Luke rose through a fog that was mostly gray with grief but turned red with anger the higher he climbed. He pushed himself upright, touched his wife’s face, then turned on Ramón and cracked the grip of the revolver off the top of his skull. Ramón went down heavily, unable to break his fall with his arms tied behind his back. His swollen jaw hit the linoleum with a wet sound.

This caught the attention of the women in the room. The redhead stood up quickly. “Baby,” she said. Her mouth was full of crooked brown teeth. One of the Latinas had swiveled away from the TV, blinking slowly, like someone waking from a faint. Lisa clapped her hands over her ears. “No, no, no,” she said, and backed away.

Luke half dragged Ramón up, threw him against the sofa, slapped his face to get his attention.

“What did you do to her?” Luke slapped him again and pressed the gun into the soft pocket of his left eye. “Start talking, motherfucker.”

The redhead said, “Baby,” again and began to cry. Kitty went to her, touched her gently on the shoulder. “It’s going to be okay,” she said, then announced to the other women in a more strident voice, “We’re going to help you all. We’re going to get you out of here.”

Luke looked around the basement fleetingly, then recentered his attention on Ramón. “I don’t know what the hell you’ve got going on here, whether these women are your sex slaves or just bagging your product, but it’s over for you.”

Ramón whimpered. Blood appeared at his hairline and trickled down the left side of his forehead.

“Maybe I call the cops. Maybe I put a bullet in your eye.” Luke pressed a little harder with the gun. “I guess that depends on you.”

“Please, man, please—”

“Talk, you son of a bitch. I want to know what you did to my wife. Why she’s locked up here, and why she looks like a goddamn ghost.”

“I was . . . was trying to help her.”

“Help her?” Luke said incredulously. He looked at Lisa, who stood plain, shallow, and silent. “Help her?”

“Canary,” Ramón said.

Luke lifted the gun from Ramón’s eye and straightened up, grimacing at the little pops and aches in his body. His gaze panned from Ramón to the baggies of yellow powder on the table, then to Lisa. He saw a shimmer of who she used to be in the angle of her hips, the twist of one shoulder. A shimmer—that was all. He looked at Ramón again.

“I’ve waited three years for answers.” Luke’s mind was a logjam of thoughts and fears. “Tell me everything.”

Ramón’s jaw worked stiffly, but only gasps and grunts came out. He took a breath, appeared to compose himself, but it was Lisa who spoke first.