“In other words why didn’t I do your job for you? Is that what you’re asking?”

“What my partner is asking is why are you bullshitting us? We know he’s here.”

Hans laughs again. “You guys have more of an imagination than Jerry, and if he was here, and you believed it, then it wouldn’t be you here, but an armed unit busting down my door.”

“So you won’t mind if we come in and take a look around?”

“Of course I mind. My parents always told me not to talk to strangers, and that’s what you guys are, right? Plus my lawyer would be against it. He would want you to have a warrant because that’s the way he thinks. I tell him he’s just being pessimistic, but you know, I’ve been to jail before because the police took advantage of me being such a trusting guy. I’d hate you to come inside and see something out of context and suddenly think the worst. I’m a by-the-book guy, as should you guys be. Do you have a warrant?”

“This isn’t a joking matter,” one of them says.

“I’m not joking. I’m telling you he isn’t here, and you’re standing on my property calling me a liar and asking if I mind having my rights violated. Now, I’ve told you what happened and I’ve been friendly about it, but now my patience is wearing thin. So, unless you have a warrant, we’re done here.”

“With your history, mate, you do know you’re playing with fire. Harboring a fugitive will see you back in jail.”

“He’s not a fugitive, he’s a confused man who doesn’t know what he’s done or what he’s doing, and right now he probably doesn’t even know where he is. Come back when you get a warrant.”

“It won’t just be us coming back,” one of them says, and then Jerry hears the door close.

There are retreating footsteps as the men head back to their car. He hears one of them say to the other, “I told you we should have just waited. This has gotten too personal for you.”

“The son of a bitch broke two of my fingers,” the other guy says. “Of course it’s personal.”

Jerry can’t hear the rest as they move out of range. Hans comes into the garage. He puts his finger over his lips to tell Jerry not to say anything. Then he walks to the garage door and listens, but by now the two cops have gotten into their car. They start it, back out of the driveway, and park on the road.

He heads back into the house, beckoning Jerry to follow him.

“If they’re parking outside, then they’re getting somebody else to take care of the warrant,” he says, keeping his voice low.

“I think people are already on their way,” Jerry says. “One of them had his hand in a cast, right?”

“That’s right.”

“I broke his fingers. I think they came here ahead of the others because they want the arrest.”

They walk into the dining room, and Hans unlocks the French doors that lead into the backyard. “In that case they’ll be here any minute, and if it’s the Armed Offenders Unit, they’ll be storming the place. You need to run, and right now.”

“You’re not coming with me?”

“I have things I need to take care of here.” He hands Jerry a cell phone. “Climb the back fence and make your way through the neighbors’ house to the street. Turn left and when you get to the end of the block turn right. You got that?”

“I got it.”

“Say it back to me.”

“Over the fence to the street. Turn left, then right at the next intersection.”

“Keep walking in that direction and after two hundred yards there’s an alleyway. It leads through to a park. Head down there and stay hidden until I call you, okay?”

“What are you—”

“Just do it. Come on, let’s go. And if they find you, don’t you dare mention me, okay?”

They move quickly across the backyard, where the lawn is ankle deep and the surrounding garden is overrun with stinging nettle and weeds big enough to have developed inch-thick trunks. Jerry climbs the fence and drops to the other side behind a house that has a small inflatable pool, and a sand pit with cat shit littering the top of it. He thinks, he thinks, how did life get to this point? He makes his way around the side of the house and past a tricycle and a soccer ball to the street, breathing heavily already. He turns left and runs like Hans told him to. At the end of the block he turns right and keeps running and finds the alleyway. He’s halfway down it when he hears a car approaching. He turns around to see a patrol car passing by, but it doesn’t slow down and nobody in the car looks in his direction.

He reaches the park. One of the greatest things about this city, he remembers, is the number of parks. It’s why it’s called The Garden City, and not because of the amount of people getting buried in vegetable patches. Of course that’s the kind of thing Henry would quip about in one of his books. This park has a few people in it, some kids playing on the swings, another one on a merry-go-round, some teenagers smoking by the toilets with their hoodies shading their faces. Henry would quip about that too back in the day.

There are a bunch of trees lining the north side creating shade. He could go hide in there, but if people see him walking in it’ll raise suspicion. Then he sees it—a park bench right where lawn meets tree. He makes his way over and sits down. He feels exhausted. He gets the phone out and stares at the screen. He acts like he’s texting or checking the weather, the way people do when they’re alone in social situations and have a phone handy. His ankles are sore from the stinging nettle. He scratches at them and the relief is instant before getting worse.

The phone rings. “Hans?”

“You at the park?” Hans asks.

“I’m here.”

“Good. Stay calm. When the cops are done here, I’ll come and get you. I’ll have to drive around for a bit to make sure I’m not being tailed, but hopefully I’ll be there in an hour or two. Do nothing. Just stay out of sight until I come for you, okay? Stay at the park, okay?”

“Okay,” Jerry says.

“Okay?”

“I said okay. I’ll sit here and wait for you.”

“Good. Don’t wander off, Jerry. In fact, why don’t you spend your time thinking about where else you could have hidden that journal? It’s important we find it.”

They hang up. Jerry stares at the phone and he sits in the shade as alone as ever, the police hunting him as his exhaustion grows deeper. He’s thinking about Eric the orderly, he’s getting a little sleepy, and he’s wondering if it’s possible Eric has done these bad things. He covers his mouth as he yawns. He tries to think about where else he could have hidden the journal, and there’s something there, a memory like a splinter in his brain that he can’t quite get to, but instead of focusing on that, he thinks about Eric. He yawns again, then suddenly snaps awake, unaware he was starting to doze. He sits up a little straighter. All he has to do is stay awake and wait for Hans. Then they’ll find Eric. He wonders what exactly it is they’re going to do to make Eric confess. He starts to doze again, telling himself to hold on, hold on.

THE REPRIEVE

Today is turning into one of the longest days of your life. This latest development is for you, Future Jerry, because you may not be dying today.

It’s hard to make sense of. It only unfolded an hour ago. Henry should be the one to tell it, but Henry’s job is to create. Your job, Jerry, is to tell it like it is. And here’s how it is. . . .

You completed the second suicide note. This one to Eva. The notes were neatly folded into separate envelopes, each one labeled and left on the desk where they couldn’t be missed. The trash bags were all taped in place, and you were moments away from Captain A finally having to abandon ship. You were sitting in the office chair looking at the couch wondering if the couch wouldn’t be better for what you had in mind, but it would mean shifting the trash bags and that really was just more stalling. Plus it would ruin the couch. No, the office chair would suffice, and really, what did it matter?