bums must have got him. Then he thought: No, he’s tougher than he looks. Not to mention your four thousand dollars in his pocket, slim motivation to come home. Christ, he thought. He felt the pressure come up inside him, he needed to hit something, he punched the arm of the chair, he punched the mattress, he squeezed his jaw as tight as he could make it, he would break his teeth. Then he caught a look at himself in the mirror, face twisted and red, a tantrum.

Calm down. Read some. He rolled his chair to the other side of the room, under the lamp where he couldn’t see the mirror. He picked up the TV Guide. It was his own fault, the mattress was too soft and he couldn’t get a purchase, the bed was older than both his children. Wedding bed. He could feel the springs in his back as he slept but he would never get rid of it. It was Mary’s last bed, it would be his too, there were times she still came to him in the night.

Truth was he was close. He was stealing his days. An old pine, weak in the roots, its own weight pulls it over. Everything inside him was going on strike, kidneys, liver, and pancreas, they were yanking out parts of his guts, appendix, gall bladder, there was nothing he was allowed to eat. No alcohols or fats. No salts. Lee’s lunch yesterday, all the cheese and dairy, he’d spent half the day on the throne. Shitting your guts out. She’d wanted to take him to the movies, but he’d had to pretend to be tired. Didn’t tell her the real reason. Got her out of the house to make your movements in peace.

You could go on forever if they ate you in small enough bites—he used to think that was beautiful, triumph of human spirit, wanting to go on no matter what. It was Shackleton going up mountains, a normal person could not endure it. Reason to hold the head up. The problem being it was only an outlook, a way of thinking that did not change reality. Reality being he was meat in a slow rot. A head hooked up to old meat, barely get your own pants off. Any other animal they’d put you down, lying in your own slops.

You’re just talking, he thought. Full of bullshit. There’s a nine-millimeter in the drawer for any time you get too tired, you can always talk to Mr. Browning, he’s got good advice when you’re ready to listen. But he’s been quiet thirteen years. Because you yourself are just talk.

He put down his TV Guide, there was no point. He rolled to his desk, he had caused the whole thing, it was the small slips of the mind that did you in. He’d gotten sloppy, left the money where the boy could find it. He should have locked the money up, hidden it somewhere else. There were bills all over, the hospital, he had another appointment, they wouldn’t schedule anything together, it was a bunch of shithead tailchasers, they wanted to get their twenty- five a visit. It was the bush leagues, you didn’t get good doctors at a little hospital like that, they were practically veterinarians. When they’d found that lump on his prostate, he could practically see their hands rubbing together, more tests and operations. He’d made another appointment with a specialist in the city, Indian guy, Ramesh, Ramid, barely understood what he was saying but he was good, a likable guy. Ramesh checked and checked but the lump was gone, probably never there to begin with. Told him: Doc, I never been so happy to have a man stick his finger up my ass. Took you the wrong way. Small careful man. Said I didn’t like it any more than you did, Mr. English. After that he wouldn’t look at you. Liked him except now you can’t go back.

He rolled himself to the window, there was a quarter moon, he could see everything, the skeleton of the neighbor’s house, Pappy Cross, gone twelve years. Moves to Nevada to be with his sons, within two weeks someone came and stole his gutters, security door, doublepane windows. Called him in Nevada to tell him, never got a call back. Whole house rotting to nothing.

There was a noise from upstairs but it was just Lee walking around. Soon she would have to go back, she would not wait around here forever as Isaac had. Admit it, he thought. A man would not have done that. What you did to that boy it is sacrifice yourself for your children, not the other way around. The boy was technically a genius, they’d had him tested but he had never told the boy 167, that was the number he’d scored, it was higher than his sister. But, he didn’t know, there’d always been something about the boy he was smart and stupid at the same time. As if he was meant to do everything the wrong way. Junior league ball, the boy was twelve, they subbed him in for the pitcher, good arm but he chokes, eight runs straight, loses the game. Afterward acting like nothing happened. It made no sense. The feeling that gave you, watching your son lose the game, but he just shrugged it off, didn’t care.

No, he thought, you never had any choice, Lee Anne left first and there was nothing more to it. And the boy could take it, he’s stronger than she is. She talks one way but inside she’s another. Would’ve killed her staying here.

Henry thought about it, he would have wheeled himself in front of a train for either of them. Went without saying. The boy was his son. It was normal to have a preference, his own father had preferred him to his brother, it was just the way life went. He did not have enough to give to both of them. No, he thought, that is a lie. You did not want to be alone and you made choices.

Either way it would have been time to let the boy go, make your final journey. Into the home with the old folks, men in diapers, cleaned by strangers. Last about two weeks. Life for a life. He watched the deer browsing around Pappy Cross’s old house, wondered if Pappy was even still alive, the house had been on the market twelve years and one of the sons had come back, stayed in a hotel, contracted someone to cut all the trees down, even the young pines, forty- dollar trees, sold them to the mill and got the money out that way. He wondered if Pappy knew about it. Rotting house in a stump field, soon enough there’d be no trace, a million places just like this, right now and throughout time. Earth is made of bones. From wood and back to wood and you’ll never know what came before you.

7. Poe

The new cell didn’t have a window and they never turned out the lights but at least it was his alone. He knew it was late morning sometime; they had brought him breakfast, that had been a few hours ago though he wasn’t sure even of that. It didn’t matter, though. They would all be after him now, everyone in the prison, black gangs and white, a coalition of the willing, he had gone back on his word and taken another man down to boot, he had taken men from both sides. He wondered how he had done that, a basic rule, choose your enemies. He had chosen everyone. He wondered if he had killed Tucker. It didn’t seem to matter much, it was the least of his worries, it was not a game of sums. No matter what you did in life, there was still your own death at the end of it. There was no question they would kill him, they would take their first chance.

He felt a shiver go through him and the sweat was coming fast now, he was drenched and cold where a second ago he had been warm. He was up on his feet and pacing around the cell, he was testing the walls with his hands, the bars, it was no use, the natural laws, he was going to scream, there were things inside that needed to escape. Only he would not. He would be a man. He would lie on the bed and calm his mind. He did. He was wet everywhere and his scalp was tingling, it felt like a heart attack, he would die there in his bed. After a few minutes the wave passed and there was a feeling of weakness and being emptied of everything.

