When another song came on, Lorie seized him by the wrist and they danced some more.

I wandered around the party, thinking that my job was to represent scenes like this, people carving simple pleasures from a night that provided them nothing. I had to give this place, these people, the story they deserved.

“Here you go, little miss.”

The cook held out a stick, steam curling off the meat. It must’ve been some kind of bird, the skin studded with pimply pores. I said thanks and found a place to eat off to the side, by the broken wall. At first I leaned against it, then realized the wall had been burned almost black and soot had flaked onto my shirt.

My teeth were just drawing off the skin when I thought I heard: “Hey.”

The whisper struck my ear like a dart. I looked around.

“Hey.”

I realized it came from behind the wall.

On the other side, the dark of the night had no dimension, no depth. I couldn’t discern the source of the voice.

Squinting, I said, “Who is it?”

The shape came nearer, and the dimmest light of the grill touched the eyes, the shadow of a nose.

“Quinn?”

“Get me something to eat?” he said.

I stepped forward.

“Don’t come close.”

I froze and held out the meat. “You can have this.”

He snatched it away and tore into it, the cartilege cracking. As he ate, the glow of the fire faintly touched his face. My eyes widened, horrified. In what must’ve been a trick of the light, it seemed as if his mouth couldn’t close—or no, as if there weren’t any lips, just bald bone, a black juice running from his chin.

“Quinn?”

I touched my lips and drew closer. I heard the air gurgle in his throat.

“What happened?” I said.

For a moment I could see the wet shape of eyes before he slipped off into the dark.

THE SUBJECT

1.

In her office the next morning, I told Dr. Kriss I’d seen Quinn.

“Where?”

“The south side.”

“Specifically where?”

I tried describing the lot with the broken wall, but the geography eluded me. Still, she produced a map and I managed to circle the general area.

“Alright, thanks,” she said. “Did you talk to him?”

“Not really.”

I hesitated to mention what I’d come to think was shadow play, but said it looked like he’d suffered some kind of injury.

“What kind?”

“To his face.”

I gestured around my mouth, but as I tried to put the vision into words, it seemed to creep, like a stepping stone that wobbles underfoot, and I broke off with a grimace.

“This is your first time doing a story like this, isn’t it?” said Dr. Kriss.

The question startled me. “Yeah, why?”

“A science reporter might not find what you saw so strange.”

“How so?”