Jesse turned people away from the warehouse all that afternoon, while Anna sat numbly in the chair by his easel. He stood at the door. “She ain’t feelin’ well today,” he said to anyone who wanted to come in and watch her paint. She was glad he was there. She was afraid one of the men would come in and she’d be alone with him. The mayor, or Mr. Fiering, or some other man from town. She suddenly feared all of them and how they had the power to hurt her. Or maybe they would realize that the red paint on the floor covered blood. Or maybe the police might come. Maybe they found Martin’s motorcycle? Jesse didn’t tell her what he’d done with it—or with Martin’s body—and she didn’t ask. He told her only that he’d burned the gloves.

Pauline came to the warehouse sometime that afternoon. Anna wasn’t sure when, exactly. Time was falling apart for her. She was still sitting on Jesse’s chair when Pauline arrived, while Jesse painted some of the border of the mural. He’d asked her if he could, and she’d nodded yes. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to paint any of the mural ever again.

Jesse quickly walked to the door when Pauline stepped inside.

“Miss Anna ain’t feelin’ well,” he said, trying to block her entry, but Pauline pushed him aside with a hand on his chest.

“I’m a nurse,” she said, marching toward Anna across the warehouse. Anna knew she should do all she could to appear like her normal self, but the effort seemed too much for her. She gave in to the catatonia that had taken hold of her, staring into space as Pauline crossed the room.

“My God!” Pauline stopped suddenly. “What happened here?”

Anna followed Pauline’s gaze to the spilled paint, the broken cot. For the first time, she noticed the blood in the exact center of the cot’s khaki body. It was her blood there, not Martin’s. She let out a sob before she could stop it.

Pauline squatted in front of her, the skirt of her white nurse’s uniform fanning out around her. She rested her hands on Anna’s knees. “What happened, Anna?” she asked, her voice gentle but firm. Then more softly in a whisper. “Did the boy … Jesse … did he … hurt you?”

Across the warehouse from them, Jesse stood against the wall by the door. Anna felt his fear from where she sat.

“No.” It was the first word she’d spoken aloud since Pauline’s arrival and it came out as a croak, but she couldn’t allow Jesse to be blamed for any of what happened. “Jesse,” she said to him. “Go. Go home.”

“No, Miss An—”