And yet there was a way out. It was right in front of him, staring him in the face. He could tell the truth and change everything, his lawyer would want the same thing as all of them. That was the purpose of the lawyer. To get him out of here. To save his actual life.

Except it was not saving as much as trading. Isaac and Lee. But his life. Versus a promise he had made. Versus what he knew, there were good ones and bad ones and Isaac was one of the rare good ones. Him, Poe, from the natural standpoint he was where he was supposed to be, he belonged here and Isaac didn’t. Maybe not this exact place, maybe this was not exactly where he belonged, but he admitted it, he was not surprised, not really. He had nearly made a vacation here last year, and his mother and Harris had gotten him out of it. It was not some unfair twist of fate, he had not been born a refugee, it was his own choices, he could be a man about it. He could accept the consequences.

And yet—if a lawyer asked what happened, it would be difficult to withhold a description of the events, it would not be human thoughts but another part of him. If someone asked him, he would tell. He would have no choice. But if they didn’t ask him he wouldn’t tell. It was a fair chance, it gave equal weights to both sides. Except he knew they would ask him. It was an obvious question: who killed the man in the machine shop? Christ it seemed so long ago, ancient times, part of the past. But it was the reason he was here. They would ask it and he would tell them. It was the truth, was all it was. It was nothing more than the truth.

He was up and pacing again, three steps to the back wall and turn and come back. Before lunch, they had said, that was when the lawyer was coming it had been some time now since breakfast. Yes, he thought, that is who you are. If there is any bad luck you will find it only it was not just luck, there had been many ways to avoid it, he hadn’t taken any of them. It was hopeless, a lost cause. He had slept through life, let the currents take him. He had let the currents take him faster and faster and he had not noticed. He was at the end now, the big drop. It was not only college there had been other choices as well, choices that had revealed him to others, choices that half the town would have jumped at but he, Poe, had chosen another way. It was Orn Seidel calling him right after graduation, there was an opening at a company that did the plastic seals for landfills. Traveling all over the country. At new landfills they would lay down the plastic liners in preparation for garbage to be dumped there, to prevent leakage into nearby streams and such. At the old landfills they would seal them up, it was like a giant ziplock, a heavy layer of plastic overtop the garbage and then they blew them up with air to test them, just before they dumped the soil on top you could run across the acres of plastic, bouncing, it was like running on the moon, Orn said, it was fourteen dollars an hour to start. But it was not really running on the moon. It was working with other people’s trash. Technicians, they called themselves, but it was not really that. It was laying plastic overtop of trash heaps, it was hanging around city dumps. Your country is supposed to do better than that for you, he thought.

And from Mike DeLuca’s uncle, Poe’s last big chance, strike three is what it was, dismantling work, taking apart mills and old factories, they had taken down old steelmills all over the country, locally and nationally. But another traveling job, Poe had applied and gotten the interview but there was so much traveling, it was living out of a suitcase the entire year, and the man giving the interview must have seen something in Poe’s face. The work was all in the Midwest now, taking down the auto plants in Michigan and Indiana. And one day even that work would end, and there would be no record, nothing left standing, to show that anything had ever been built in America. It was going to cause big problems, he didn’t know how but he felt it. You could not have a country, not this big, that didn’t make things for itself. There would be ramifications eventually.

As for Mike DeLuca’s uncle, he’d spent twenty years working in steelmills and then twenty years taking them apart, scrapping them, it was like his revenge against the steelmills, against getting laid off, but it was not really revenge, it was not a job anyone would want, the lies he had to tell when he visited the small towns and some waitress asked him so what’re you in town for?

It was not all bad. He had lived a good life, the leader of the pack, a local hero, it was more than most. Slept with fourteen girls, it was more than most. Maybe one of them had a baby he didn’t know about, life after death. Except it did not have to go that way. He could tell the simple truth. Truth and nothing but. He had not killed the man Otto, they would let him go and these men, Clovis and these men who would kill him here, he would never see them again.

It was the old saying, the truth will set you free. He could breathe outside and sit and feel the river air on him as he fished in the shade and ate egg sandwiches, jump a rabbit with a .22. Christ a .22 what he could do in here with that, a .22, the weakest of calibers, he could run the entire place. He could leave here, lie under the covers warm with Lee with her legs holding them up like a tent, smell of her smooth skin the slight rough patch between her legs. It was countless the pleasures of life there were millions, you could spend your entire life listing them, they were different for every person the feel of oak bark, light in a room, watching a big buck and deciding not to shoot it. It was a privilege you could lose at any time, he had taken it for granted, but he would change his life. He would make his life mean something. You could not go with the current and expect it to turn out fine, he had not known it before but he knew it now, he would change everything.

He lay down on the cold cement floor. He put his head under the bunk and lay there with his face in darkness. He could not tell the truth because it was not really the truth. Lee would not forgive him. She would see him for what he was. She would never think of him again, she would hate him more than she had ever hated anyone, it did not take a genius to figure that out. She already knew the story. It had been a mistake telling her. But he could not go back now, there was no way around it, she would not forgive him it was her brother, she would not be able to turn a blind eye to it.

He thought about that and felt even sicker, he was sweating again. No he could not allow that. He had closed the door on himself when he told her. But he could not lie anyway. He would not have done it anyway, ratted out his best friend, it was not in him to do that, he could think it but not do it. It was like look but don’t touch.

Except he would just see. It was life. It was comparing ideas to actual life, it was not a valid comparison, it was words versus blood. He would see. When the lawyer came he would sign the papers and that would be all. He would not offer but if they asked him he would tell. He would have no choice. But if they didn’t ask he wouldn’t tell. Except they would ask. It would be the first question, most likely.

He could not talk to the lawyer. He would stay angry, he would think about getting Clovis or even Black Larry, he would take them down with him. He would go down a legend it was as simple as that, you could change your destiny that quickly. He heard a noise coming from somewhere. He was still lying under his rack. He looked out and saw a guard rapping on the bars.

“Cuff up,” he said. “Your lawyer’s here.” He opened the slot in the door for Poe to stick his hands through.

