I thought he had a narrow definition of superhero. “It sounds as if my life is fabulous. I certainly haven’t suffered any trauma except that I look as if I’ve been really sick or starving myself.”

Oswald’s brow wrinkled and he came close to me. “You have suffered trauma. Your latest boyfriend, Wilcox Spiggott—”

“How cool to date someone called Wilcox!” I said. “Wil-cox.”

“Someone murdered him and left his body at your loft.”

A shiver went down my spine. “Did I … was it me … was I the one?”

“You told Mercedes you didn’t and she believes you, which is good enough for me.”

“What happened then?”

“You took his body and got out of there. That was about nine days ago. You showed up last night back in the City.”

“Was I in love with Wilcox?” I asked. “I’m sorry. That was a thoughtless question.”

“It’s okay.” Oswald ran his hand through his thick brown hair. “Mercedes said you liked him a lot. That he sounded … fun. A fun guy interested in progressive politics.”

A fun guy named Wilcox Spiggott had been left dead in my loft. “It seems wrong, to have someone die and not remember him,” I said. “That’s the least we can do for those we care for, those we love, to keep them alive in our thoughts.”

“I’m sorry about your friend, Milagro.”

“Thank you, Oswald. Did you know him?”

He shook his head.

“What did I do with his body?”

“You told Mercedes you had it, but I didn’t see it. You just showed up here out of the blue looking crazier than usual.”

“Where was I during the time after I found his body and before I got here?”

A buzzer sounded, and Oswald said, “We can talk about that later. That must be the psychiatrist.”

“I don’t need a psychiatrist. We need to go to the police.”

“We can’t go to the police because of complications,” he said. “Who’s seen the body? You and the killer. Whoever set you up is probably looking for you and is willing to murder your friends. That’s why Mercedes made you promise to stay here.”

“I don’t understand any of this—secret enemies, misplaced corpses, superhero powers.” So I started shouting, “Wake up, wake up, wake up!” and then I slapped myself in the face.

“Stop that. You’re already awake,” Oswald said. “You’ll understand when your memory comes back and then we’ll figure out things. Now I’ve got to get the gate.”

He stood up and I followed him to the hallway, where he grabbed a hat. He said, “My family is sun-sensitive, but you’re not.”

“I’ve always tanned beautifully,” I said. “I’m not paying for a psychiatric visit that I didn’t request.”

“It’s taken care of. The most important thing is for you to get well.”