Robin tapped his pockets with his free hand, finding his signing pen but no paper to write on. He looked around, searching, and his eyes fell on the book he had been looking at. With barely a thought, he opened the book, riffled through the opening pages, finding the page he usually signed his name on. He put the pen to paper, wrote HMP New Hall and Matthew and added a question mark.

“Who is this?” Robin said, trying to keep his emotions in check.

“Did it not...? I’m Matthew.” Matthew was close to tears. He didn’t sound like he was enjoying this, but then, Robin didn’t know the mind of someone so sick as to do something like this.

“Full name.”

And at that, Matthew did sob. He sounded like a wounded animal. Robin’s edge softened slightly. What was happening?

So he tried a different question. “How have you rung me three times?”

This worked. “What?”

“If you’re in prison, how have you rung me three times? You only get one phone call.”

Matthew sniffed loudly. “I... My lawyer sorted it out. I haven’t just been arrested—that’s when you’re... That doesn’t matter right now.”

“It does,” Robin said.

“No, what matters is—I didn’t do it, Mr. Ferringham. You have to believe me. I didn’t kill them.”

“What?” Robin said, before he could stop himself. “What are you talking about?”

“They think I did it. But I couldn’t. My friends.”

“I...” Robin trailed off—there was something in the young man’s voice. Something so...familiar to him.

“We went through. All six of us. And only I came out,” Matthew said, through sobs. “Only I came out.”

What was this?

“How do you know Samantha?”

“You have to help me, Mr. Ferringham. Please, I just... I need you to say you’ll help me.” Matthew was openly crying now.

Robin shivered. He wasn’t feeling angry anymore; he was unsettled. He felt as though he were communicating with a specter, having a conversation that was not possible. “I...I’m sorry but I don’t know you, and whoever gave you this number was not who you say it was, so I’m going to hang up now.” He stopped and then added, “I’m sorry.” And he was surprised to find that he was.

Robin took the phone from his ear, and was about to terminate the call when Matthew shouted so loudly that it sounded as if it were on speaker. “Clatteridges. Um...7:30 p.m. August 18...1996.”

Robin froze. The single shiver had turned into a cavalcade coursing through his body. He looked down at the phone in his hand and then past it, at the open book on the table. Something plopped onto the page, and it took a moment for him to realize it was a tear.