We drink together for a time, I don’t know how long. We say things but they’re all lost in the ether after that. Occasionally the lights of cars sweep white across our faces. I feel very fond of him.

He leans in close. “Lots of people saw us leave together, tonight. The guy in the gas station is looking at us right now. He’d remember you. You’re pretty memorable.”

“Sure,” I say.

“So let’s talk honestly,” he says. “For once. Why did you stop coming to see me?”

“You cured me,” I say, giggling.

“That was quite some stunt, impaling yourself with that pen.”

“I have a high pain threshold, I guess.”

He hiccups, gently. “You were pretty shaken up. You left in a hurry. So you didn’t notice that I followed. You like to keep your home private, don’t you? But it’s harder to muffle sound. Children’s voices are so penetrating.”

The darkness is shot through with a hectic red. The bug man suddenly doesn’t seem as drunk as before. A terrible feeling begins in me.

“She’s not really your daughter, is she?” he asks. “Just as your cat isn’t really a cat. You thought you were so subtle, leading me onto dissociative identity disorder. But I read people for a living, Ted. You can’t fool me. DID is caused by trauma. Abuse. Tell me, what’s the real reason Lauren—or Olivia, if you prefer—doesn’t leave the house?”

I make myself laugh. I make myself sound drunk and friendly. “You’re so smart,” I say. “Did you follow me to the bar tonight?”

“It was really bad luck that guy came into the bathroom,” the bug man says, dreamily. “You would not have known otherwise. I’ve been watching you for a while.”

I have been careless and blind. I let him see who I am.

“You broke into my house,” I say. “It wasn’t that neighbor lady, like I thought. But you made a mistake. You used different nails.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, there,” he says, sounding injured. If I didn’t know better, I would believe him. “Ted, this is an opportunity. We can both benefit.”

“How?” I ask. “I can’t pay you more money.”

“There can be money for both of us!” he says. “The thing is,” he leans close, “I was meant for more than a crappy little practice, listening to middle-aged housewives talk about how they’ve lost their self-esteem. I was top of my class, you know? I had that little hiccup, true, but I got my license back, didn’t I? I deserve more than this. What’s the difference between me and those guys on the bestseller lists? Opportunity, that’s all.