"Do it!"

Prime turned and maneuvered the hulking corpse up the stairs and through their doorway. A trail of slimy blood, mixed with urine, slid over the doorjamb.

"Onto the tile. Don't leave him on the wood."

Prime dragged Carson into the kitchen. The blood glimmered red on the gray tile.

Casey returned from the bathroom with a roll of paper towels and a spray bottle of cleaner. She bent down and started scrubbing the floor.

"Take a shower," she said over her shoulder.

"I can't-"

"Do it!"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm betting Carson didn't tell anyone he was coming here," she said simply. "I'm betting no one heard the racket. And I'm betting on your doing everything I say."

Prime found himself stripping down to nothing, climbing into the shower, and turning on the hot scalding water. He scrubbed himself clean, rubbing at the dashes and dots of blood that covered his arms and hands.

When he pulled back the shower curtain, his clothes were gone, replaced with a simple white T-shirt and jeans. The apartment was empty except for Carson's corpse. A note on the fridge said Casey'd be right back.

The apartment smelled of bleach and blood. Prime leaned against the door and stared at the body.

He jumped at the sound of keys in the lock.

Casey stood there.

"Where's Abby?" Prime asked.

"With my mom," Casey said.

"Isn't she suspicious of why she needs to watch Abby at midnight?"

Casey shrugged. "That's what moms do; they do what needs to be done, and needle their daughters about it for the next month."

She tossed a bag from Hoffman's on the kitchen table. Inside was a solid blue shower curtain and more cleaning supplies. The superstore had gone in near the interstate six months earlier, causing consternation among local shopkeepers, but none of them were open twenty-four hours.

Casey handed Prime Carson's car keys.

"Find his car. Pull it around to our driveway, with the trunk even with the walk."

Prime nodded.

The car keys were heavy in his hand. Two Hewitt keys adorned the ring, as well as a generic house key. A piece of polished metal proclaimed "Stud" in black metal. There was no remote car lock. Of course Carson would have the most common brand of car in this universe.

Prime ran down the stairs and looked up and down the street. There were dozens of cars lining both sides. A lot of them were Hewitts: Trojans, Tempos, and Zeros, the cheapest cars on the road.

He tried the first one in front of him. The door didn't open. He tried the next. His fingers caught on the door handle, and he cursed.

A car crossed the street two blocks down, and Prime realized it was a police car. Had the officer looked his way? Would he back around for a look? Prime realized he couldn't just walk down the street and try every car.

Which car was Carson's? Prime stepped up onto the sidewalk. He walked slowly down the length of the block. Then back again. His eyes fell on a car with a factory parking-lot sticker, just like his sticker. The key fit; the door opened.

There were open beer bottles on the pa.s.senger's seat. The car smelled of mold. The dashboard was peeling. Prime hoped the car would start. He sat down and tried it.

The car turned over without starting. He pulled back the key, taking his foot off the gas. He didn't want to flood it. He tried again. Nothing. Once more.

The car started, rumbling to life. Great, he needed a new m.u.f.fler.

Prime put it into gear. He realized he could run then, leave it all behind. He didn't have the device, but he knew how to make a new ident.i.ty. He could be rid of Casey, Abby, and Carson's body. Run for it.

The car purred as Prime goosed the accelerator. He pulled the car into the driveway of the apartment building, edging the trunk alongside the front path.

He sprinted up the steps. Casey was at the door with the corpse wrapped in the shower curtain.

"Take his feet," she said. She left him there, walking past the door of their neighbor, listening for any noise. She shook her head. "All clear."

They dragged him downstairs, certain that at any moment someone would open the door and ask what they were doing. But no, the apartment was silent for once at one o'clock in the morning.

Prime popped the trunk and they stuffed the corpse in among the nudie magazines, spare tire, and bow-hunting equipment.

Casey slammed the trunk, and they stood there, watching the dark windows of their street. Prime saw nothing, heard no one. A long way off, a siren howled.

"Get in; drive," Casey said.

Prime threw the car in reverse.

"Slow down!" Casey shouted.

"Oh, right."

"Don't act stupid now."

Prime nodded.

"Where to?"

"Your parents."

"My parents?"

"Just do it."

Prime nodded, steering the car toward the south end of town. The streets were empty. No one was out on a Thursday night. Findlay was shut down, and not even the police were patrolling.

