When the last car was far gone, I remained, staring at the slats, marveling at the genius of its engineering. Narrow rails balanced wide, heavy trains, holding the burden without buckling beneath them. I had always folded under pressure. Somehow in my reflective state, I had traveled to West Side, the part of the city where I’d spent the most time hating myself. It seemed natural to be back, but I needed to go home. Deciding I wasn’t worthy of the L, I dragged myself up and began walking toward the apartment. I was five miles away, and exhausted, but I wanted my legs to ache when I finally reached Cal. It was easier to crawl into his lap when I was spent.

As I walked, I wished Jack Klutas and the College Kidnappers were still running their ransom racket. I wanted them to nab me and take me to some dark basement where I didn’t have to be anything more than quiet. Life would move on without me, and Cal would be able to take Rosie to California without having to see my face before he left. Everything would be easier if I disappeared.

I smoked a steady succession of snipes on my trek, and by the time I arrived in Streetersville, I had a queasy stomach and a light head. I wanted to curl up in the fetal position in the hall and wait until morning to walk through the door, but I decided I had been cowardly enough already. As soon as I entered the apartment, Cal ran to me, lanky arms looped around my torso, tear-stained face nuzzled into the sweat-damp nape of my neck.

“Rosie won’t talk to me,” he cried, the salt of his sadness saturating my skin. “I keep trying to ask him questions, but he won’t tell me anything. I want to know what they did.”

“Shhh,” I hushed, looking over Cal’s shoulder at Rosie trembling on the sofa. He was hugging his knees to his chest and gazing forward as though he was in a trance. I kissed the crown of Cal’s head. “Does he still have … everything?” I asked, clearing my throat. The thought that Rosie might have been stripped of his manhood seemed too unspeakable to mention, but rumors about castration in the fruitcake factories had me worried.

“He wouldn’t answer, and I didn’t check,” Cal whispered. “I didn’t want to touch him if he’d been …” he shook his head, “I don’t know.”

I nodded and pulled away from Cal. I didn’t know what to do and I sure as hell didn’t know what to say, but I approached Rosie anyway. Kneeling beside the sofa, I mustered a semblance of a smile. “Hey Rosie.”

He regarded me with wide eyes and a quivering lip. “Hi.”