Back in the main room, I threw the sheets and blankets over the cesspool of a bed, and found my pack on a torn imitation-­velvet chair. The clothes I had worn—two nights ago? two years ago?—had been cleaned, pressed, and folded neatly. On top of the clothes was a sealed envelope with “Angelina” penned on it with a flourish, and leaning next to the chair was a beautiful new cherrywood cane.

I picked up the cane to admire it. The handle was fashioned as a brass lizard, intricately carved, with its tail winding almost halfway down the wood, ending in a little lizardlike curl. It fit my small hand perfectly, my fingers closing around its cold throat. The cane was short, exactly right for my size. I loved it and hated it, needed it and resented it. Bless her, curse her. I sat on the edge of the chair, cane between my knees, and fingered the envelope. I lay it down again, unopened, and dressed.

She was gone. My ride to Sarah’s gone. I had endured all—that, and now . . . nothing.

I was so disappointed I could have raged, except I had no energy for it. All my energy had flowed out in tears and swirled down the shower drain.

Once dressed, feeling tidy and clean, comfortable and warm, I again sat in the chair, cane across my lap, and opened the envelope.

Inside were three sheets of lavender notepaper, each one covered with a fine writing.

My dearest Angelina:

I am always filled with remorse after I succumb to my baser passions. Regaining my senses is always a shock, yet I maintain this flat for just such emergencies. I prefer to be prepared for my perversities than to fall victim to them in more terrible ways.

I am writing this as you sleep the deep slumber of one who’s no stranger to baser passions, the ancient ones, if my instincts are correct. This is what makes me feel that you will understand, as few do, the depth of remorse of which I speak.

My remorse is such at this moment that I dare not face you this evening. I am afraid. I am afraid of your reaction when I loose you in the darkness, and I am afraid that my own guilt and self-­loathing will drive me to suc­cumb to you. And I cannot do that, for I have those who depend upon me.

And so I leave you here, augmenting my guilt and remorse. But it, too, will pass. I sincerely hope you find your way to your friend Sarah, and to assist you with your journey, please accept the gift of this cane.