Prime hoped Carson didn't have any outstanding tickets on his car. Now was not the time to be pulled over.

Prime rolled down his window as they hit the county roads. Bugs spattered against the windshield. The cold October air cleared the stench from the car. He glanced over at Casey. She was staring straight ahead.

They came to the turnoff toward his parents' farmhouse.

"Stop here. Don't pull in."

Prime pulled off into the gravel. Casey took the keys, opened the trunk, and together they levered the corpse into the gra.s.s. They were on the edge of his father's land, in the patch of trees where Prime had met Johnny Farm Boy the year before.

Casey tossed the keys back at Prime.

"Dump the car in the quarry. Roll down the windows. Pop the trunk. Push it over the edge. Roll it fast enough that it doesn't snag on the way down."

Prime looked at her. "Have you been planning this?"

"Of course not!" she said. "But I do read mysteries. Go."

Prime pulled away and in his rearview mirror he saw Casey dragging Ted Carson's corpse into the trees. The quarry was right across the road, but the entrance was off Brubaker. Prime had spent a lot of time exploring the quarry; he knew it well.

The gate was chained shut, but when he got out he saw that it wasn't locked. The chain was just draped over the two ends of the gates. He pushed it open and drove the car through. He hoped no kids were hanging out drinking beers. He drove past the two prime spots for drinking. No sign of anyone. Then he drove the car to the overlook. The topsoil was gone, and the granite was white in the moonlight. Prime killed the headlights, dropped the car into neutral, and rolled down all the windows. He popped the trunk, then tossed the keys back onto the front seat.

Then he got behind the car and pushed.

At first, the car wouldn't budge, and he had a moment of panic. What if the car was stuck? Then it shifted and began to gain momentum. The car rolled, faster, faster.

He gave it one last push and it sailed into the abyss.

He ran to the edge.

The car splashed into the water. Bubbles erupted around it. Slowly it sunk. Prime watched the taillights disappear, and then waited until the roiling was smooth, until the car was totally submerged and on its way to the bottom.

The quarry was one hundred meters deep. No one would find that car.

Prime exhaled. They were halfway done. He turned and ran across the white stone. It gave way to green-black lichen, and then he was in the weeds, which smacked him in the thighs.

The road was deserted. He paused, listening. Nothing.

He ran across, pausing at the ditch.

"Casey?" he called.

Had a police officer come by, asked her what she was doing hauling a corpse? Had Ted Carson come back to life and throttled her?

Prime stuffed down a nervous laugh.

He heard the sc.r.a.pe of a shovel on dirt.

He pushed through the row of wild blackberries. There was Casey, digging into the earth of a clearing among a half-dozen trees. The corpse lay beside her, motionless, still dead.

There was another shovel on the ground. Prime picked it up, and he realized that Casey had raided his parents' barn to get tools. There were two shovels and a pickax.

"Is the car gone?" she asked.

"Gone."

"Good."

"Casey," Prime started.

"What?"

"You're doing a lot for me."

She stopped digging and stared at him. "For us."

"I'm sorry, Casey, that I've disappointed you. I'm sorry we had a child without-"

"Shut up, John," she said.

"Casey," Prime cried. "I'm not who you think I am."

"I think we've learned things about each other tonight that have pushed the limits," she said.

"No, I'm not John Rayburn," he said. "I'm not from... this world."

She stepped out of the shallow hole she had started. Prime stepped in and picked up where she'd left off.

"What do you mean? You're some kinda alien? What?" Her voice was shrill.

"No! I'm human. I'm from another Earth, like this but different."

"What do you mean?"

So Prime told her as he dug Ted Carson's grave. Prime started from the beginning, when he first met his own John Prime and was tricked into giving up his life. He told her about Oscar and Thomas. He told her about all the times he'd almost died. He told her about his schemes and ideas. He told her how he'd stolen this life from Johnny Farm Boy.

When Prime was done, he was a foot and a half deep. She still stood outside the hole, staring at him, shovel in hand.

"When?" she asked after a moment.

"What?"

"When?" she repeated. "When did you exchange places with my John?"

"A year ago."

She raised the shovel. "Was it before we..."

"Yes! G.o.dd.a.m.n, yes. It was before he even talked to you. It was at the church dinner!"

She exhaled, dropped the shovel. "Then you're my John. He was never my John."