Poe shook his head. He got to his feet and stood over the toilet and tried to urinate but he was too nervous, nothing would come out.

“Get the fuck over here and cuff up,” said the guard. He was a short fat man with thinning hair and a jovial face, a plump fat face, he could not help but look happy.

“I ain’t goin anywhere,” said Poe.

“Stop being a fuckin hard- ass. Get the fuck out of that cell before I call the fuckin SORT team on your ass.”

“Fuckin call em. They can drag me out but I ain’t going.”

“You are one stupid- ass motherfucker, aren’t you?”

“Open that door and you’ll see how stupid I am.”

The fat man stared at him with an amused expression. “Alright then,” he finally said. He rapped on the cell and began to walk away.

“Hey,” Poe said.

“Change your mind already?”

“What happened to that boy? My cellmate.”

“They took him to the hospital in Pittsburgh.”

“He comin back?”

“If he does I don’t think he’ll be much trouble to you or anyone else.”

“I don’t give a shit about him.”

“No one else does, either. If they hadn’t gotten him out of the infirmary so quick, there’s about fifty guys who would have sat on his chest.”

“Is that gonna help me?”

“You aren’t getting any new charges pressed, I can guarantee you that. Now get your ass over here and cuff up and see your lawyer.”

“No,” said Poe.

“Whatever your reason,” the guard said. “You might think your good buddies back home would do the same for you, but I can promise you they wouldn’t, and if you don’t believe me you can look around inside that cell there and tell me if you see them anywhere. So cuff up. Least give yourself a chance.”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Poe said.

The guard gave him a final look. Then he disappeared from view, and Poe heard him shuffling back down the hall.

8. Lee

She’d spent most of the day driving around, finding places to read and then driving, past the houses of old friends, teachers, but it was all the same. The place held nothing for her. Maybe one day it would, but not now. She had a few nostalgic memories, but not many. Mostly they involved being with Isaac. Or maybe she was just telling herself that now.

She’d always known it wouldn’t be easy for him, his awkwardness around people, around her high school friends. No one knew what to make of him. He didn’t know what to make of himself. With the exception of his sister, he didn’t know anyone like him. And people his age tended to mistake his generosity for condescension, presuming that Isaac held them to the same impossible standard to which he held himself. Eventually, she thought, he must have decided to stop trying.

She could feel herself getting angry, at herself mostly but also at her former classmates. Her sophomore year, everyone was sitting around Gretchen Mills’s room and someone, it might have been Bunny Sachs, said, “You guys do realize this is the hardest thing we’ll ever do. Getting in here is basically the hardest thing there is in the world and we’ve already done it.”

But of course they hadn’t done anything. They’d all been born to the right parents, in the right neighborhoods, they went to the right schools, had all the right social instructions, had taken all the right tests. There was simply not a chance they would fail. They’d worked hard but always with the expectation they would get what they wanted—the world had never shown them anything different. Very few of them had earned their places. Everyone admitted how spoiled they were but underneath, there was always the presumption that they deserved it.

Of course, she hadn’t said a word. She wished she had but she hadn’t. It was easy now to look back and think these things, but at the time she’d wanted to fit in and go along with Bunny and think yes I deserve this happy life I’m living.

Isaac’s friendship with Poe still baffled her. But of course her friendship with Poe must have baffled him as well. Maybe it was that people had always set them, Poe and Isaac, so far apart—Poe because of his talent for everything physical, Isaac because of his mind. The truth was they were both the best at what they did in that school. It was a special sort of small- town bitterness that must have thrived on seeing them both fail.

After Isaac’s first visit to New Haven, she’d thought maybe he’d come back, a month during the summer, she would scrape together money for a full- time caretaker for her father, just for the month. By then she already had two credit cards—she would find a way to pay for it somehow.

But Isaac had not responded to her offers to come. He was already changing. No, she thought, he might just have cared about his father too much. Henry would have seen it as Isaac going on vacation in Connecticut, and Isaac cared too much about what Henry thought of him to risk it. You had it easy, she thought. You got let off the hook.

The truth was that Isaac was not as ready to leave as he claimed. He had had a longer time to think about their mother, whereas she was already being pulled into another orbit—she’d left for New Haven almost immediately. What kind of people Isaac and her father could have become in the intervening years, she had no idea. Anything could have happened. You got lucky, she thought. You were too selfish to even consider staying.

Isaac: you could give him two random numbers, tell him to multiply them in his head: 439 times 892. He could tell you the answer in a few seconds. He just saw the answer, he didn’t even do the calculation. Divide them—it was the same. Once she’d sat with a calculator, testing him, certain he must have memorized certain combinations of numbers, certain there was some trick. But there was no trick. There’s parts of me I don’t understand, he said, and shrugged.

Her boyfriend from freshman year, Todd Hughes, the physics major, had loved Isaac, seen his brilliance, offered to help with the applications. Isaac had sat next to Todd for most of the weekend. But she’d gotten bored with Todd. Or maybe he had just come too soon, she had been too young. You should have stayed with him just for Isaac, she thought. You’re the only one in this family who isn’t making any sacrifices. Simon, who had met Isaac that same weekend, had formed no real impression of him, and Isaac had formed no impression of Simon.

There had been a time once, through most of high school, when it had seemed to her that if she closed her eyes and thought about it long enough, she could see exactly where Isaac was. Because you knew his routine, she thought. There was no magic in it. She continued to drive along the high road that followed the river.

Alright, she thought. She pulled over at the place by the river and turned off the car and looked out over the grass and the gorge rising steeply out of the water and the way the river bent quickly out of sight, unknowable. She put her head on the steering wheel and closed her eyes and thought about her brother.

9. Isaac

From the dark woods, through the screen of leaves, he could see two people standing at the edge of the Wal- Mart parking lot, where it was well lit. They were young men, around his age, wearing their blue vests. Happy for the diversion—chase the shoplifter. Tell all their friends they nearly caught you. But following you into the dark…

He turned and continued farther into the woods, reaching a stream after a few hundred yards, the water shining in the faint moonlight that came through the canopy. Old tires and mattresses, beer bottles. No one coming down here after you. There’s a path on the other side.

