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SEPTEMBER 15

The cemetery overlooked a schoolyard

Myron pushed at the loose dirt with the toe of his Rockport There was no stone here yet, just aa plain index card with a name typed in capital letters He shook his head Why was he standing here like some cliché from a bad TV show? In his mind’s eye Myron could see how the whole scene should be played out Torrential rain should be pounding on his back, but he would be too bereaved to notice His head should be lowered, tears glistening in his eyes,in with the rain Cue the stirring music The camera shouldhis sluraves, no one else present Still pulling back, the ca in the distance, silently understanding, giving his buddy tie should suddenly freeze and the executive producer’s naht hesitation before the viewers are urged to stay tuned for scenes from next week’s episode Cut to commercial

But that would not happen here The sun shone like it was the first day and the skies had the hue of the freshly painted Win was at the office And Myron would not cry

So as he here?

Because asoon He was sure of it

Myron searched for so in the landscape but only came up with more clichés It had been teeks since the funeral Weeds and dandelions had already begun to break through the dirt and stretch toward the heavens Myron waited for his inner voice-over to spout the standard drivel about weeds and dandelions representing cycles and renewal and life going on, but the voice was ht irony in the radiant innocence of the schoolyard—the faded chalk on black asphalt, the htly rusted chains for the swings—cloaked in the shadows of tombstones that watched over the children like silent sentinels, patient and al But the irony would not hold Schoolyards were not about innocence There were bullies down there too and sociopaths-in-waiting and burgeoning psychoses and young minds filled prenatally with undiluted hate

Okay, Myron thought, enough abstract babbling for one day

On soue was ht of hand to keep his brittleHe wanted so very round and claw at the dirt with his bare hands and beg forgiveness and plead for a higher power to give him one more chance

But that too would not happen

Myron heard footsteps co up from behind him He closed his eyes It was as he expected The footsteps came closer When they stopped, Myron did not turn around

“You killed her,” Myron said

“Yes”

A block of ice melted in Myron’s stomach “Do you feel better now?”

The killer’s tone caressed the back of Myron’s neck with a cold, bloodless hand “The question is, Myron, do you?”

AUGUST 30

Myron hunched his shoulders and slurred his words “I aent”

Norosi?”

“The Elephant Man,” Myron said

“Da a baby-sitter? Did I say the word baby-sitter or baby-sitting or for that matter any form of the verb to baby-sit or noun or even the word baby or the word sit or sat or—”

Myron held up a hand “I get the point, Norm”

They sat under a basket at Madison Square Garden in those cloth-and-wood directors’ chairs that have stars’ nah so that the net frooing on at half-court Lots of those uhts and tall, bony wo about Myron waited for someone to mistake him for a model And waited