Archie’s body felt like cold black water, like a lake. He lifted his hands to see the IV port taped there and the tangle of clear tubes. Images flashed in his mind as the night before pieced back together for him. Fresh white bandages covered his bare midsection.

Susan. Panic cleaved through Archie’s chest. “Susan?” he asked, trying to lift his head, his voice cracking.

Ben and Debbie came into view. “She’s fine,” Debbie said with a reassuring smile, and relief washed over him. “Henry’s here,” she added, though Archie couldn’t see him. “He’ll explain everything soon.”

She was alive. Somehow, she was alive. Archie nodded. He blinked heavily at them, his eyes warm and full of grit. His body itched and his arms felt heavy.

“You’re on the good stuff now,” Debbie said. “Morphine. So don’t worry if you fade in and out.”

Archie fought to keep his eyes open, training his gaze on his son, who was wearing a black turtleneck, a black beret, sunglasses, and a fake goatee. “What are you supposed to be?” Archie asked weakly.

“I’m a beatnik,” Ben said, glancing to a corner of the room Archie couldn’t see. “Henry lent me his bongo drums.”

Halloween. How could it still be Halloween?

“I promised I’d take them trick-or-treating after we leave,” Debbie said.

Archie tried to do the math, to figure out how long he’d been in that room, to sort through the memory fragments. It was all so disorienting.

“You were brought here early this morning,” Debbie said, reading his confusion. “You were in surgery for hours, but they say you’ll make a full recovery.” She had done this so many times now, the hospital vigil—she was an expert at it.

“Gretchen?” Archie asked, and the name seemed to float above his bed and hover there.

Debbie’s pleasant features hardened. “Missing,” she said. “I’m taking the kids trick-or-treating at the mall,” she added pointedly. “They’ve told people to stay inside tonight.”

The words condensed in Archie’s brain like a clot. Gretchen had escaped. She was still out there. Somewhere. Archie could feel himself slipping away into oblivion again. He grasped for the angel’s hand and touched her dress instead, the polyester smooth beneath his fingers.

*   *   *

“Susan?” Archie called out. He was groggy. Where was he? He tried to sit up and felt someone stop him.

“You’re in the hospital.” It was Henry’s voice. “Easy.”

He was in a blue room. The sky outside the window was a dingy slate. “Is Susan okay?” Archie asked.

Henry took his hands off Archie’s shoulders. “Her ear’s all stitched up,” he said in an automatic tone that made Archie think they had had this conversation several times before. “Her arm’s in a sling and she’ll come see you as soon as she’s discharged, I’m sure.”