He wasn’t sure of the direction but he followed the flowing water. That was easy, he thought. You knew you needed that coat, didn’t have to think about it. Allow things to happen and they work out fine. Overthink, get self- conscious, that’s when your mistakes happen. Staying in that old factory when the Swede showed up, then going back to move the body. Deciding to sleep in that clearing near a person you didn’t trust. Letting go of your knife while he robs you of everything, instead you grab his coat, then chase him down the street. What would you have done if you’d caught him—used your powers of rhetoric?

If Poe were here he wouldn’t have let you do that, keep sleeping near the Baron. No, if Poe were here I wouldn’t have even met the Baron. Except Poe is not here. You will probably never see him again. Think about that, Watson—all those people are gone to you. There was a hollow feeling that started in his stomach and quickly spread through the rest of his body. Keep walking, he thought. It’ll pass.

A mile or so later it felt safe enough to stop. He’d crossed under several bridges, it was a different neighborhood, less trash along the stream. Time to get cleaned up. One last look around. See—you’re alone. He stripped off his old clothes. There were lights from distant houses but it was very dark along the stream, comforting. Everything changing. Used to be afraid of the dark, now it makes you feel safe. Remember being a kid, sleeping out in the yard and leaving the tent fly open so you could see the house. Different story these days.

Alright, stop dawdling. Get that scraggle off your face. He set the stolen toiletries on a rock by the water and stripped down until he was just wearing his new pants, then splashed the streamwater on his face and hair, lathered and rinsed, rubbed the shaving gel onto his cheeks and neck and shaved by feel. Picked a cheap razor like you were paying for it. Make another pass to be sure. He relathered his face and shaved a second time. Dry off quick—tainted water, a trillion bacteria per gallon. Smells like fuel oil. E. coli. A new man, washed clean by filth. Where’s your undershirt?

He dressed carefully, tucking his new clean shirt into his clean pants, pulling the fleece on top and then the jacket. All the energy bars had fallen out of his pockets, probably while he was running. Forgot to close the zippers, he thought. An entire day’s worth of food. He shook his head. Doesn’t matter. Focus on the good—clean hair, clean face, clean clothes. In a minute you’ll be warm again.

Still following the stream, he passed behind a long apartment complex and under another busy roadway, then a second development, town-homes with backyards that came down to the water. Suburban dreamland, creek in your backyard. Meanwhile there’s a dark side—a conduit for wanted men.

He stopped to look at the houses just up the hill, the people oblivious in their good lighting. Woodsmoke in the air, cozy fires. A teenager on her back porch talking on a cellphone; a dozen or so people in the house next door, some sort of party, all oblivious to Isaac walking through the darkness, fifty yards away.

Theoretical situation: let’s say you had to choose between you and them—those people there, total strangers. Press the red button, drop a nuke. That’s not a useful question, he thought. Okay so imagine they had to answer—if they had to choose between themselves and you? No mystery there, especially now. Strange body means nothing. Call the police, half minute of angst and back to your chardonnay Worry more about your Labrador. Alright Watson, keep moving. No rest for the weary.

Up on someone’s porch, a dog began to bark. Speaking of—thinks you’ll steal his kibble. The people at the party looked through the window toward Isaac, but didn’t see him. Meanwhile pooch knows you’re here—the supposedly dumb animal.

He kept walking. Don’t think about these people, your day has been bad enough. Spared the rod spoiled the Baron. Seemed like the only choice but maybe it was not—six dollars in your pocket and the police have seen your face. He felt a shiver go through him. Ended up in gun-sights. Cop could have shot you dead. Would have been legal, a fleeing felon. His compassion made the trigger too heavy—you reminded him of his son. Only luck you’ve had in years.

Two days and you’ll be out of food and money, presuming something doesn’t happen before then. Can’t beg on streetcorners—they know your description. Most likely they have your pack as well, your name. Not to mention any fallout from the Swede. Interstate warrant.

Keep on like this and they’ll find your body in the bushes. To them just another mystery, to you no please, then a whispered sorry kid, feel your life fading out. Maybe not tomorrow but eventually. Don’t pretend it’s one way when it’s another. You need to start doing things differently.

He kept walking, glanced around him in the darkness. No one is watching, just you. Might be too late anyway. You might have already traded yourself for the Baron.

Much later the stream teed into a broad clearing for a powerline. It was clear and flat and with the starlight and faint moon he could see a long way in both directions, the land stretching out on either side of him.

Polaris behind you—going south. Sit a minute. He found a place in the tall grass and relaxed, looking into the distance, down the long swath cut for the powerlines. He closed his eyes and the afterimages quickly resolved into faces. He opened them again and looked around in the darkness. There was nothing. Big deal, he thought. He put his head on his bony knees. He could see men sitting around a fire. You’re just tired, he thought. But the faces wouldn’t go away, it was the Swede and the others and something else as well, a dim shape just outside the light. Then the Swede was standing there, fully lit in the glow from the stove, saying he must have already took off. Last words. Small choices—you came in a different door than you went out. Knew not to go back in the same way.

Only reason you and Poe are alive, that small choice. Your own body trying to keep you breathing—go in the other door. Hard-wiring. Old as gravity. Look what you did to the Swede: no premeditation, no knife, gun, or club. A found object. A natural part of you, the lower level. Built into every man woman child, you tell yourself you don’t need it but look around you. Your friend over the stranger. Yourself over the friend. Highest stakes and you are still here and the other guy is not.

Then what is the point? He took a deep breath. Need to get moving again. He was exhausted, his legs had stiffened and cramped in the few minutes he’d been sitting, but he stood up and began to walk.

Here is the point: keep setting one foot in front of the other. Stay warm. What you did in that store you’ll have to do again, maybe not tomorrow but the next day. Pretend you’re different but you’re not. Still have to eat.

You need to admit this. Stop walking. No, I would rather not. Put my faith in the kid, he’ll figure something out.

He continued to push through the tall grass. Above him the sky was broad and dark and he could no longer see lights from any houses.

There is no kid, he thought. There is only you.

