Shame

tensed. He could feel her body tightening up.
    “Shhhhhhhhhh.”
    He massaged her panic, put it in check again. In his calm voice, he explained, “All I want is your valuables. After this room, I’m going to try a few others and I don’t want you raising an alarm. Give me your hands.”
    He eased his weight off of her. From under the covers, Dana felt her arms rising, as if they’d been summoned by a hypnotist.
    Plastic loops were slipped around her wrists, and then the ties were tightened.
    “And now your feet.”
    He reached for the blanket, lifted it. Dana was glad she was wearing her pajamas. She didn’t want him reaching under the covers, so she offered him her ankles.
    “Good,” he said, applying the ties.
    He got off the bed, moved a few steps away from her. The room was too dark for Dana to make out his features.
    “Ah, university life,” he said. “Nothing like it, is there? Young, active minds in search of knowledge. Do you like poetry?”
    He didn’t sound like a junkie, Dana thought. She shook her head.
    “Pity, that. I was going to quote you some Whitman, a short poem, his ‘Your Felons on Trial in Courts.’ But I’ll respect your wishes. In truth, I don’t much like poetry myself. But I do like universities. John W. Deering had the right idea when he willed his body to the University of Utah. Just before he was shot by afiring squad, Deering said, ‘At least I’ll get some high-class education.’”
    He definitely didn’t sound like a junkie.
    “I’ve always been attracted to gallows humor,” he said. “To be insouciant in the face of death is a way of cheating it, don’t you think? When George Appel was being strapped into the electric chair, he looked around at the somber faces of all those who were assembled and said, ‘Well, folks, pretty soon you’re going to see a baked Appel.’”
    Dana tried to loosen the tape around her mouth, tried to scream, but the sounds were muted.
    “Sh, sh, sh, sh.” More summons for quiet, but behind them she heard his amusement.
    Dana kicked off her covers. She could at least hop if nothing else.
    “Sh, sh, sh, sh.”
    He was insane, Dana was sure, but she still couldn’t be sure he meant her any harm.
    As if hearing her doubts, he said, “I told you that I wasn’t going to hurt you.”
    His declaration stopped her from doing anything rash. She huddled at the head of her bed, trembling. Dana listened as he rummaged through her belongings. The sounds reassured her. Then he made his way toward her door. Every step away from her brought that much more relief.
    He was painstakingly slow about opening the door to the hallway. He stood very still for several moments, looking and listening to make sure that all was clear. Then he turned back to her.
    “Don’t try to raise an alarm,” he whispered. “Don’t do anything more than breathe for the next five minutes.”
    As he slid out the door, she heard him say ever so softly, “I told you I wouldn’t harm you.”
    The door closed behind him.
    For Dana, there was a long moment of blessed relief. She offered up a prayer of thanks, but it was interrupted. The door flew open.
    “I lied,” he said.

24

    C ALEB ALL BUT sprinted the four blocks over to University Avenue. This time he could do something other than just run away.
    The open service station was just what Caleb was looking for. He ran up to the cashier’s booth. Sitting in the cinder-block fort was an old black man smoking a cigarette behind thick, yellowed Plexiglas. The cashier studied Caleb’s hurried approach with a resigned expression that said he had seen it all and wasn’t keen on the reruns.
    “Do you sell gas cans?” Caleb asked.
    The cashier took a long drag of his cigarette, did a little mental cataloging, then exhaled his answer. “Eight ninety-nine,” he said, his words coming out of a tinny microphone. “Plus tax.”
    Caleb reached for his wallet, pulled out a twenty, and put it in the slot. The money disappeared.
    “You gonna want a gallon of gas?”
    “Yes,” said Caleb, offering the expected answer without any hesitation, though until that moment he hadn’t even thought about getting gas. The can was to be his prop for getting a ride, his explanation for walking the streets at night.
    “You want unleaded or premium?”
    “Unleaded.”
    “Pump three.” The cashier rang up the transactions, put the change in the plastic slot drawer, and pushed the drawer toward Caleb. “Can will be outside the