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“Or it’s nothing.”

“Yeah. Maybe. Want some company? I have tomorrow morning off.”

“When do you sleep?”

Sonny smiled. “I get plenty. I’m wired differently. I only sleep four hours a night.”

“That’s not right.”

“Even when I was a kid and even when I was sick, four hours and I’m wide awake.”

“You seem healthy.”

“I am. It’s called short sleeper syndrome.”

“Is that real?”

“Yes, it is.”

I thought for a moment. “I’d like to see Aunt Susan alone, but do you want to hang out in my bed for five or so hours?”

He put the food down again. “That’s a good surprise invitation.”

“Is that a no?”

“No, that is most definitely not a no. You done with dinner yet?”

I smiled. “I think I need some banana cream first.”

“Deal. Let me go get that.” He paused. “Should we take it with us?”

I laughed. “Maybe.”

As I watched him make his way up to the counter and order the pie, my eyes landed on a spinning hat display. I stood and walked toward it, noticing a Mobil Oil cap, almost exactly like the one that Graham wore. I realized the gas station’s signage was also Mobil Oil. It had been that way forever as far as I knew, but I’d never given it much thought.

The last time I’d seen Graham’s cap, it had been covered in desert grime. Would it be nice of me to purchase him a new one or would it be rude—“Your cap is filthy, and you should throw it away.”

Sonny joined me. “Need a hat?”

I shook my head and decided not to make the purchase right now. Buying a gift for a guy when I was with another one seemed rude. Maybe later. I had more important things on my mind.

I’d never thought about having sex so much in my entire life. Was that good or bad, the product of stunted growth or a late bloomer?

I decided I didn’t much care as we took the banana cream to go.

He’d been derailed again. Things hadn’t gone as planned.

Had no one figured out who the second set of bones belonged to? Why hadn’t Hazel, someone, told them how old they were, how long they’d been free of skin and tissue? It’s simple after that. Well, maybe not simple, but not too difficult to figure out.

Old bones. He remembered watching the blood pool come from the veins, and then soak into the ground. He’d buried the bones along with everything else long ago.

If Hazel hadn’t been out in the desert today, he would have killed her in her apartment, hopefully in the museum. He’d been torn—maybe he would deflesh and leave her bones right there, underneath the owl with the terrifying eyes, right where … no, he couldn’t let his imagination see the horror of it.

From the first moment a year earlier when he saw Silas Reynolds standing on a street corner in Tucson, begging for money, he knew what he had to do.

To get back to Black Vulture, he’d had to make up a backstory that would unravel if even the tiniest thread were pulled, but no one seemed to be interested in his past. They just wanted to know what he could do for them now. They’d learn everything later, when it was over, but time was ticking and someone would become curious.

Accepting that he might have to wait until tomorrow, he sighed heavily and reached into his pocket.