10. Grace

She’d barely slept and the light had been coming in the window awhile now, morning again, there was no point. She called in sick to work. She had to think. She found herself standing by Billy’s door; the hole he’d punched and covered with masking tape, some tantrum or other, she didn’t remember the reason, she pushed the door open and went into his room. There was a stillness, sunlight and old dustmotes. Feel of a tomb. She eased herself into his bed, the smell of him still strong, her boy and the man he’d become.

The childish feel of the place, old posters sagging, piles of things clumped together, clothes and shoes and hunting magazines, school papers he’d labored over, a curtain rod that had fallen down months ago but he hadn’t bothered to put back up. She should eat but she wasn’t hungry. She had done the best she could, it had not been enough. She would never know the reasons but she had not been good enough, she would never understand it. He had made her life simple, she saw now— how many times did you keep going just for him. A reason for living the same as a reason for dying. The heaviness she felt, she could not imagine herself getting up.

His hunting bow leaning in one corner, his rifle next to the bed, the only two things he religiously took care of, he always waxed the bowstring and oiled the rifle and kept them both on their respective mounts on the wall, wooden pegs he had made himself. She got up and lifted the Winchester, cocked the hammer, she didn’t know if it was loaded or not. She didn’t check the chamber, just held it in her hands and felt the weight. It was a game she could play, loaded or not. If it turned out to be loaded it would not be her fault.

After a time she put the gun down and her hands began to shake. She needed to leave the room, leave Billy’s room, but she didn’t want to. She sat back down on the bed.

She would have to get rid of the gun, give it to Harris. But maybe it was too late, the thought had entered her mind, a slow undermining, like water along a river, or the way an old mineshaft could suddenly collapse a house. It took the earth out from under you and then…

Except there was still Harris. She wouldn’t be alone. But without Billy she wondered if she would get quieter and quieter, shrink until there was nothing, it had always been borrowed time, it was all built on hope. Underneath all the bullshit about choosing to be happy, there was hope. Meaning doubt. The heart doing its skip jump that everything was about to change.

It was faith she was talking about, always thinking better things were waiting when really it was a rat’s nest, one of those knots you couldn’t untie.

She stood up and opened Billy’s closet, nothing was on shelves, it was all a tall pile that was barely held back by the closet door. It would all have to be thrown away, he was never coming back.

Except I didn’t hurt anyone, she said out loud. Why should I be the one to pay for it. That was true—she hadn’t hurt anyone. The work she did at the women’s shelter—she had helped a lot of people. On Billy’s dresser there were a few old beer bottles, she didn’t know how long they’d been sitting there, she picked up one by the neck, hefted it, she wanted to throw it through the window, she wanted to scream and smash everything in the room. But there was no one there to see it, or hear her. If no one heard your sounds then you did not really make them.

I am a good person, she said out loud, I have always done the right thing. She was the kind of person who went out of her way for people. And Billy, it was self- defense, she could not stop thinking that. Self-defense, she had seen his neck. One of those people, probably the man who’d died, had been trying to cut her son’s throat. It was self- defense but no one was saying that. He would go to prison, lose his life for nothing. And the ones who put him there…

Say it, she thought. Say what you’re thinking. Say what you’re meaning now. She went into the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror, washed her hands and face. I am a good person but it is not fair what is happening to my son. And Harris can find that man. Good person or a good mother, there was not supposed to be a difference. But there was. It was not the same thing. Except it was. It was self- defense, it was this man, this homeless man, a no one, Harris said, or Billy. There was no question about it, it was not how you were supposed to think but there it was, it was the other man for Billy.

She took a long bath and used the sandalwood bubble soap she’d been saving for a year now, a present from the women at the shelter. What would they say? But they would all do the same thing, any mother would, there wasn’t a choice about it. She called Harris and he promised to come over.

11. Harris

There was something wrong with Grace, she was sitting on the couch as if surprised to see him there, for a second he wondered if Virgil had come back but his truck wasn’t outside. Then he thought no, she must be drunk.

“I didn’t hear you come up,” she said. She patted the couch next to her.

“Bad day?”

She nodded.

“Anything I can do?”

She shook her head. “I guess I just got to thinking it was a sign, Billy and all. Like I gave it my best and…” She shrugged.

“It’s not a sign. It’s still early.”

“You don’t have to lie about it anymore.”

“He’s a good boy” he said. “Things will start going better for him.” He said it and it didn’t even feel like a lie, Billy being a good kid, it was just something he wished were true.

“Thanks,” she said.

“I mean it.”

They kissed a little but there wasn’t any heat in it. He had a moment of panic, he wanted to shake her, he had the feeling he was going to lose her again. They were both just sitting there on the couch staring at different things like an old couple.

“Let’s go out somewhere,” he said. “I’ll take you to Speers Street.”

“Nah,” she said. She lifted her hand and brought it down hard on his, almost a slap. She squeezed it.

“There’s still a lot that has to happen.”

“I know what’s going to happen to him, Bud.”

He started to contradict her but there was no point, Billy was not going to be saved, in fact he was going to drag her under as well, he was going to drag all three of them under. There was a sudden rush of anger and he crossed his arms over his chest as if to squeeze it out of himself. The looks she used to give Billy, it had always made him jealous, he was embarrassed to admit it but it was true, he had been jealous of her son. A guilty thought came to him: it would have been better if the boy had died—she’d be able to move on, believe what she wanted. Now the boy both existed and didn’t exist, he was there but being kept from her, she would never be able to stop thinking about him. The only torch she could carry.

She interrupted his thoughts: “You’re lucky you’re alone.”

“Grace,” he said. “Poor Grace.”

“I’m serious, it’s not worth it.”

“Let’s get out of here. We could go up to the city, even. We could go to Vincent’s, we haven’t been there in years.”

She leaned over, hugging herself. “I just want my stomach to stop hurting.”

“Have you eaten anything?”

“I can’t.”

“You need to.”

She shook her head.

He rubbed her back, then ran his fingers up and down it, gentle, and closed his eyes and felt the fabric of her blouse.

“I know I’m lucky,” she said. “I’m sorry I’m being so dramatic.”

“No, come here,” he said. She leaned into him, put her head on his shoulder, and he closed his eyes again.

“Maybe I need to make love,” she said. “I think that’s what I need.”

