"Hey, chump. Guess who?"

The second message started up. The voice was instantly recognizable.

Richard Boyle "Didn't think you could duck out that easy, did you? Been with you all along, chump old buddy. Know where you stayed last night. Know what you had for dinner. And I know why you're back in your apartment this morning."

That was interesting. Because Walt wasn't sure exactly why he had come back. Part of it, he supposed, was that he simply resented the idea of letting Boyle force him out of his own home. The more Walt had thought about that the more it had eaten at him. He didn't want Boyle thinking he had won. He didn't want to give the man that simple pleasure. Not for a minute.

But there was more to it than that. Walt had also come back knowing that there was no other way that he'd be able to reconnect with Teri. He had hoped that she would either call or stop by and he could put this other matter aside for awhile. And, of course, she hadn't let him down, had she?

"You're back because of her, aren't you?" Boyle taunted. "Just couldn't get along without the little lady and her kid. You see? I know more than you ever imagined. Your move, Sherlock."

The message ended, almost too abruptly for Walt's taste.

He stared down at the answering machine, feeling like a little boy who couldn't lie. Caught you, young man. Caught you red-handed and dead to rights. No sense trying to deny it. You came back looking for your friend, didn't you? You know you did, so don't you go trying to give me any excuses now.

Then, mercifully, the next message stepped in to silence the chatter.

"Me again," Teri said, rather evenly. "Guess you're not there. I'll call back, I promise. It's almost ten-thirty now. I'll try to give you another call in an hour or so. Hope everything is all right there."

Not exactly all right, Walt thought. But it could be worse.

He listened to three more messages, all of them from Teri and not another word from Richard Boyle, thank you, thank you, thank you. Must be my clean living, Walt thought as he reset the answering the machine and wandered back into the kitchen.

There was nothing left to do now, just wait. Her next call would eventually come, not exactly like clockwork but close enough, and when it did he was going to be here, waiting.

It was the least he could do.

He never should have left in the first place.

Not with Teri and the boy in as much danger as they were.

[55].

Richard Boyle didn't know which he liked more the fact that he had turned the tables on that Travis chump-ass, or the idea that he was finally going to get even with Sarah for putting the chump-ass on his tail in the first place. There was a certain satisfaction in both, he supposed as he watched the little woman change lanes several cars ahead of him. The fucking bitch was long overdue for a lesson on wifely respect, 'cause it was wrong, just straight out wrong, the way she had been making his life so damn difficult of late. A woman's gotta know her place.

Boyle changed lanes, cutting behind a white Volvo and reducing his speed.

You could beat the crap out of a woman and she'd be scared right enough, scared so's maybe she might toe the line a little tighter for a while. But sooner or later she'd forget how bad it hurt. Either that... or she'd begin to like how bad it hurt. Nope... the only way to make an impression that stuck was to mess with her head. You keep the bitch off balance, always looking over her shoulder, never knowing when you might show up on her doorstep, then the fear's got her all the time. It don't ever let go. And comes the time when she can't even hear the phone ring without peeing herself.

Up ahead, the little woman stopped at a red light. She adjusted the rearview mirror, and spent a moment checking her makeup, before sitting back in the seat and waiting for the light to turn green. She looked good, Boyle thought. Better 'an she ever looked when they was married. Some mornings she'd wake up looking like she'd spent the night out back with the dogs. A woman should know to take better care of herself than that.

The light turned green.

Boyle shifted out of neutral into first, a puff of blue smoke exploding out of the tailpipe. Just a little game of cat and mouse was all. Something to make sure the little ex never forgot he was around, that he was watching. Didn't want her to forget that. Nope. Not for a moment.

[56].

Walt had been puttering around the apartment for better than an hour, only half-aware of what he was doing as he straightened things up. He had been pleased to hear that Teri and the boy were all right, though it still bothered him that he had left them unguarded. It also bothered him that Teri had sounded more and more anxious with each message.

He finished in the kitchen, replacing the sugar canister on the counter next to the flour, then wandered back into the bedroom, where it seemed Boyle had enjoyed himself to the extreme. The phone was still on the floor, peeking out from beneath a pillow, and just as Walt was reaching for it, it rang. He snapped it up immediately.

"Yeah?"

"Walt?" It was Teri.

"Thank God. You sure you're all right?"

