“If you call me when you’re ready to leave tomorrow, I won’t ask you any questions. You don’t need to say anything. I’ll be here to pick you up and we’ll… figure this out together.”

Larkin studied Doyle’s face for a long time, but for the first time in maybe eighteen years, his brain was paralyzed. No cataloguing, no memorizing. Larkin just had one simple thought repeating over and over as they stared at each other: He’s such a good man. Larkin motioned to his pile of folded clothes. “The hair tie.”

Confused, Doyle turned, collected the black tie from atop the pile, and raised an eyebrow. “What about it?”

“Can you hold on to that for me, so it’s not lost.”

Doyle tugged it down over his bigger hand and wrist, then gave it a pat. “It’s safe with me, work husband.” He kissed Larkin’s cheek. “Don’t pick a fight with any nurses.” He walked to the curtain and pulled it aside to leave.

“Ira.” Larkin smiled when Doyle looked back. “How’re you going to pick me up when your eye is swollen shut?”

A wicked grin split Doyle’s face, and he laughed while saying, “I’ll call an Uber.”

Larkin was left alone in the makeshift room once again, this time with the smallest skip in his heartbeat, like someone—Doyle—had finally found his pulse. He looked back down at the floor, studied the Rorschach-like patterns, and counted the passing minutes.

And when the curtain rings jingled a second time, a female nurse in green scrubs appeared on the other side. “Detective Larkin?”

Larkin nodded and asked, “Are they ready for me.”

She shook her head faintly and raised an envelope. “This was dropped off at the intake desk.” The nurse stepped forward and held it out.

Larkin reached for it with his good hand and asked with a curious spike in his tone, “By who?”

“Some man? I don’t know. I didn’t really get a look at him. I’ll be right back to bring you to the OR.”

Larkin waited until she departed, until the curtain was pulled taut again, then studied the plain, greeting-card-sized envelope. A bit awkwardly, he clasped it between his knees, flipped the unsecured flap, and carefully drew out a folded piece of thick cardstock. Larkin set it on the bed beside his thigh and flattened it to reveal a message spelled out in cut and pasted letters:

HAPPY APRIL FOOLS’ DAY, LARKIN

The o’s in “fools” were created with the circular logo of the Parks Department’s green maple leaf.

DEATH MASKS ARE “HORRIBLE THINGS”

The quotation was a reference, but Larkin was unsure of its origin.

I HAVE A BETTER MEMENTO FOR YOU

Resting in the crease of the fold was an old MTA token with the slogan: Good for one fare.

COME FIND ME

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