As he walked back to his car, John noticed a crowd outside the new pizzeria. I guess everybody likes the circus, he thought. He wandered closer, trying to see where Charlie had gone, but she was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, like noticing hidden figures in a picture, John realized that the crowd around him was dotted with clowns: painted faces, white billowy costumes, noses of all shapes and colors. They were everywhere. He backed out of the throng, tripping on an oversize shoe and almost falling off the sidewalk.

When he was free of the crowd, John took a deep breath and looked back at the restaurant, noticing for the first time the banner strung over the front entrance. GRAND OPENING: COME DRESSED AS A CLOWN AND EAT FREE! it read, hanging between the gigantic faces of two grinning clowns. He looked around. More people were arriving, many of them in costume, and John felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He glanced behind him, but there was nothing sinister, besides the clowns. He forced himself to look at them individually: people had dressed with varying degrees of enthusiasm—some had structured bodysuits, wigs, and enormous feet; others had simply painted their faces and worn polka-dot T-shirts. Still, his sense of unease did not abate.

They’re just people in costumes, he scolded himself, then laughed abruptly, startling a woman standing nearby. “People in costumes. That’s never gone wrong for me,” he muttered, walking away from the crowd to find his car.

*  *  *

Driving home, John found himself agitated; twice he looked at the speedometer and saw that he’d gone dangerously over the speed limit without noticing. He tapped his hand restlessly against the steering wheel, thinking of the next day. What then? Seeing Charlie had rattled him more than he had realized. After months of solitary scribbling, going over and over his bizarre theories, he’d been forced to put his conviction to the test, to ask her questions and watch her answer, and ask himself as he did, Are you her? Are you my Charlie? Now that it was over, it felt unreal, like a dream that lingered too long, unwelcome in the waking world. As he approached the turnoff that would take him home, he sped up, driving straight on past it.

John parked his car a few blocks away from Clay Burke’s house. He pulled the keys out of the ignition and jangled them nervously in his hand for a minute, then opened the door decisively and got out. When he got to the house it was dark except for a single window, which he thought was Clay’s office. I wonder if Carlton’s gone back to school, he wondered, unsure whether he was hoping for his friend’s presence, or his absence.

He knocked and waited, then rang the bell. A long moment later, Clay opened the door.