“Yes.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna flip out on you. I just needed to get a little shut-eye in a warm place.”

“You’re Byron Knight.”

He paled at the mention of his name. “I was Byron Knight. Now I’m just a sick transient who’s come back to his hometown to die. Think the Reverend would have any objection to my doing it here?”

“We’ve had people pass away before. The Reverend never forces anyone to leave if they don’t want to.”

“That’s good, because I don’t want to. Don’t have anywhere to go, anyway.” He ran his fingers through his hair, then stuck out his hand. “You are?”

“Sam,” I said, shaking his hand.

“What the fuck happened to that ear of yours?”

I touched it, as I always do whenever someone asks me about it. “Frostbite.”

“You hear out of it? No, huh?”

“Nope.”

“So I guess it was a dumb question.”

“Not really.”

He sniffed, then looked around the room. “Your Reverend, he wouldn’t have any booze stashed around here by chance, would he?”

I knew the Reverend kept a bottle of brandy in his desk. I got it out and poured Knight a short one.

“Is that a good idea?” I asked him as I handed the glass to him. “I mean, on top of the pain pills?”

He laughed but there was no humor in it. “Sam, I think I’m way past worrying about the effects this’ll have on my health.” He lifted the glass in a toast. “To your health, then.” He downed it in one gulp. “Oh, that’s nice.” He held out the glass. “One more? I promise that’ll be it.”

I poured him another, this one a little higher than the last. This time he sipped at it.

“I wish you’d stop looking at me like that.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just that…I was a big fan.”

“That’s nice.” He sounded as if he really meant it. “It’s nice to know that someone remembers.”

“You guys were good.”

“No, we could have been good. Fuck—we could’ve been great, but it just got too easy to hear everyone else tell us how great we were. ‘Better the illusion exalts us than ten thousand truths.’ Alexander Pushkin said that. Don’t ask me who he was, I couldn’t tell you. I read that line in a book of quotes somewhere. Always stayed with me.” He dug around in his pocket and produced a hand-rolled cigarette. “Yes, Sam, this is grass, and I’m gonna light up. I can do it in here or we can step outside, it’s up to you.”

I nodded at the joint. “That for the pain, too?”

“Everything’s for the pain these days, Sam.”

“There’s a sheriff out in the shelter.”

“So? Here or a jail cell, at least I’ll be inside when I buy the farm.” He fired up a match and inhaled on the joint. The room was instantly filled with the too-sweet aroma.

“Want a hit?” he said, offering the joint.