The guards were on the other side, as always. Gaspar yanked Stephen out—he fell to the floor, his face such a dark red it was nearly purple—and then closed the door behind them. The guards looked at them questioningly. They said nothing. Disconcerted, they turned to Stephen, who couldn’t get a word out, couldn’t breathe.

Gaspar understood what he had to do. It was so simple.

“We came to get you,” he said. “Señora Florence says you two should come and see what we found.”

And he opened the door to let them through. For a moment he considered going with them. Maybe just as far as the swamp. Push them into the stagnant water. Skewer them on the trees that were waiting for their torsos. But that massacre was not his. And following them would be dangerous. He shut the door as soon as they were through.

Stephen had gotten up and was looking out the window, trying to catch his breath. Aside from his panting, the house was completely silent.

“What comes next?” asked Gaspar.

“Tomorrow we brick up this door.”

Gaspar felt the trembling in his hands, slight at first and then a violent shudder. The nausea was so intense he soaked his pants with vomit, spattered the wooden floor. His long hair stuck to his face. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he was alone. He crept out of the guesthouse, hesitant: outside, the sun was shining, ignorant and idiotic, and he didn’t see Stephen anywhere.

They were waiting for him, they wanted to see him. He had said no. Over the phone, Vicky had threatened to show up at the house without warning. You already tried to push us away and this is how it turned out, this is how it ended. You can come back. No one is looking for you. They know you had nothing to do with what happened to Luis. Don’t ever talk to me about Luis, Gaspar had shouted. Never. Who gave you this number? Tali, Vicky replied, but just then Gaspar didn’t think about her. He thought: I have to call right now to change the number, or just cut off the phone. Pablo argued with less conviction. They wouldn’t come to him if he didn’t want to see them, if he didn’t ask them to. The conversations were tense. Gaspar had cut off the last one and hadn’t answered again. Stephen—that’s what he called him now, as Stephen had asked him to—wandered around the house without saying much, but he listened to what Gaspar needed to tell him. Pablo and Vicky had received compensation from the Other Place—he’d been calling it by almost the same name his father had given it, without realizing. They both had good lives. He didn’t want to ruin them.