As the tape came off and Chutsky was able to wiggle up to a sitting position, it became apparent that he was missing his left arm up to the elbow and his right leg up to the knee. The stumps were wrapped with clean white gauze, nothing leaking through; again, very nice work, although I did not think Chutsky would appreciate the care Danco had used in taking his arm and leg. And how much of Chutsky’s mind was also missing was not yet clear, although his constant wet yammering did nothing to convince me that he was ready to sit at the controls of a passenger jet.

Oh, God, buddy, he said. Oh Jesus. Oh thank God, you came, and he leaned his head onto my shoulder and wept. Since I had some recent experience with this, I knew just what to do. I patted him on the back and said, There there. It was even more awkward than when I had done it with Deborah, since the stump of his left arm kept thumping against me and that made it much harder to fake sympathy.

But Chutsky’s crying jag lasted only a few moments, and when he finally pulled away from me, struggling to stay in an upright position, my beautiful Hawaiian shirt was soaked. He gave a huge snuffle, a little too late for my shirt. Where’s Debbie? he said.

She broke her collarbone, I told him. She’s in the hospital.

Oh, he said, and he snuffled again, a long wet sound that seemed to echo somewhere inside him. Then he glanced quickly behind him and tried to struggle to his feet. We better get out of here. He might come back.

It hadn’t occurred to me that Danco might come back, but it was true. It’s a time-honored predator’s trick to run off and then circle back to see who’s sniffing your spoor. If Dr. Danco did that, he would find a couple of fairly easy targets. All right, I said to Chutsky. Let me have a quick look around.

He snaked a hand out—his right hand, of course—and grabbed my arm. Please, he said. Don’t leave me alone.

I’ll just be a second, I said and tried to pull away. But he tightened his grip, still surprisingly strong considering what he had gone through.

Please, he repeated. At least leave me your gun.

I don’t have a gun, I said, and his eyes got much bigger.

Oh, God, what the hell were you thinking? Christ, we’ve got to get out of here. He sounded close to panic, as though any second now he would begin to cry again.