They kissed some more and it was awkward and he half- wanted to stop but she wouldn’t let him. It was a long time before they were both ready and then it took a long time to finish. He felt drained and she got up and she went to the bedroom and came back wearing a bathrobe; he sat awkwardly on the couch without his clothes. After a while he put his undershirt over his lap.

“Not to beat a dead horse,” he said. “You should try to eat.”

“I just want to lie down.”

“Okay.”

“I need to give you these things before I forget.”

She got up again and came back with the lever- action rifle, he recognized the old .30-30 that was Billy’s, and an old single- barrel shotgun.

“It’s probably better if you take these.”

He stood up naked and looked into her eyes but there was nothing in them. She handed the guns over impassively. He set them in the corner by the door.

After lying in the bed awhile they slept together again, not awkwardly but as if by routine, she was responding to his touch but it was not the same, she had retreated to some place the signals barely reached. When they were done they lay there holding hands. She would never get over this. He would have to make a decision.

Except it was already made. Possibly he’d made it when he’d first hidden Billy’s jacket. He was not going to leave her like this. He smoothed the blankets on top of him, it seemed that if he pushed hard enough he could break through his own skin like a drum. He had done this to himself, let the dark times catch up. It was an old feeling. The last time it had come was on a hunting trip in Wyoming, lost and trapped two nights in a snowcave, out of food and the snow kept collapsing on him. He knew he would die, there was no question about it, he had earned it, gone out with weather coming in, known it might turn bad and walked out into it anyway, he had flown all the way out to Wyoming and had not wanted to waste his big trip.

It was no different than this. He’d walked into it. At dawn the third morning he’d left the cave and started to walk, set out postholing through the snow, too weak to carry his rifle or daypack, and ten hours later, in the last few minutes of daylight, he’d found a road. He had never told a soul what happened, not Grace, not Ho, not his doctor, he’d checked into a motel and caught his flight the next day. A piece of him had stayed out there. This will make sense also, he told himself. This is the only thing you can give her.

He started to pull the covers up but he made himself stand and walk around the room. Maybe he had always known it. He stood by the window and waited to see what he would say.

“Come back to bed.” She patted the place next to her.

“I will.” Out the window there was a faint light, a few stars, he was looking for something but he didn’t know what.

“I’ll be alright, it’s just that it all hit me today. I promise I’ll be better. Just come back a minute.”

Later that night he opened his eyes and realized he hadn’t really been sleeping. It would be no different than anything else he’d done before, getting rid of a bad element. A talking to. There wasn’t any point in thinking about it. It had always been Billy over everyone else, there were people who lived for their children and she was one of them. She would be a different person otherwise. Plenty of other people didn’t, it was good there were people like her in the world. It was lucky he knew one of those people.

“What did you say?” she whispered.

“I’ll take care of Billy. I’ll make sure nothing happens to him.”

They looked at each other for a long time across the dark. She doesn’t know, he thought. She doesn’t know what this is going to mean.

“Just in case, it’s better if you don’t say a word about this to anyone. Not a word.”

He could see that her eyes got wet but she wiped them and that was all.

“I’m a bad person,” she said. “Aren’t I?”

He reached and stroked the hair from her face. “You’re his mother.”

12. Isaac

He slept in the undergrowth at the edge of a field and was awakened by the sound of an approaching truck, its headlights bearing down on him. Get up, he thought, here they come. He tried to remember where he was, and where he was going to run, and the noise got louder and the headlights swept to a different part of the woods and Isaac jumped to his feet.

It was a green farm tractor. Isaac sat down again and the farmer shot past, not noticing him, a large John Deere planter trailing a plume of bright yellow seeds. Christ these early risers. His blood was rushing and part of him wished he was still asleep but he couldn’t help grinning. The old man’s driving that thing like a racecar. Except very straight rows. He stayed where he was and watched the farmer work and then watched the sun come up over the long flat field before collecting himself and slipping the back way out of the hedgerow. There was a road on the other side.

The land was very flat, mostly agricultural. A few scattered housing developments, but mostly broad rectangles of tilled soil, separated by narrow treelines or old fences. Everything in neat grids. Stick to the roads. Planting time, don’t get caught trespassing. Course you might get a meal out of it. Or at least a drink of water out of someone’s hose.

Around noon he came to a large river that stretched on forever in three directions, as far as he could see. Or it might be Lake Erie. That would be close to here. Wonder if it’s safe, just to wet the mouth. No don’t try it. End up even worse off. To his left there were houses along the water, a large gated community, to his right, farther away, was a small marina, just open land beyond it. He made his way toward the marina. As he approached he saw an overflowing trashcan by the gate.

Will you? But there was no question. He looked around for witnesses, then picked through the trash as quickly as possible. There was uneaten and unspoiled food, he could smell it intensely, more strongly even than the rot of the trashcan. No he thought I’m not there yet. He dug through paper bags of fast food, wine bottles, empty beer cans, water bottles. That one is heavy. Nearly full. Water or something else? Make sure it isn’t someone’s piss. He was up to his shoulders in the trashcan and he retrieved the bottle and held it up to the light. Clear and cold. Hope they didn’t have anything. Better than lake water—share with one stranger instead of a few million. He drank half the bottle, which had a faint taste of cigarettes, then capped it and put it into his pocket. There you go. Feel better already. Hope no one saw.

He continued to walk, following the contour of the shoreline. There was a nuclear plant in the distance, the tall cooling towers by the lake. Where are you headed? I don’t know. Just walking now. What is Poe doing? Probably not eating out of trashcans. Probably taking a nap. Drunk and asleep in his hammock. Except that is not the only possibility. There is still a dead body they found and his coat. He will not be able to get away from that.

When do I stop being the same person? In other people’s minds or your own? Mine, he thought. I don’t know. Something’s wrong, you’re getting farther from the lake—on some sort of tributary. Keep following this and it’ll get you all turned around. Pick a direction and stick to it. Alright, west. But he knew that it didn’t matter. There was nowhere he was going, and no one waiting for him, and it no longer mattered where he’d been.

A few hours later he passed under an interstate and the land became more open, woods and fields. He allowed himself one small swallow from the water bottle every so often. Sooner or later you’ll come on something else. Bucket of fried chicken. Steak and eggs. The road dead-ended in a patch of woods so he went into the woods. Still going west. This makes no sense. It doesn’t make sense to be here and it doesn’t make sense to be on the road. Just keep walking.

