But no.

She said, “I’m not talking about the robbery, though.”

One by one she named the surviving members of the main Three’s Company cast.

“They’re all dead now,” she repeated. “That’s what I mean.”

She continued on, like a news broadcast, informing me of their illnesses, or in one case a car accident, and the ages they were when they perished.

I had not expected this tactic. At first I was shocked. I almost said, Really? I stopped myself at the last second.

It very well might have been true. Years had passed on the outside, and no one was getting any younger. But then I remembered who I was talking to, and I was so taken aback at the grossness of it, the sheer lengths she was willing to go to drag me back into the shit puddle with her, that I was struck dumb. I couldn’t help but admire the cruelty of it. It reminded me of me. Could it mean, in these intervening years, that she had finally grown a backbone?

“I don’t believe you,” I said. I tried to keep my tone aloof, scornful.

“You better believe it. You’ve been out of the world for a while.”

We were both silent for what seemed like full minutes. I prayed that this was it, that she would go away.

But she said, “Everyone back home misses you, too. Your neighbors. People you used to know at the market, your warehouse coworkers. They all ask about you.”

I actually laughed out loud at that. “Get the hell off my property, Krystal.”

She continued, still whispering, as if I hadn’t said anything. “The thirteenth anniversary of the robbery is coming up, Bonnie. The town is doing a memorial service for Geannie, Jim, and Hernan in front of the market. They’re going to raze it to build a Walmart next year. I just thought you might want to be there.”

“Go away,” I told her.

“And Geannie and Jim’s house is gone, too.” She paused, letting that sink in. “You’ll be happy to know I never bought it. You were right, Bonnie, I had to move on, and I did. I have a good life now. But I miss you. I want you to come back with me.” When I didn’t answer, she said, “Look, I’m sorry about the actors, and I’m sorry for coming here, but I told you that for your own good, Bonnie.” She sounded remorseful. “Because it’s over now. You can come out. Move on.”

She paused and said, “I don’t think this is good for you.”

My own words echoed back at me from a long time ago. From a past life.

“Please leave,” I said again, done with this exchange. “Please.” I crawled back to the couch and put pillows over my ears.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. I didn’t dare look out the window to see if she’d gone. My heart thumped in my head, fear and pain and loathing swirling together. I watched the static on the TV screen throb and bubble until I finally fell into a dead, bottomless sleep.