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can’t focus on anything but that picture…that face that I know, even though I have never seen it.
    But I have seen it.
    My heart shifts into high gear and needles of panic prickle up and down my arms and legs. I look at the detectives and I can tell they see the hot flush on my skin. They have become still, watching me. I have to get out of here.
    I stand up.
    “If you want to talk to me any more about this I think you should call my lawyer in New York,” I say.
    They stare at me like I’m Charles Manson. I turn to the door and wait . My hands are shaking.
    “Mr. Rhodes,” Marsh begins—
    “We’re done,” I cut him off. “Either let me out of here now or get my lawyer,” I say the magic words.
    Finally Larson gets up and unlocks the door and I am free. I walk down the empty corridor as fast as I can without running, my heart hammering in my chest.
    “We’ll be in touch, Mr. Rhodes,” Marsh calls after me as I head down the empty corridor.

    THINGS PAST
     
    The first thing he noticed when he awoke was that, for the first time, he could no longer stretch out fully on the floor of the closet. He was eight years old now and he knew it. He knew because that’s what the Witch told Social Services when they came and made him start school. He had begun first grade at age eight. He was older than the other children but he was small and frail for his age, and incapable of social interaction. He was given an IQ test his first week of school and the teachers were astonished. He scored 168—higher than any student they had ever seen—but he only lasted another six weeks before he was expelled. He had written a story about cutting the head off a girl in his class who had refused to talk to him. He liked the girl because she looked like the Angel, with her blue eyes and pale skin. But when he finally mustered the courage to speak to her she ignored him and he became enraged. He knew he couldn’t hurt her or he would be in trouble and the Witch would beat him. So he wrote about cutting her head off and found himself in trouble anyway. And the Witch burned him with cigarettes and beat him with an extension cord until his back was striped with bright red blood.
    He had come to accept the beatings in silence, his eyes dry and vacant. Any form of attention was a relief compared to the closet. He couldn’t bear the isolation, tossed into the dark place like the soiled laundry that made his bed. That’s what enraged him about the girl at school. She didn’t mock him or lash out at him—she ignored him.
    The second thing he noticed when he woke was a new feeling. He had dreamt of being held naked in the arms of the Angel and as he came awake he found himself with his first erection. He explored himself in the darkness, looking up at the Angel. He whispered things to the Angel—sweet things of childlike longing—and she responded in kind. He had spoken with her many times since she sang to him that first time, on his fifth birthday. He loved her so. She listened. She responded. Now the feeling became more intense, and he knew he could never, ever live without her.

    CHAPTER FOUR

    Sara runs before me, laughing, her yellow sundress wet with surf. I chase her along the jagged line between sea and sand. It is getting dark and we have wandered along the beach for hours and we have no idea where we are but we don’t care. We are young and in love and we will never know fear or pain or loss because we will always be together and we will live forever.
     
    * * *

    I am standing on the beach, staring at the fading pink glow over the cobalt Pacific. My shoes are submerged in sand and I realize I have been standing here, staring at the setting sun, for a long time. I look at my watch. Only 5:40 and the sun is a memory. I have abandoned my plan to go to the storage place. When I fled Parker Center I walked quickly—ran, really—to the car rental agency. I gave them my Amex, they gave me a Ford Escort, and I drove down Third