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fingers behind his neck. “Okay. I’ll quit being a jerk.”
    â€œHow do you feel now, about the killing?”
    His eyes studied the ceiling. “Don’t know. Try not to think about it, I guess.”
    â€œBut now you can.”
    â€œWhen I do, it seems surreal. Like watching a movie. I really don’t think it’s hit me yet.”
    â€œI see.” Sato scribbled a note. “Sleeping okay?”
    â€œLike a baby.”
    â€œWhat about dreams? Any strange ones? Nightmares?”
    â€œNone I remember. But . . .”
    â€œYes?”
    He closed his eyes, trying to think back. “Okay. Had one. In it I was tied to a chair with piano wire. The punk, the one I didn’t kill, he was beating on me. Hurt like a bitch. I was in a hospital, bandaged up, just like after all those shelves came down on me in the warehouse. Then I woke up. That’s all.”
    She underlined something. “Feelings of guilt? For doing what you did?”
    He yawned. Why should he feel badly? “No. They were trying to kill me.”
    She hopped up. “Let’s dance, Mr. Harmon. I want you to act something out.” She grasped his wrist, grip firm now, and pulled him to his feet. She pushed his chair toward the door, then sat on her desk with a jump. “You saw the video. Pretend it’s happening again. Tell me what you feel. Ready? Okay—one guy lunges at you with a knife.”
    This lady was nuts. But why not go along? He slipped his hands from his pockets, wedding ring snagging on the seam. He closed his eyes and swung an arm. “Yeah. The video showed—”
    â€œWe know what it shows. Quit thinking about it. Put yourself back there, two weeks ago. Just pretend. What do you feel ?”
    His eyes burned as he shut them tight. Okay. If he was crazy, he needed to know. This shrink might testify if the lawsuit filed by the dead guys’ families ever went to court. What can it hurt?
    He envisioned the gangster holding the knife again, sharp edge gleaming. The last thing he remembered before the forgotten time. “I feel . . . relieved.”
    â€œExplain.” Her voice was calm, almost seductive.
    Keeping his eyes closed, he pointed to the side, where Lori would’ve been sitting in the truck. “Lori has the keys. The doors are locked. She’s already calling 911. Even if they kill me, my family’s safe. So, I’m relieved.” He tilted his head. Another thought appeared in his mind, as if a spotlight had just shone upon it. “But those other two. If they’ve got a gun, they could still hurt them.”
    â€œHow does that make you feel?”
    His heart beat heavy, but slower. The cadence you’d use to work a sledgehammer on a wedge to split an unyielding piece of firewood. “I’m angry.”
    â€œNot scared?”
    He huffed, surprised. “Uh—no. So the first guy lunges at me and I—” The sledgehammer swung faster now, harder. A presence, a ghost, distantly familiar, was knocking to be let in at his mind’s door. He licked salty perspiration from his lip. “ Now I’m scared.”
    Sato’s voice was deadpan. “Now, as at Walmart? Or now, as in this room?”
    He strained to pull his thoughts back to the present, to this office. What had that been? Maybe he was crazy. He opened his eyes. “Nothing. Just scared then . . . at the idea of being robbed. I guess.”
    She dropped her head, as if disappointed. Then hopped off the desk and climbed back onto her stool.
    â€œMr. Harmon, you’re a terrible liar. I realize you’re scared, so we’ll take it as slow as you want. Before you go, here’s something to think about: You say you have memory problems. Yet clearly you knew what you were doing when you killed those men. Handling yourself with adept violence.” She pointed her fingers to the ceiling. “You pulled out a man’s throat! I never even knew