night like some mythical iceberg. It seemed as though such a place could not be made or populated by men, and both were struck silent for some time.
“Sometimes I think this city has a voice,” Samantha said.
“Do you?” Garvey said, smiling slightly.
“Yes. Out there.” She pointed across the waters.
“What’s it saying?”
“That there’s always tomorrow. And there always will be.”
When they were done they returned to the parking lot and looked back at the carnival. Samantha turned to look at the bridge and the city towering behind it.
“Home,” she said, and Garvey nodded.
They drove to his apartment just before midnight. Then as they crossed the little courtyard Samantha pointed to the trees at the center.
“Someone’s there,” she said. They both stopped and looked, and saw a hunched figure leaning against one of the trunks. A large wooden box was sitting on the ground before him. “Are people still watching your apartment?”
“No,” Garvey said. “Hayes checked. And if that guy’s a shadow he’s doing a terrible job of it…”
Garvey walked to the figure carefully. It did not move. Then he got in front of it, squatted, and said, “Shit. It’s Hayes. He’s passed out.”
Samantha drew close and coughed. “Lord. It’s like he slept in a distillery.”
“I thought he was doing better. What’s that?” Garvey asked, nodding at the box.
She opened it slightly. “It’s the files. The Tazz ones, and the ones from Savron Hill. I suppose it’s his present for you.”
Garvey’s eyes gleamed briefly. Then he nodded, jaw set, and grabbed Hayes by the arm and pulled him to his feet. A long stream of drool gathered at Hayes’s lower lip and then broke and spattered onto the cement. He muttered something and then said, “Good evening.”
“Goddamn it, Hayes,” Garvey said. He fought to gather all of Hayes’s errant arms and legs.
“Did you all have a nice evening?” Hayes asked, slurred.
“Shut up,” Garvey said.
“Yes,” said Samantha.
“Oh,” said Hayes. “That’s good.”
“Take that, will you?” said Garvey to Samantha, nodding again at the box.
They brought him inside the apartment and sat him on the sofa. Hayes sprawled across the beaten cushions, then opened his eyes and seemed to focus a little. He moved his limbs around like they were all new additions and managed to force himself into a sitting position. Then he blinked hard and said, “Thought I’d come by and get that address from you, Garvey-o.”
“Yeah,” Garvey said. “Yeah, I fucking figured.” He poured a glass of water and said, “Here. Drink up.”
“Much obliged.” Hayes held it with the knuckles of both hands, like an old woman with arthritis. He sipped it and smacked his lips. “I look forward to it. Look forward to doing you right.”
“What have you been doing, Mr. Hayes?” asked Samantha. “You look sick again. I haven’t seen you in such a state since our first day together.”
“I’m fine,” he said. But then he looked away, transfixed by some invisible presence, and whispered, “No. No, I’m not. I saw it again tonight.”
“Saw what?” asked Samantha.
“The thing. The ghost. The one we saw.”
“You did?” said Samantha. She and Garvey moved closer to him, propping him up to shake some sense out of him. “Where?”
“Out by… by Skiller’s tenement. Same place, sort of. In a little alley behind. No one died, though. No more deaths. I looked, and checked.”
“But what did you see?” she asked.
“Nothing. A shadow, twitching. And there was a voice. I heard it. It cried, I think.”
“Cried?” said Garvey. He sounded skeptical.
“Yes. Cried. Many voices, crying all along the little dark alley. And I wondered… I wondered what they had said before about it being a ghost. I mean, it’s the second time we’ve spotted it by Skiller’s tenement and all.”
“God,” Garvey said. “How loaded are you?”
“I don’t know. Loaded enough. Do you believe me?”
“Are you sleeping here?” Garvey asked, impatient.
“Here? Where, on your couch?”
“That would be the idea.”
“I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“You’ve already intruded.”
Hayes felt the couch springs, then took a pillow in his arms and squeezed it to his chest and rocked forward. “All right,” he said.
“Fine, then. I’ll get some blankets,” said Garvey, and he went back into his bedroom.
Hayes groaned and lay back, pillow still clutched to his body. “You believe me, don’t you, Sam?” he asked softly.
“I’m trying,” she said.
“I did see it. It cried. And I felt it. You know, with…” He pointed to his head.
“I understand.”
Hayes thought for a moment, his ivory brow crinkling. “I think it’s very sad.”
“Sad?”
“Yes. Very sad. I’m not sure why, though.” He sniffed, and then smiled fondly at her. “You know, I knew a girl like you once.”
Samantha turned to him, slightly uncomfortable. “Yes?”
“Yes. I was very young then. A boy. It was a long time ago.”
“What happened to her?”
Hayes paused. “She died.”
“From what?”
His eyes closed a little. “A bastard.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that,” she said slowly.
Hayes stared into the corner of the room. His eyes were wide and empty, no doubt seeing faces that he wished he could forget. “She was with child when she died,” he said. “We were going to have a baby together. Can you believe that?”
Samantha nearly shook her head, but stilled herself and stayed quiet.
“A baby girl, maybe,” he said. “I would have liked a baby girl. With fat baby hands and fat baby feet. I don’t know what I would have named her. Gloria, or Susan, or something. And I don’t know if she or he or it would have been like… like me. But I often wonder about it. About how it could have been. Two children, raising a child. I’d have never left, never seen the world. Just me, and the wife, and the little one. Fucking momma and poppa. What a crazy thought. Fuck me. Who knows how things could have been.”
“Is that why you do this?” she asked.
“Do what?”
“Follow people. Try to set things to right.”
“I don’t set things to right. Not ever. Usually I just make them worse.” He squinted at her. “You’re sure you want to come tomorrow?”
She smiled a little. “Yes. I miss my job.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I miss running around with you.”
“I never ran.”
“No.” She laughed. “That’s true. You didn’t.”
Garvey returned with the blankets. “Here you go,” he said, and handed them over. “Do not vomit in the
