And then Lett was seeing people killed and killing and being killed. His friends, so many. The little German girl. Children. Too many. Dogs. He saw all their bulging white eyeballs, heard their individual muffled screams, felt their distended hearts swelling his. It kept coming at him, a crashing wave. He had to fight his way through it, flailing, punching, shooting. In the nightmare he kept killing just to make it all stop. Then he didn’t want it to stop.

“They made me do things I never wanted to do,” he muttered after a while, after his cold sweat had dried. “But you know the real sick part? Sometimes I think about doing those things again, what it would be like. Like what I did back there in that bar, but worse. I almost . . . look forward to it. That’s what they did to me. I’m not broke—I’m retooled, see. They put a lever inside me. A gear. It can be turned on, activated.”

“It’s just the night talking,” Kanani said. “They’re gonna cure you. You said so yourself. And I’ll make sure that they do. Okay?”

“All right.”

The nightmares didn’t return that night. Lett woke in the early morning light. Kanani was snoring a modest rumble-growl, like a well-fed cat. He rolled off the mattress with care. The galley kitchen had a dented metal percolator sitting on the stove. In the nearly empty cupboard, he found a couple mugs and a can of joe that probably dated back to FDR’s first term.

He found other things while wandering the bungalow. In addition to double-door locks, strips of folded paper were wedged in the back door and faint threads hung off the window latches, all to warn against intruders having entered while she was out.

The kettle water rumbled and bubbled, and he whisked the perc off the burner. He took his hot joe out the front door and sat on the top step of the bungalow, its pink paint faded and peeling. Silly birds yelped from unknown perches. A tiny gecko stared back at him from the side of the railing. The clearing sparkled now, as if the branches and bushes were laced with garland and the furry moss on the yard debris were dotted with sequins. He even spotted a tree swing.

He was going to The Preserve today, he remembered. His cure could finally begin.

Soft footsteps, a yawn. Kanani wandered out in her nightgown. She sat next to him, rubbing at his shoulder, and sipped from his coffee. She spat it out over the railing.

“Tell it to the proprietor,” Lett said, adding a smile.

She shoved him. He tossed the coffee over the railing. They laughed at that and breathed in the fresh air.