Naomi got there first. Holding the butterfly knife between her thumb and her index finger, like it was something dirty, she pushed the window open and threw it outside. Then she snatched up the gun.

“Give it to me,” Ralf said.

She shook her head, gripping the pistol clumsily with both hands.

“Don’t point it at me—are you crazy? It’s loaded!”

She glared at him. “I thought you were nice, Ralf Venema, but you’re just as big a sicko as the rest of them.”

Mikey was frantically gathering up the packages of cocaine behind Ralf. Occasionally, he glanced at Ralf and Naomi, but he didn’t seem particularly concerned by their presence, or by the gun. He was counting under his breath, stopping now and then to wipe the blood from his face, and stuffing the packages into his pockets.

11

11

“It’s so wonderful here!” Helen wanted to spread her arms wide and run in circles. It had been a long time since she had felt so light, so free.

She had taken off her shoes and was running with Werner across the expansive beach. The fine shingle crunched under their feet. The wind was up, but it was warm for the time of year, and the fall sun flooded the entire coastline with a yellow glow. Helen held her arm up to her forehead and looked at the colorful amusements lining the esplanade—the Ferris wheel, the fairground rides, the ice-cream and candy stalls—and the stately Victorian buildings that formed a gleaming white backdrop. For a moment, it felt like they had landed not just in a different country but in a different dimension.

Werner came and stood next to her. “Come on; let’s take a photo.” He pulled his phone out of his inside pocket and put his arm around her.

She looked at him with pleasant surprise. Werner wasn’t a fan of photos. He viewed the selfie trend as an affliction—a sign that half the world was suffering from a form of viral narcissism.

“Say ‘cheese’!” he shouted.

The wind swept back Werner’s hair, exposing a slight widow’s peak. Helen’s was hidden under a scarf.

They smiled at the camera.

“Well?”

Helen cupped her hand over the screen. The device had captured two ecstatically happy people; she and Werner both looked years younger. Even the sky looked bluer in the photo. “It almost looks real,” she joked.

He frowned. “What do you mean? It is real.”

“Oh, lighten up. I was kidding!”

He held the phone in his hand as if weighing it. Then his thumb raced back and forth over the keypad. He sent the photo to his mother.

Helen saw him type:

Brighton is glorious. We’re having the time of our lives. It’s very windy, though Is everything OK at home? Werner

He put his phone away. “Shall we head downtown? See if it’s changed much?”