In such a place, the last thing I expected to encounter was a dead man. I was thinking of the ache in my right leg, which has flared up from time to time ever since the lightning ran down that side, so I didn’t hear his bones calling me at first.

They’re everywhere, of course, dead people. I don’t hear only the modern dead. I feel the ancient dead, too; even, very rarely, the faint, faint echo of a trace of people who walked the earth before there was writing. But this guy I was connecting with here in the Dallas suburbs was very fresh. I ran in place for a moment.

I couldn’t be sure unless I got closer to the body, but I was thinking this one felt like a suicide by gun. I pinpointed his location—he was in the back part of an office called Designated Engineering. I shook off his overwhelming misery. I’ve had practice. Pity him? He’d gotten to choose. If I pitied everyone I met who’d crossed over, I’d be weeping continuously.

No, I wasn’t spending my time on emotion. I was trying to decide what to do. I could leave him where he was, and that was my initial impulse. The first person to come into Designated Engineering the next workday would get a rude shock, if the guy’s family didn’t send the police to check his office tonight when he didn’t come home.

It seemed harsh, leaving him there. However, I didn’t want to get involved in a long explanation to the police.

Running in place was getting old. I had to make up my mind.

Though I can’t agonize over every dead person I find, I don’t want to lose my humanity, either.

I looked around for inspiration. I found it in the rocks bordering the ho-hum flower bed at the entrance door. I pulled out the largest rock I could handle and hefted it. After a little experimentation, I decided I could throw it one-handed. I glanced up and down the street; no cars in sight, and no one on foot. Standing a safe distance back, I took a balanced stance and let the rock fly. I had to retrieve the rock and repeat this action twice more before the glass shattered and an alarm began to go off. I took off running. I had to take a metaphorical hat off to the police. I had barely reached the motel parking lot when I saw the patrol car turning off the access road and speeding by the motel to cruise into the business park.

An hour later, I was telling Tolliver what had happened while I put on my makeup. I’d had a long shower, and sure enough, he’d jumped in again to “help you wash your hair.”