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you carried him all the way out?’’
    ‘‘Well, yeah. What else could I do?’’
    ‘‘Were you surprised to hear Jude Allman seems to be fine after this ordeal? Did you ever think in your wildest dreams this could happen?’’
    Kevin paused a moment. ‘‘I don’t know. But I guess, in the back of my mind, I thought about how it happened to him before.’’
    The story cut to the reporter interviewing another person, a middle-aged man Jude didn’t recognize.
    ‘‘Why did you come here today?’’ asked the reporter.
    ‘‘I just want to meet him,’’ the man answered.
    ‘‘Why’s that?’’
    ‘‘I dunno, something special, I guess. Like a television star or something, when you think about it. Better than that, because it’s not like he just acts on a soap opera.’’
    Jude flipped off the TV, watched as the phosphorous dot in the center of the screen faded. He leaned toward the window, trying to get a glimpse of the crowd outside, but couldn’t quite see to the lobby area.
    The nurse finished putting out his dinner, then finally spoke again. ‘‘He’s right, you know.’’
    Jude jumped again, and she smiled this time. ‘‘You’re awfully jumpy,’’ she said.
    ‘‘Yeah, well. I’ve had a couple thousand extra volts today,’’ he said, ‘‘so I guess I have a little extra energy to burn off.’’
    She laughed, then turned to go before he remembered what she’d said and stopped her.
    ‘‘Who was right?’’ he asked.
    ‘‘The man in the interview,’’ she said. ‘‘There’s something special about you.’’ She left the room, closing the door behind her.
    Jude stared after her for a minute, then turned his attention to dinner.

5
    RINGING
Now
    Jude pulled his mind from the past and focused on the painful present: his Spartan home, closed in on all sides by walls of Sheetrock. Kristina was still staring at him. He didn’t want to look her direction, certainly didn’t want to look her in the eye, but he felt her stare. A small trickle of sweat traced a wet line down his forehead, and his palms were starting to itch. Maybe they had sent her, maybe they hadn’t; he still wasn’t sure either way. But it didn’t really matter, because it was wrong, terribly wrong, to talk about deep things.
    Buried things.
    You didn’t bury bodies and then dig them up years later. It was best to take the same approach with memories.
    He stood and mashed the heel of his hand into his right eye. ‘‘I need to get something. I have a killer headache.’’
    Kristina immediately opened her purse and rummaged through it for a few seconds. ‘‘Here you go,’’ she said, holding out a white bottle of ibuprofen.
    Jude shook her off and headed to the bathroom for his own medication. He fumbled with the safety-proof cap, then popped it off and shook two tablets into his hand. He hesitated before shaking out two more.
    Jude popped all four tablets into his mouth, arched his head and dry-swallowed, then headed back to his guest and took his chair again. Silent.
    After a few moments, Kristina finally spoke. ‘‘So whatever happened to Kevin?’’
    ‘‘Hmmm?’’
    ‘‘Your friend Kevin. You keep in touch with him?’’
    He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. ‘‘Nah. Haven’t talked to him in, I dunno, ten years.’’
    She leaned forward as he leaned away. Stalker and prey. ‘‘So what about the third time?’’ she asked.
    He sighed, shook his head as he ran his hands across his face. ‘‘I can’t right now. I . . . I have to be somewhere.’’
    She grinned a bit. ‘‘You mean you actually leave this house sometimes?’’
    Jude said nothing, found the floor in front of his chair suddenly very interesting. His tongue felt thick, as if it were covered in long shag rug. He hadn’t spoken this much in years; he had moved to Red Lodge to avoid conversations, and while the people of the mining-town-turned-ski-town were always ready with a ‘‘How ya doin’ ’’ or a