“I was a man of no account in a world of wealth. Now I’m a king in a land of absence. Everything is before me. You see, it’s like I was a leftover part in a completed picture, but now the world is a blank canvas.”

“When did you become a philosopher? Four days ago the most eloquent thing coming out of your mouth was the jingle of a beer commercial.”

“That’s part of it. No TV, no radio, no Internet, and precious few books—with no diversions, a man thinks…a lot. I’ve done a lot of soul-searching, and I realized that I was a poor man, who also didn’t have any money,” he said with an amused look, watching to see if Ellis caught the twist of words.

He gave a slight smile.

Warren returned it with a wink. “The world has been erased. We can build whatever we want. We can be the founding fathers of a new civilization. Do it right this time.”

“There’s already a civilization. Millions of people might disagree with your vision of the future. From what I’ve heard, they consider the surface kinda sacred.”

“You’ve spent time with them. You know what they’re like. A bunch of children. They won’t fight. We’re like that Spanish guy that landed in Mexico…”

“Cortés?”

“Yeah—him. He whipped the whole country of Mexico with just a handful of men.”

“He defeated the Aztec Empire with five hundred men, advanced technology, and smallpox.”

“Yeah, whatever. We’re like him. We’re the only two realmen left in the world. The rest are—I don’t know, really, but they synthesized aggression out of them. They remind me of my second wife. They’ll scream and pout, but the worst they’ll ever do is call you names and occasionally throw something. We could rule this world with nothing more than our fists and a hunting knife, and yet we both have guns. That practically makes us gods.”

Or devils.

He smirked at the look on Ellis’s face. “Relax. I’m not applying to be the next Hitler, just saying the baldies are content living underground, so there’s no reason we can’t make a town for ourselves right here. Why should they care?”

“They might.”

Warren seemed to ponder this, sipping his tea thoughtfully. Inside, there was a banging of pots and pans and the clap of a cupboard.

Ellis looked down at his gun. Funny that he hadn’t put it away. He always had in the past. He set the pistol in his lap, slid his backpack between his feet, and pulled out his coat.

“You cold?” Warren asked.

“No.” The single word sounded ominous, but maybe only to Ellis, because he alone knew what was coming next.

Ellis pulled the letters out of his coat pocket, where they’d been since 2014. He had considered not mentioning them. What good could come from bringing them up now? Peggy was dead, that whole world gone. For Ellis, however, the hurt was only a few days old, and there was no going forward until he dealt with that wound. His mother had taught him the best way to avoid infection was to pour a solid dose of hydrogen peroxide on deep cuts. It would hurt like hell, but it had to be done before any kind of bandage could be put on—before any healing could take place.

Ellis didn’t say a word. He just handed over the letters. Warren looked at them, puzzled, shuffling through the small stack. “Oh,” he finally said, understanding filling his eyes. “Damn, these are really old. Peggy kept these, huh?”

Ellis only glared.

“What?” Warren asked. Not a trace of guilt, not a hint of remorse.

“You were fucking my wife.”

“Yeah, I was.”

“Right after my son died, you were screwing Peggy.”

Warren was nodding like one of those stupid bobbleheads on a car dashboard.

“Have you got anything to say?”

Warren shrugged. “What do you want me to say, Ellis? That was over two thousand years ago.”

“Not for me. I just found out.”

Warren nodded with a fair-enoughexpression. “So, you want me to say I’m sorry. Is that it?” Warren looked over at the pistol, still in Ellis’s lap. “Or are you planning on killing me?”

Is this how these things happen?The subconscious just takes control? Is that the real reason he sent Pax away? Was he ashamed of what he might do? Pax thought so well of him; he didn’t want to ruin that. Wasn’t it always the same thing in the aftermath of a shooting?

He was a peaceful man, Officer. Never had a bad word to say about anyone. Don’t know how he could have done it. It just wasn’t like him.

He looked back at Warren. “I don’t want you to say you’re sorry—I want you to actually besorry.”

“Okay.”

Okay?

“Goddammit, Warren! You were my friend. My only realfriend. You had all kinds of women. I had one.”

But you weren’t doing anything with her no more, were you, buddy? You and Peggy hadn’t shared so much as a real kiss in months. And I was getting fat and not the looker I once was. So we did it. I had her in your bed on that nice lavender comforter. Used to sneak up there three times a week to rock that headboard against the wall. Glad you didn’t come home from work early. As they say, if the bed’s a-rockin’, don’t come up the stairs. Peggy even kept her high heels on.

Ellis realized his finger was inside the trigger guard of the gun.

“You really want the truth?” Warren’s eyes glanced at the gun in Ellis’s lap. “She was mad at you. Hated you. Blamed you for Isley’s death—but you already know that.” Warren rubbed his thumb thoughtfully along the side of his near-empty glass. “I was with her that day. I had stopped by to borrow your ladder just as she was coming home. We went to the garage, and we found Isley together. She screamed, and I held her while she cried.

“Then a month or two later, when she started writing me letters, I figured it was because we shared this moment, you know? But I think she was just trying to hurt you. It wasn’t like she wanted me. She wanted to get back at you. I didn’t know that beforehand. It was only the one time—but you already know that from the letters.” Warren handed them back to Ellis.

“We were in the back of her car parked in the corner of a Denny’s parking lot where we went after the bar had closed. Both of us were drunk. Wasn’t my finest hour by a long shot. I guess I thought I was helping her—and I was, just not the way I thought. I figured I was lending comfort to a woman cut off from her husband. Instead, I was providing her with the means to punish you. Course it didn’t turn out that way, because you never found out—until now. Like one of those World War II mines that blows off a kid’s foot fifty years later. She could have told you—don’t know why she didn’t. She’d also said she was going to get a divorce. Didn’t do that either. If you want to know what I think, I honestly believe that even though she wanted to, she just couldn’t stop loving you.”

Warren swallowed the last of his tea—Ellis just swallowed.

“Her revenge backfired in the end. After you did your vanishing act, Peggy became convinced you killed yourself because of those letters. I tried to tell her about the time machine, but you can imagine her reaction. When I insisted that’s what happened, she stopped taking my calls. Never got any response to my emails. She moved to Florida about a year later—but I doubt it was just to get away from me. Never remarried.”

Ellis’s gaze had drifted away from Warren to the fields, but snapped back at the sound of those last two words.

“How’d she die?”

Warren raised an eyebrow. “How should I know?”

“You said she never remarried. If she was still alive when you left, you would have said you don’t know if she ever remarried.”

“Mr. M.I.T.”

“So how did she die?”

Warren sighed. “Car accident.”

“Anyone else hurt?”

“She was alone. Hit a cement freeway viaduct.”

Ellis narrowed his eyes. “Bad weather?”

“Drunk, I was told.” Warren held his stare for half a minute. “At the funeral, her sister, what’s-her-name—the one in Omaha—Sandy! Sandy mentioned Peggy had begun drinking after you left. They tried to get her help. Tried to get her to AA or something. Didn’t work, I guess.” Warren watched him a second. He must have looked upset, because Warren felt it was necessary to add, “She, ah—she finally forgave you—for Isley and such.”