“Harper, I know I deserve that,” Matthew said. “I know it’ll take a long time to convince you both that I’m really sorry. I know I fucked up, over and over again. I know I didn’t act like a real father. I didn’t even act like a responsible adult.”

I looked down at Tolliver to gauge his reaction. All I saw was a young man who’d been shot in the shoulder hours before, a man exhausted by the demands his father was bringing into the room.

“Tolliver doesn’t need all this drama now,” I said. “We shouldn’t have gotten into this discussion. Thanks for your help last night. You should leave now.”

To his credit, Matthew said goodbye to Tolliver and turned and walked out of the room.

“Okay, that’s over with,” I said, to fill the sudden silence. I’d taken Tolliver’s hand, and he squeezed it, but he didn’t open his eyes. I didn’t know if he was truly asleep, but he needed to act like he was, so that was all right with me. Our stream of visitors seemed to have died out, and we had a few hours of that hospital boredom that I’d anticipated. It was almost a relief to be bored. We watched old movies, and I read a few pages. No one called. No one came to visit.

By the time five o’clock made its appearance on the big clock in his room, Tolliver insisted I needed to leave and check into a hotel, get some rest. After talking to his nurse, I finally agreed. I was almost walking in my sleep, and I wanted to shower again. All the little cuts on my face were sore and itchy.

I was extra careful with my driving as I stopped at a couple of hotels. I checked into one that had a room that was clean and ready and on the third floor. I hauled my bag in and slogged through the lobby and into the elevator, feeling an intense longing for a good bed. I was hungry, too, but the bed was the central item in my little day-dream. My cell phone rang. I answered it because I thought it might be the hospital.

Detective Rudy Flemmons said, “You sound like you’re just about asleep on your feet.”

“Yes.”

“We’ll have those tapes tomorrow morning. You want to come by the station to watch them?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, then. See you there at nine o’clock, if that suits you.”

“Okay. What’s happening with the investigation?”

“We’re still canvassing the neighborhood to see if anyone saw anything last night when your brother was shot. The other shooting was on Goodman Street, and it was a case of a falling-out between thieves. It’s possible the shooter in that incident was so jacked up after he took care of his buddy that he decided to take a shot at a good target as he drove by the motel. We think we found the spot where the shooter stood.”

“That’s good,” I said, unable to drum up more of a reaction. The elevator opened its doors on my floor, and I stepped off and went down the hall to my new room. “Is that all you need to tell me?” I used the plastic card in the lock.

“I think so,” the detective said. “Where are you now?”

“I just checked into a Holiday Inn Express,” I said.

“The one on Chisholm?”

“Yeah. Close to the hospital.”

“I’ll talk to you later,” Rudy Flemmons said, and I recognized the tone of his voice.

Detective Flemmons was a Believer.

People who meet me in my line of work fall into three categories: those who wouldn’t believe me if I produced an affidavit signed by God, those who are open to the idea that there are strange things in this world that they might encounter (the “Hamlet” people, I call them), and the people who absolutely believe I can do what I do-and furthermore, they love that connection I have with the dead.

Believers are likely to watch Ghost Hunters, go to séances, and employ psychics like our deceased colleague Xylda Bernardo. If they aren’t willing to go quite that far, they’re at least open to new experiences. There are not many law enforcement people in the Believer category, not too surprisingly, since law enforcement professionals meet liars every single day.

I’m like catnip to Believers. I’m convincing, because I’m the real deal.

I knew that from now on, Detective Rudy Flemmons would show up more and more often. I was living confirmation of everything he’d ever secretly believed.

And all because I’d gotten struck by lightning.

I wanted to get in the shower, but I pulled off my shoes and lay down on the bed. I called Tolliver to tell him that I had to go by the police department in the morning, and that I’d come by God’s Mercy afterward to tell him all about it. He sounded as drowsy as I felt, and instead of getting in the shower after I put my phone on the charger, I shucked off my pants and slid between the sheets.

Eight

I woke up with a jerk. I lay there for a few seconds, trying to pin down the reason I was so unhappy, and then I remembered that Tolliver was in the hospital. I relived the moment he’d been shot with gruesome clarity.

Since I’d been shot through a window before, I had to wonder what it was with us and windows. If we stayed away from buildings, would we be okay? Though Tolliver had been a Boy Scout and had camped out with them, I didn’t remember his particularly enjoying the camping experience, and I knew I wouldn’t.

It was four thirty in the morning. I’d slept through the dinner hour and the whole night. Not amazingly, now I was wide awake. I piled up the pillows behind me and turned on the television, keeping the sound very low. Watching the news was out of the question: it’s always bad, and I didn’t need to witness any more bloodshed and cruelty. I found an old Western. It was phenomenally soothing to watch the good guys win, to see the hardened dance-hall floozies reveal their hearts of gold, and to observe that once upon a time, when people got shot and collapsed to the ground, they didn’t bleed. This was a much better world than the one I lived in, and I enjoyed visiting it, especially in the wee hours of the morning.

After an hour, I must have fallen back to sleep, because I woke up again at seven o’clock, and the TV was still on. The remote was clutched loosely in my hand.

When I was showered and dressed and groomed, I went down to the complimentary breakfast buffet. If I didn’t eat more regularly, I’d collapse. I had a big bowl of oatmeal and some fruit, and then two cups of coffee. I returned to the room to brush my teeth. Foundation was out of the question since my face was so cut up, but I did manage a little eye shadow and mascara. I made a wry face as I looked at the result in the bathroom mirror. I knew I looked like something the cat dragged in. I might as well give up on trying to improve my appearance.

It was time to go to the police station to watch the videos from the Texarkana mall. My stomach fluttered uneasily with suspense. I’d done my best not to think about the Cameron sighting, but I noticed my hands were shaking as I took my vitamins. I’d called the nurses’ station to ask about Tolliver, and the nurse said he’d slept most of the night, so I felt all right about putting off a hospital visit until later.

The rest and food had really helped, and I felt much more like myself, despite my apprehension. The city police department was housed in a one-story edifice that looked like it had started out modest and taken steroids. It had obviously been added onto, and just as obviously it was bursting at the seams. I had a hard time finding a parking spot, and just when I got out of the car, rain came down. At first it was a light sprinkle, but as I hesitated about getting out the umbrella, the downpour started. I whipped out the umbrella and unfolded it in record time, so I wasn’t too wet when I got to the lobby.

One way or another, I’ve spent a lot of time in police stations. New or old, there’s a sameness about them; they’re just like schools and hospitals, in that respect.