"Yeah, everything's okay here. We've been moving around from motel to motel, trying not to leave a trail." There was a pause on the other end, and he thought he could hear her take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm so sorry about what happened to your apartment."

"It wasn't your fault, Teri. In fact, it didn't even have anything to do with you and the boy."

"It didn't?"

"No, it was Richard Boyle, the guy I went down to the Bay Area after. Apparently, he found me before I found him. He's the one who trashed the place."

"Why?"

"Because he's a mean son of a bitch, that's why."

"And you're all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Oh, thank God."

Walt leaned back against the wall and toed distractedly at the edge of a manila folder on the floor. He managed to get the flap open and folded back. It was a case report. He thought they had all been removed, but here it was, the one that had been left behind. He glanced down at the title page and immediately focused on the name: Richard Boyle. The man had taken all the case files, except his own. Interesting.

"I went by to see Dr. Childs again. I told you about the first visit, didn't I? That he wanted to do some additional testing?"

"No."

Why would he have left his own case file behind?

"Then I didn't tell you about what happened after the visit, either, did I?"

Why? Walt wondered. With the tip of his shoe, he tried unsuccessfully to flip the title page back, before what Teri had been saying to him gradually came home full force. He looked up.

"No. What's going on, Teri?"

"It's been crazy." She went on to tell him what Childs had said in their first visit, and how they had run into Mitch and his friends outside the doctor's office when they were leaving. She told him about the accident and about hiding out in the mall and about showing up at the apartment and finding the mess there. Then she told him about how they had dropped by to see Dr. Childs a second time and how they had gone in the back way. All of that came out of her matter-of-factly, then suddenly she choked and the words had to fight their way free. "He says there's something wrong with him."

"What do you mean?"

"Dr. Childs-he seems to think there's something wrong with the boy."

"What exactly did he have to say?"

"Apparently, Gabe's got this disease that's something like progeria. I think the medical term is Hutchinson-Gilford Syndrome. At least that's what the doctor says. And what it does, well, I'm not completely sure what it does. But what happens in the end is these children, their systems, they start aging much faster than they're supposed to."

"They grow old?"

"I think it's fairly rare. At least that's the way I understand it."

"And the boy has it?"

"That's what the doctor said."

"He's certain?"

"Yeah. He seemed to be."

"Oh Christ, Teri, I don't know what to say. I mean..." Walt closed his eyes, wishing there were something that would come to mind, something that could take away the sting she had to be feeling. He had never been any good at this kind of thing. And he had never felt any clumsier than he did at this moment. "Did the doctor say anything else? I mean anything about a cure or maybe a way they could delay the effects?"

"No. I didn't hear anything like that. He wanted to keep Gabe under observation, though. Just to be on the safe side." Her voice fell to just above a whisper and Walt thought she was close to tears. "I'm scared, Walt. I don't know what to do. I don't want to lose him. I just got him back."

"I know."

"I want to do what's best for him."

"You will, Teri."

"I love him so much."

"I know you do. And believe me, he knows it, too." Walt sank to the floor, wishing they were face-to-face and not talking over the phone like this. "We need to get together, Teri."

"Yeah, I'd like that."

"Any place you'd like to meet?"

"Somewhere public. I'm feeling a little paranoid these days."

"You've earned the right. How about the plaza outside City Hall, the west side, with the statue and the fountain? You know where that is?"

"I think so."

"In an hour?" Walt asked. He glanced at his watch. It was already a little after three in the afternoon. That would give him enough time to finish straightening up the apartment and maybe stop off to get something for dinner tonight before he had to meet her. The apartment was still the safest place for them to stay until things settled down again.

"Yeah, that sounds fine."

"Good, I'll see you then."

"Thanks, Walt. I don't know who else I could have turned to."

"See you around four."

He dropped the receiver back in its cradle, and dug the rest of the phone out from beneath the pillow. He grabbed the lamp off the table next to the door in the same swoop, and placed them both back on the night-stand, where he had kept them in easy reach since the first day he had moved into the apartment. The bed sheets had been torn off the mattress and scattered around the room as if a tornado had picked them up and toyed with them before dropping them back to earth again. He tossed the blankets off to one side and gathered up the sheets and pillow cases for the laundry.

