This time his head didn’t so much tilt back as jerk back like Todd had been shot, and his fingers went into overdrive. A passerby going past this time would have been horrified by the sight of a man leaning backward at an alarming angle, mouth agape and fingers smashing away at a typewriter, and would, had they not been too busy calling 911, have been put in mind of the keyboard player from a progressive rock band caught up in the throes of a complicated synthesizer solo.

*  *  *

How long this went on for, Todd could not say. He dined where he sat, he slept where he sat, he crapped where he sat: despite frequent diaper changes, Todd could feel the sores blooming on his butt and groin. His beard grew and grew into a tangled, matty bush. His teeth remained uncleaned and his sweat started to smell of nail varnish remover, as by now Todd was borderline starving and his body had begun to release acetone.

He looked like a hermit writing his memoirs. He also looked like shit. Todd had read about the billionaire Howard Hughes ending his days as a recluse, thin as a rail with long white hair, collecting his own fingernail clippings and pissing into jars. Todd looked down at his etiolated frame. At least he had a jar, he thought. Fucking rich guys got it all.

*  *  *

Surprisingly often, the phone rang. Sometimes it was Janis, telling him to get in touch with her lawyer over some legal detail or other. Sometimes it was Sara, mouth close to the receiver in a way that a long time ago Todd would have found very sexy, asking where he was and what he thought he was doing. A couple of times it was Mike wondering when the old gang was going to get together. But mostly it was Billy Cairns.

Initially, Todd did not enjoy Billy’s calls, but as time went by, they became part of his new life. Just as every TV watcher has shows they like and shows they hate, so Todd found he had callers he liked and callers he didn’t. Callers he didn’t included Janis—”You can hide out all you like, Todd. It’s just going to cost you more is all”—and Sara—”Todd, I need you to call me. I think someone tipped off Terry.” Callers he did comprised of Billy.

Billy’s early work, in Todd’s opinion, was not his best. It followed a predictable pattern (probably because Billy’s mind was so fried he almost certainly had no memory of his previous calls). The answering machine would click on, Janis’s weary voice would ask the caller to leave a message, and then, after the beep, there would be several seconds of frightening, gulping breathing. And then, just when it seemed he would never speak, Billy would say:

“Todd? ’S me, Billy.”