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opened the door wider, and sniffed. There was a funny smell, kind of nice, like fireworks or something. Then he saw Ronnie Ho lying face down on the floor. Jamie’s fear abruptly left him.
    “C’mon guys!” he said in the edgy tone he knew Kevin hated. “Pay-up time.”
    Neither of them moved. Jamie began to feel irritated. They were playing one of their stupid games, ignoring what he said, acting like he wasn’t there.
    “You owe me a dollar, Kevin!” he said, taking a step into the room.
    Still there was no response. The stress and strain of the past twenty minutes had left Jamie’s nerves ragged. Being treated like a dumb younger brother was the last straw. He picked up a social studies textbook lying on the chest of drawers and spun it across the room like a frisbee. It was a heavy book, and the corner struck Kevin just below the ear. Realizing that he’d gone too far, Jamie sprinted quickly across the basement and upstairs before Kevin could catch up and give him hell.
    In the hall at the top of the stairs, he paused. There was no sound of pursuit. In fact there was no sound at all. Even the Accident had stopped whining for attention. Jamie was still standing there uncertainly when the phone began to ring, doubled by the electronic warble of the portable. He waited for his mom to answer, but the phone kept right on ringing. Jamie walked through to the living room. The portable was still lying on the sofa where his mom had thrown it. He picked it up and pushed the button.
    “Hello?”
    “Hi! Is this Jamie? This is Kelly Shelden. Your mom left a message on my voice mail. Can I speak to her?”
    “Hold on.”
    He lowered the phone.
    “Mom!”
    There was no reply. Jamie wandered down the room toward the dining area.
    “Mom!”
    He stumbled on something and grabbed the back of the sofa to stop himself falling. The portable went flying. Jamie looked at the thing he had tripped over. It was wrapped in shiny blue fabric, with pieces of crinkly white appearing here and there.
    Mrs. Shelden was hollering something in a squeaky voice. Stepping carefully over the obstacle on the floor, Jamie reached down and picked up the portable.
    “Hello?” he said.
    “Jamie? Are you there?”
    “I’m here.”
    “What’s going on?”
    “I dropped the phone.”
    “Oh, OK. Did you find your mom?”
    “Yeah.”
    “OK.”
    Jamie turned and looked down again.
    “Hello?” said Kelly Shelden.
    “I’m here,” said Jamie.
    “Well, are you going to put your mom on or what?”
    “I can’t.”
    “How come? Is she in the bathroom or something?”
    He did not answer.
    “Jamie? What the heck are you playing at?”
    “Could you get over here, Mrs. Shelden? Like now?”
    “Oh boy, you must be kidding! I’ve got a zillion things to do. Listen, I’ll call back in ten minutes. Will she be able to talk then?”
    “I think she’s dead.”
    “Well, have her call me when she’s free. I’ll be home till four, then I have to bring Ryan to baseball practice, but I should be back by—”
    “You’ve gotta come!” Jamie shouted. “I’m only a kid!”
    Kelly Shelden’s voice softened into concern.
    “Why, Jamie! What’s the matter, honey?”
    Jamie broke into sobs.
    “I’m feeling weirded out. Like totally.”

T he time I remember best is the night we ended up down at the Commercial, and all that happened afterward. It would be nice and neat to be able to say that that’s where the whole thing started, but there must have been a lot more behind it, a slow shifting of psychological fault lines under the pressure of life events about which I know nothing, about which maybe no one ever knew anything, and never will now.
    Minneapolis is not exactly notorious for its seedy lowlife, but there is—or was, back in the seventies—a part of downtown, a couple of blocks either side of the railroad tracks, which got reasonably lively after dark. The Commercial Hotel was right in the middle of it. They knocked it down later and