As soon as the train left the station, the lights inside the car started to flicker. The car ahead of us went dark, then our car and the car behind us. After a moment the lights came back on in the same sequence. Mini-blackouts in a speeding hulk. A well-dressed man got on at Penn Station, 34th Street, and as soon as the car doors shut he opened his briefcase and pulled out a Bible. He started to preach, brandishing the book like a weapon. No one paid him any mind, and he left our car for the next, following the succession of blackouts all through the train as if the Word itself were guiding our travel. Ruella and I burst out laughing. I was sure the man was headed to a midtown insurance office somewhere forty stories high, and he was getting ready for his imminent ascent to heaven.

Suddenly the train stalled. The lights went out. Air stopped coming from the vent. All was still. I started to sweat although it wasn’t that hot. I was about to stand up when the train lurched forward and lumbered into the next station. The waiting riders looked angry. Ruella moved in closer to me and took my hand. Crowds squeezed onto the train. The door wouldn’t close. “Get the fuck off the doors,” said a voice over the loudspeaker. The door groaned shut. The train pushed itself out of 42nd Street, accelerating for the nonstop ride to 72nd.

I kept thinking about the visit to the prison. I’d think about anything just to keep my mind off the train and the other passengers. Ruella’s hand squeezed mine and I smiled at her, but her look said she was clinging to me again, and I didn’t want her to cling. We were already close. We danced. We took the subway. We visited the prison. We saw Phillip. I felt his blood boiling beneath the skin and felt my own blood freeze.