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stared down at Gordy. “Let’s talk about you, Gordy, you and your condition. You’re not sleeping or eating, or bathing for that matter. Are you taking your meds?”
    “What meds?”
    “Come on, Gordy. We’re your friends and we’re here to help.”
    “What meds?” he demanded.
    “Come on, Gordy, we know what’s going on,” Mark said.
    Gordy turned to Zola and growled, “What have you told them?”
    Zola was about to respond when Todd said, “Nothing. She’s told us nothing, but we’re not blind, Gordy, we’re your best friends and you need some help.”
    “I don’t need meds,” he snapped back, then bolted to his feet, brushed by Todd, and went to his bedroom. Seconds later he yelled, “Get out of here!” and slammed the door. They took a deep breath and stared at each other. Seconds later, the door opened and Gordy came out. He grabbed the bottle of tequila, said, “Leave! Now!” and disappeared again into his bedroom.
    A minute passed without a sound. Zola stood and crossed the den. She put an ear to his door and listened. She stepped away and whispered, “I think he’s crying.”
    “Great,” Mark whispered.
    Another minute passed. Softly, Todd said, “We can’t leave him.”
    “No way,” Mark said. “Let’s take turns. I’ll pull the first shift on the sofa.”
    “I’m not leaving,” Zola said.
    Mark looked around the den and finished his beer. Almost in a whisper he said, “Okay, you take the sofa and I’ll take the chair. Todd, you sleep on Zola’s sofa and we’ll swap in a few hours.”
    Todd nodded and said, “Okay, I guess that will work.” He stepped to the fridge, got another beer, and left. Mark turned off the lights and settled into the battered leather chair. A few feet away, Zola curled up on the sofa. He whispered, “This could be a long night.”
    “We shouldn’t talk,” she said. “The walls are thin and he might hear us.”
    “Right.”
    The digital clock on the microwave emitted a bluish light that seemed to grow brighter as their eyes adjusted to the darkness. It defined the shadows of the small dining table, the computer, and printer. Though they were still wide awake, the room was perfectly still. No sounds from the bedroom. Soft, distant music from down the hall. After ten minutes, Mark pulled out his phone and checked his messages and e-mails. Nothing important. The next ten minutes seemed like an hour as the chair grew more uncomfortable.
    He stared at the wall. He couldn’t see the picture of Hinds Rackley, but he could feel his eyes gazing smugly down at them. At the moment, though, Mark wasn’t concerned with Rackley and his grand conspiracy. He was worried about Gordy. Their challenge tomorrow would be getting their friend to the doctor.

5
    A t 2:00 a.m., Todd slipped into Gordy’s apartment without a sound and found both Mark and Zola asleep. He shook Mark’s arm and whispered, “My turn.” Mark stood, stretched his stiff joints and muscles, and walked across the hall, where he fell onto Zola’s sofa.
    Before dawn, Gordy got out of bed and put on his jeans, sweatshirt, socks, and denim jacket. Holding his hiking boots, he stood by the door and listened. He knew they were in the den, waiting for him to make a move. He gently opened the bedroom door and listened. He took a step into the den, saw their silhouettes on the sofa and in the chair, heard their heavy breathing, and silently walked to the door. At the end of the hallway, he put on his boots and left the building.
    At the first hint of sunlight, Zola awoke and sat up. Seeing the bedroom door open she jumped to her feet, turned on the lights, and realized Gordy had managed to escape. “He’s not here!” she yelled at Todd. “He’s gone!”
    Todd scrambled out of the chair and walked past her to the bedroom, a small square space where hiding would be impossible. He poked through the closet, looked in the bathroom, and yelled, “Shit! What happened?”
    “He got up and left,”