“You feel how hot he is? His metabolism, racing. It takes great energy to change—painful, catastrophic changes are taking place inside his body now. The development of a parasitic organ system to accommodate his new state of being. He is metamorphosing into a feeding organism. Soon, twelve to thirty-six hours from the time of infection, but most likely tonight, he will arise. He will thirst. He will stop at nothing to satisfy his craving.”

Gus stared at the old man as though in a state of suspended animation.

Setrakian said, “Do you love your friend?”

Gus said, “What?”

“By ‘love,’ I mean honor, respect. If you love your friend—you will destroy him before he is completely turned.”

Gus’s eyes darkened. “Destroy him?”

“Kill him. Or else he will turn you.”

Gus shook his head in slow motion. “But…if you say he’s already dead…how can I kill him?”

“There are ways,” said Setrakian. “How did you kill the one who attacked you?”

“A knife. That thing coming out of his mouth—I cut up that shit.”

“His throat?”

Gus nodded. “That too. Then a truck hit him, finished the job.”

“Separating the head from the body is the surest way. Sunlight also works—direct sunlight. And there are other, more ancient methods.”

Gus turned to look at Felix. Lying there, not moving. Barely breathing. “Why doesn’t anybody know about this?” he said. He turned back to Setrakian, wondering which one of them was crazy. “Who are you really, old man?”

“Elizalde! Torrez!”

Gus was so absorbed in the conversation that he never saw the cops enter the cell. He looked up at hearing his and Felix’s names and saw four policemen wearing latex gloves come forward, geared up for a struggle. Gus was pulled to his feet before he even knew what was happening.

They tapped Felix’s shoulder, slapped at his knee. When that failed to rouse him, they lifted him up bodily, locking their arms underneath his. His head hung low and his feet dragged as they hauled him away.

“Listen, please.” Setrakian got to his feet behind them. “This man—he is sick. Dangerously ill. He has a communicable disease.”

“Why we wear these gloves, Pops,” called back one cop. They wrenched up Felix’s limp arms as they dragged him through the door. “We deal with STDs all the time.”

Setrakian said, “He must be segregated, do you hear me? Locked up separately.”

“Don’t worry, Pops. We always offer preferential treatment to killers.”

Gus’s eyes stayed on the old man as the tank door was closed and the cops pulled him away.

Stoneheart Group, Manhattan

HERE WAS the bedroom of the great man.