Bill drove, picking streets at random, too spooked by Jack’s unresponsive demeanor to stop.  Sohrab had been right—no one gave them a second look when he led Jack to the car like an Alzheimer’s patient.  Bill had only attempted to engage him in conversation once, but it went nowhere.  Jack was huddled close to the door, as far from Bill as he could get in the confines of the car, staring out the window and pulling on his bottom lip.  He’s done that since he was a kid, Bill thought, and always when he’s confused or hurt.

Right now Bill knew Jack was both.

“Is your phone on?” Bill asked.  Sohrab still hadn’t called, and it had been over an hour since they left the motel.

Jack’s only response w...

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