It was hard to think positively, though. The losses were too big and too new.

Sighing, I picked the letter back up, wondering how much I could get done in a day. I turned it over and jotted down a to-do list that started with “quit job” and ended with “black panties.”

If I knocked enough things off the list this morning, maybe I could go shopping. The letter said a percentage of my salary could be advanced if I needed funds for clothes or other essentials. I thought of the $1,200 I’d been carrying around in my wallet for the last week. If I spent it carefully, hopefully it would be enough. I didn’t want to ask Cordus for an advance. He might decide to treat it as a request for a raise.

Okay, top of the list. I sat there for a while thinking about various lies I could tell the people back in Dorf, especially Ben and Dr. Nielsen. It was hard to come up with something that sounded even vaguely reasonable. In the end, I decided to keep it as simple as possible — I was very upset about having been attacked in my own home and had decided to leave Dorf for a while until I got over the experience. I didn’t know where I was going to go, and I’d rather not have people contact me.

Given my well known mental illness, an extreme reaction like that might seem plausible, at least to some people. I went over the story several times in my head, then decided to let it sit for a bit, while I did other things.

Cordus’s letter had included a mailing address I could use — a post-office box. I used the cell phone to file a mail-forwarding order online. Then I stopped my home phone service and changed the mailing address for my gas-and-electric bill.

I called the Ohio State Highway Patrol and reported my car stolen. I got a call back twenty minutes later: my car had already been found. Maybe Williams hadn’t bothered with a barrier. I thanked the trooper and told her I wouldn’t be reclaiming the car. She asked why I hadn’t reported the theft earlier. I could tell she thought something fishy was going on. I just played dumb. In the end she told me they’d keep the car for ninety days, then donate it to a program that provided job training for at-risk youth.

So much for my mother’s last gift to me.

I went back over my story. It still seemed like the best thing I could come up with, so I called Suzanne and tried it out on her. Not surprisingly, she was brimming with questions, but I just kept repeating the party line — I’d be away for a while, I wasn’t sure where or for how long, I’d prefer not to be contacted unless it was an emergency. I gave her my cell number and asked her to turn my thermostat down and keep an eye on my house.