The first rays of sunlight reached across the sky as Brett and Calista waited in the hospital parking lot. It was nearly six o'clock, the time when the orderlies and nurses switched shifts. Brett remembered how they all gathered in the nurse's station, speaking in hushed tones as the nurses filled the doctors in on how the patients fared through the night. Larry was probably hunched over a clipboard right now, outwardly spouting medication doses while secretly dying to get the hell out of there and go home. Or maybe he had somewhere else to go. 

They would find out.

"So what was it like, being in the hospital?" Calista asked, taking a sip of her coffee, purchased from the McDonalds across the street. He knew what she meant, what they all meant when they said "the hospital." They meant the psych ward but were too polite to say. Brett remembered looking out the window of his room, envying the people free to go about their business, pulling up to the drive-through to buy their Big Macs and milkshakes. And then driving away from this awful place without a thought to the people inside what felt like prison.

He was distracted from his thoughts when he noticed the hospital doors sliding open, leaking florescent light onto the pavement. A couple of women walked out in scrubs, toting backpacks and yawning. 

"Sssssh," he said to Calista, waving his hand.

Any minute now.

Larry would walk through those doors. He remembered the man from the hospital, tall with longish brown hair, a scraggly beard, and piercing blue eyes. The man had been kind, yes, but perhaps there was more to his agenda than fetching snacks for the patients. Had he known about Lauren? Could he really have had something to do with her death?

Almost as if Brett had called him into being, Larry appeared in the light, framed by the doorway. He paused for a moment, as if sensing there was something--or someone--in the parking lot waiting for him. He wore a backpack like the other nurses, stuffed to the brim with whatever nurses found essential to bring to work. He surveyed the parking lot. When he didn't find what he was looking for, he stepped out into the night. A gust of wind swept his hair back, and Calista finally got a good look at him.

She grabbed Brett's sleeve. "It's him."

"How can you tell? I thought you just saw the back of his head."

"It's his bag. He had the same one outside your apartment." 

Brett studied the bag more closely. It was mostly black with red lining. He wondered why Brett would have needed it the night of Lauren's death. What was he carrying?

Larry crossed the parking lot, glancing around him suspiciously. Brett and Calista ducked, knocked heads. Brett could smell the mint of Calista's gum, feel her breath on his cheek. He heard a door slam and cautiously lifted his head to check out the car in the next row over. It was a black SUV, and sure enough, Larry was inside. The headlights flashed white.

"What are we going to do?" Calista whispered.

Brett hadn't thought beyond identifying Larry, but he felt the moment was at hand, their chance to go after him, see where he lived, gather any other useful information about him that they could. 

He shrugged. "We follow him."

"Are you serious? What if he's dangerous?"

"Don't worry. I'll keep a distance," Brett replied, sounding more confident than he felt. As Larry pulled out of the parking lot, Brett turned the key in the ignition. "Watch him."

Calista looked over her shoulder. "Hurry, he's getting away."

Brett steered the car toward the exit, spotted Larry's SUV slowing for a yellow light. Another car pulled up behind him, so Brett was able to keep some distance from the man they were following. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel nervously. What was he thinking? If Larry really was the killer and found them stalking him in the middle of the night, wouldn't they be next? But then his mind went back to the bag. He was dying to know what was inside. He felt sure it would have something to do with Lauren's death. Maybe that was silly, to have so much faith in something so obscure, but it was like she was with him, guiding the way. 

The car between them followed Larry a few blocks before turning right. Brett's breath caught in his throat, and he slowed down considerably--not enough to draw attention to them, but enough that Larry probably wouldn't spot them. Another car pulled in front of him, and he was able to maintain a safe enough distance.

They followed him for several miles until Larry turned into the parking lot of a dilapidated apartment building. It seemed orderlies didn't make that much money, which shouldn't have been a surprise to Brett, but somehow he'd suspected with Larry's fairly new SUV that he'd have a decent house somewhere. 

Brett waited until Larry got out and went inside, without his backpack! Did he lock his car door? He was going to find out. 

Reaching for the car door, he was startled by Calista's voice. He'd been so focused on Larry's movements that he'd almost forgotten she was there. "What are you doing?" she screeched.

"I'm going to check things out. You stay here."

"Are you nuts? What if he comes back?"

"That's why you need to stay here," he reasoned. 

She stared at him with big eyes but finally let him go. He exited the car, shutting the door as softly as he was able. He strolled casually to the parking lot, hoping to fool anyone who might be watching into thinking he belonged there. He kept his eye on the door as he approached the door, but no one was coming out. Inside, he spotted the backpack sitting on the passenger seat. 

Carefully, carefully, he opened the door, eyes glued on the door to the apartment building. No one was coming. He attacked the bag, unzipping it with one quick swipe, and he pulled it wide open. Inside? Was a lunch bag, scrunched up jeans, and a sweatshirt.

"Shit," he muttered. "Shit shit shit." He had been so certain that there would be something damning inside. But what would that be? A signed confession admitting, "I did it. I killed Lauren Bentley." He was so stupid. 

But then he had a hunch. He seized the lunch bag, a black canvas thing, and unzipped it. And there it was. Some kind of answer, but he wasn't exactly sure what the question was. A bunch of inhalers. What the hell? He grabbed one and zipped the bag back up, then closed up the backpack. He was shutting the car door when he realized someone was approaching the car. 

Larry. 

In the morning light, Brett could see his features clearly. He was staring at Brett, looking like he recognized him but not sure how to place him. Then the confusion cleared from his face. Larry remembered.

"Brett?" he called out in confusion. "What are you doing?" 

Brett sprinted for his car.