It was alternately a forest, the edges wide enough so he could not see the end of the trees, and a narrower boundary between farmland. By late in the afternoon he was getting the sensation of being followed. Stupid to come here, you are not going to be able to find anything to eat. The ground was wet and riddled with deer tracks. His pulse was beginning to speed up. Paranoid is all. Ignore it or you’ll go crazy. Mental health your only health. He continued to walk but the feeling didn’t abate. When he got to a natural choke point in the trail he crouched down behind a rock outcropping and waited.

Three dogs soon appeared, strays, trotting quickly along the path, and then the lead dog stopped suddenly to sniff the air. The dogs were thin and filthy, missing patches of fur, mixtures of various farm dogs— border collies, shepherds, it was impossible to tell.

A shiver passed through him as he watched. A fourth dog soon caught up to the others, and as he got Isaac’s scent he stiffened and turned toward the rocks where Isaac was hiding. Can they see you? Probably not. But that is not a friendly interest. He glanced around him and found several large rocks. You moved—now they see you. The lead dog started forward, hesitantly and slightly crouched, ears back, and Isaac stood up and hit it in the chest with a rock. He had not thrown the rock very hard and the dog only skittered slightly before resuming its approach. The second rock Isaac threw much harder, clipping the dog in the nose, and then hit it a third time as it bolted and ran. The other dogs looked unsure until the rocks began raining down on them as well. He continued to pelt them as they ran.

Was that cruel? Don’t know. Get going, he thought. Cross that field and find a road. Sorry, pooches. Except they knew you had nothing to eat. They weren’t coming looking for a handout—they were testing. Strays worse than coyotes—less fear of people. Reason farmers shoot them. Still.

Near sundown he stopped to rest under a wooden bridge. The sun was large in the sky and low over the fields and lines of trees. Pretty. He took a sip of water but the bottle was nearly empty and his stomach ached from hunger. If you had more water you’d be fine. Should have kept looking in that trashcan, found a second bottle. No you should have gone along that interstate. Need to stay near food and people. This was stupid.

I am trying to get away from people, he thought. He felt tears of frustration coming to his face. Need to get back to that interstate. Probably five or six miles. Get up. Soon as it’s dark you won’t be able to navigate. There’s a state highway back there somewhere. That will intersect the interstate at some point.

By dark he’d reached the state highway trekking across the fields. His feet felt heavy with mud, he’d been making slow progress. Far enough, he thought. This is far enough for today. If I see a stream I’ll drink out of it. How long did I walk? Twenty miles? Your headache is dehydration. Won’t kill you. Need a meal and a bed, another sip of water. Save the rest for later. An ounce or two left. Pines over there—should be soft underneath.

In the far distance he could hear dogs barking. Need a good stick. No, need a sleeping bag. Cold coming up through the ground. Let me sleep. When he closed his eyes he could see the figures standing around the fire but when he opened his eyes the figures were still there, up in the trees. The Swede smiling, his face lit orange from the fire and all the shadows behind him. Poe was standing next to the Swede. Tired people hallucinate, he thought. So do hungry people. Just let me sleep.

No, tomorrow you will have to do something. Steal again, probably. Fine. Nature of nature, take what it needs. Feed off others. Like old Otto—down for good, a dirt sack. Scarecrow bones. Wonder where he is now. Any family to claim him. Empty as any other dead thing only he’s a man, name and a story, child of two others, a girl who loved him. Human nature to come in for the dead ones and the weak ones. Animal nature the opposite. Comes out when you’re alone. Your higher values lose their color.

His mouth was dry. Get up you can find a faucet at one of those barns, a garden hose or something. Do it now while it’s dark. Think—if your mother could see you. Stake through her broken heart. The family disease, her quiet moments. Lee didn’t catch it. Old man thinks you did, but he doesn’t know better. Wanted a different kind of family, himself at the head of the table.

How long ago was that? A month. Feels like a year. That was when you decided to leave, seems pointless now. Sitting with him out back, wearing your coats and grilling, listening to the radio—spring training highlights. Reds over the Pirates. Zach Duke, he said. Get him up to the majors—that’s the guy who’s gonna bring us out of this slump. What did you say back to him? Can’t remember. You wonder what it’d be like to be someone like that. A guy who’s gonna matter, basically. He looked at you. You know what I mean? Then he goes on: Course, for a person your size, you always had a hell of an arm.

Isaac looked up at the dark sky, then rolled onto his side and curled up for warmth. Was that what started all this? Of course not—-just another on the pile. It could have been something else, anything—this whole time you were staying to get his approval. Admit that. It was not out of charity that you were staying. You were staying to get him to realize things about you. Meanwhile you only made it worse. One day he thanks you for dinner, the next he says how you’ve been living off his pension. Testing you. Same as he did to Mom. Neither one of you ever pushed back. She must have known she made a mistake. Wasn’t sure how to get out of it. Tried to bear up but couldn’t. Finally made a choice.

She was not a saint herself. Decided her duty was done once Lee got into Yale, same as him. Time to check out. Except you don’t know that, anything could have happened. No note, spur of the moment. You look off a high bridge and get a strange feeling. You don’t know what happened.

He woke up several times during the night, it was very cold and finally he was so cold and stiff he couldn’t fall back asleep. Start walking or you’ll freeze. He took another sip from the water bottle, stumbled to his feet and dusted himself off, then began to walk again, half conscious, toward the sound of the freeway, until the sun was up and he knew he didn’t need to move any longer to stay warm.

An hour or it might have been three hours after reaching the interstate he found a McDonald’s, where he got three egg sandwiches off the dollar menu and drank several cups of water for his headache before refilling his water bottle. People were alternately staring at him and trying to pretend he wasn’t there. With tax he had two dollars and eighty cents left. The third egg sandwich he wrapped carefully in a white bag and put in his big coat pocket. He used the washroom to clean up. His clothes were getting wrinkled and filthy again, but nothing like before. He wondered if people were really watching him. Something about your face, he thought. Not just the bruises.