There were two things gnawing at him as he carried the sheets into the living room and dropped them at the foot of the entryway. First was Dr. Childs. He had never met the man, of course, but Walt didn't like the idea that Mitch and his friends had showed up right outside the good doctor's office. And he didn't like the sudden diagnosis, either. It just didn't feel right. So try as he may-knowing that Teri trusted in the man-Walt just couldn't seem to bring himself to feel the same way.

The other thing doing some gnawing was the case file Walt had found on the floor in the bedroom. Boyle's file. That hadn't been an accident. Boyle never would have left it behind unless he had wanted it found.

Walt made his way back into the bedroom, pausing in the doorway long enough to wonder how things had suddenly become so complicated. Because if life was anything, it was complicated. Anyone who believed different had to be sleepwalking. Just make do, he told himself. Things will settle down again. He stood the dresser up and maneuvered it back against the wall where it belonged, and wondered once again why Boyle had left his case file behind.

Some things just didn't make sense.

[57].

Teri hung up the phone and leaned against the side of the booth. She had used the middle booth in a line of five at the Sun Country Bus Depot. Through the glass, she watched a Greyhound bus pull out of the station, turn into the nearest lane of traffic and disappear down the avenue.

The boy was sitting on a bench across from the telephone booth, where she could keep a watchful eye on him. He hadn't been doing his best today. He was running a slight fever and feeling a little sluggish, and some of that sluggishness had come through loud and clear in his behavior. Having him sit in a bus station, inhaling noxious fumes while she made her phone call, wasn't going to help matters any.

Teri forced a smile and waved to him.

He waved back, halfheartedly.

Almost instantly at that moment, she realized something that had been brewing inside her for several days now. She was beginning to hate all of this. She hated being on the run and the loneliness it left her feeling. And she hated dragging the boy around from place to place as if they were homeless and had nowhere else to go. Above and beyond all that, she didn't like what they were doing to Walt.

You aren't doing anything to him.

Yes, they were.

They were dropping all their problems in his lap like a sack of hot potatoes. Here, I don't know what to do with this. See what you can do. It felt... slimy. Though maybe it only felt that way because she didn't like depending so heavily on anyone, much less someone she cared about. That was something Teri thought she had overcome after Michael had moved out. But here it was, back again, like a dirty little secret that just won't die.

No, she didn't like any of this.

And yet... what could she do about it?

[58].

Boyle climbed out of the car and crossed around the back of Sarah's Volvo to the driver's door. The bitch had already gotten out. She had glanced around, looking almost directly at him-in fact, right through him, it seemed-and then had crossed the parking lot and disappeared inside one of them beauty parlor places, this one called Jenny's.

Boyle pulled a knife out of his pocket, pressed a button, and the blade flipped open. He stuck it into the door lock, jiggled it a bit, without success, and realized she hadn't locked the car. That was just like her. Never took proper care of things. Never. Didn't have no appreciation for how expensive things were. He opened the door and climbed in, the scent of her strong and pleasing.

"Miss me, babe?" he said to her ghost. "Oh, I bet you did. Bet you missed me something awful."

He checked the glove compartment, nosing around for the sake of nosing around. There wasn't much there. Registration. Proof of insurance. Some maps. A bottle of Mydol. "Jesus, woman, you haven't changed much, have you? Thought you were supposed to be going through some sort of growth ex-per-i-ence."

That was the line she had used the night she had asked him to move out. Something 'bout how she was growing and changing and a bunch of crap like that, and how he was still the same old Richard Boyle she had married, hadn't done no growing at all and probably wasn't ever going to do none. He'd beat the living daylights out of her that night, put the fear of the fist in her, and for a long time afterward things had settled back to the way they had always been. Then some damn lawyer got his hands on her, and before Boyle realized it, he'd been locked out of the house.

You don't lock a man out of his own house.

You just don't do that.

Not unless you want trouble.

Boyle stuck the working end of the knife into the passenger seat and ran the blade across the upholstery, first one way, and then the other. "How's that for an ex-per-ience, bitch? Huh? That good enough for you?"

He did the same thing to the back seats, then took a photograph out of his shirt pocket and set it up on the dashboard where it wouldn't be missed. The photo was of Garrett and Christy. It had been taken at the old place, in the living room, the night that Garrett had graduated from the sixth grade. The kids were sittin' in front of the fireplace, smiling like they'd just lifted a couple of candy bars from the corner market. Their mama was supposed to be sittin' next to them, but that part of the picture was lying in the trash where it belonged.