Walking again he stayed parallel to the highway, on the private property side of the fenceline so no cops would pull over. Need to find a train, he thought. Now I can think again. Get a train and get south so I don’t freeze. Why, he thought. Where are you going? Someplace warm, I don’t know.

I’m fine. Adjusting. Need to scrounge a little today. You mean like rob something? I don’t know. Still feel hungry somehow. Need to ration, though. Two dollars and change left—have to eat tomorrow as well. And every day after. Save the other sandwich. I will eat half tonight, he thought.

He continued to parallel the interstate, making slow progress because of all the fences he needed to cross, all the brush, taking his time, staying out of sight. Then there was an open area ahead of him, a rest-stop with a bathroom and cars pulling in and out, he refilled his water bottle and drank for a long time from the fountain. He sat outside the main building, resting at one of the picnic tables. Soon enough a Camry pulled up directly in front of him and a man got out and jogged quickly toward the bathrooms. Isaac stood up and walked past the car, the man’s wallet was sitting in front of the gearshift, the doors were plainly unlocked, it was fifty yards to the treeline.

He stood for a half minute with his back to the car, then walked away from it, continued walking, out of the reststop. That was stupid, he thought. You won’t have that luxury again. No, I am not going to do that to someone. Yes you will. That or you will starve. I don’t have to eat today he thought. I still have money.

Even as the sun went down he could feel the temperature dropping quickly so he spent an hour collecting brush, laying piles of branches against a downed log, leaving a small space underneath, then piling old leaves and pine branches and anything else he could to add on top until the pile was several feet high. There was barely enough space to wriggle in. Tight but very warm. Blanket of leaves. Badge of honor.

He must have fallen asleep because he woke up in the pitch black with a sense that he’d been buried alive and started to knock apart the shelter before he looked out the end of it and remembered where he was. There was moonlight on the leaves and an animal moving outside, long legs, a deer. Step step step. Step. It jumped when it got his scent, cracking branches as it fled. He closed his eyes again. His mother was walking in the sunlight down the driveway, the light on her dark hair, by then streaked with gray, her head was up and she was smiling about something. Then he could no longer see her face. They were with his father in the hospital, climb on up, he said, and Isaac was boosted up onto the bed, his father’s face was swollen from burns, nearly hairless, and he stroked Isaac’s head. My young man, he said. How’s my son? Looked nothing like your father. Not even the eyes. Hospital mix- up. Hamlet story, replaced by another man. Beginning of the end, that was then. When he got laid off it was one thing and when that happened it was another. Wore everyone down—you’re the only one who stayed. Remember wishing Mom would have an affair, leave him. But of course you couldn’t leave him yourself.

Your one time visiting Lee, she was so happy to see you, she could not stop kissing you. God it is so good to see you. Quit it or they’ll think it’s incest, you told her. She shrugged and mouthed the banjo sound from Deliverance. You’re going to be here soon. The tall stone towers, the buildings like castles. Don’t worry about Dad, she said.

Expected everyone to be superior but they didn’t act it. It’s beautiful where you come from, isn’t it? I guess. Not like here, though. People thought that was funny: you mean not like New Haven? No, he’s right. It is beautiful here, we all take it for granted. That was the physics major, boyfriend of the moment.

I am burying these things, he thought. I am never going to think about them again.

In the morning he kicked the shelter apart and dug a hole for his scat and kicked dirt over it when he was finished. Erase your traces. Still have that last sandwich. He walked a little until he could see the interstate and the cars rushing on it and the sun was on him. Then he ate his last bit of food and drank the rest of his water.

He continued the same way along the interstate. No idea where you are. Up in Michigan. What would Poe do if he were here? No idea. Make a bow and arrow or something. Don’t need it. Wonder what’s happened with Otto the Swede. Can’t guess. No point. Sooner or later I’ll cross some tracks. Need to get some money first or something to eat. Find a reststop and wait long enough, something will turn up. Except I don’t want to do that. As you prefer. Starve then. There’s an overpass, take a survey.

From the overpass he could see far down the highway, how flat the land was, the cars and trucks rushing underneath, the noise deafening. The sun bright you tore your new pants. Wonder when. Thorns and all that barbed wire fencing. Lucky you don’t have lockjaw. Don’t lean too far over that rail now. Feel the air pushing up at you. You could float, just for a second. Kinetic energy of a Mack truck: one- half mass energy squared. Eighty thousand pounds times eighty miles per hour square it over two. Except you need feet per second. Alright a hundred fifteen, then. Five hundred twenty- nine million foot- pounds. Your weight, one hundred ten pounds. Would not slow the truck. No, technically I would. Just not enough to notice.

Get off the bridge she would have done it no matter what she wasn’t a tough person. If she had married someone different, though. Then you would not exist. You existing means on one specific second they did that and it was you. You existing means she married him. You existing means she did that. Two weeks missing you all knew what she’d done none of you would admit it. Hoping she left the family started a new life, knew the alternative. Burying her he refused to leave, wouldn’t move his chair from next to the hole. You and Lee had to push him. Telling people at the funeral, all his friends, anyone who would listen he told them she’d been murdered. Except people knew. They always know after someone does something—put two and two together. You blamed him and you didn’t. He blamed himself, though. If there’s one thing you can be sure of it’s that. Meanwhile he kept testing you—will you leave me, too?

Now he is alone, knowing what he did to her, that you don’t forgive him. Alone, his daughter forgave him so she could leave. No I forgive him for that it’s the act he puts on. Because he has to. What his insides must look like. Same as what you did to the Swede, part of you will die so as not to understand it. Cold white hollow at your center. Kept warm by others or it leaks out into the world. What makes a man: love honor morals. Someone to protect. Man alone the rational animal. A man alone is a rational animal. Strip away what’s decent. Hang on to your knife. Keep on until you’re stopped.

You keep going like this or you can lean here, lean a little farther, hurt for a half second and then nothing. I am not afraid of that, he thought. It is the unfinished business. Leaving plenty of it. It is only Poe. Only Poe that is not what you thought when he pulled you out of the water.

I am lucky he thought I am lucky they cannot see me like this. Walk then. Start walking. Alright. I will get off this bridge. I will get off this bridge I will choose something.