A muffled cry came from somewhere below me. Then there were more sharp movements as I tried unsuccessfully to get to my feet: a jab into my back, a kick at my head, a heave underneath me in general. Whatever was beneath me wanted me to get off. I finally managed to scramble up and stumble toward Henry, who'd seemed to appear out of nowhere, and then I spun back around to look at where I'd fallen. A pile of rags and newspapers was at the side of the bench. Had it been there the whole time? I couldn't recall seeing it when I'd settled down for a quick nap, but maybe I'd just not been paying attention. It was shifting itself, now, and I had a momentary fear that there were rats under there, but then I realized that rats couldn't have pushed and shoved at me the way whatever was under there had.

"What happened?" asked Henry, keeping his gaze on the moving heap but directing his question at me.

I shook my head, clearing the darkness from my mind. "I-I don't know."

We both stood, mesmerized by the shifting garbage in front of us. The terror of my dream faded as I waited in expectation of what was attempting to emerge from the rags and papers, which rose to our height. It took me a hard minute to figure out that the thing now standing before us was actually a person, one covered in ragged clothes, shedding bits of trash and paper as he arranged himself. A pasty white face appeared in the midst of it all, about eye-level with me though maybe a couple of inches higher. It had small black eyes and was surrounded by greasy brown hair and was looking a little too proud for having just pulled itself out from under literal garbage.

"Whaddaya mean, sitting on me like that?" the person muttered in irritation, not seeming to be bothered by the absurdity of the situation.

"Th-that was me," I said nervously. "I'm sorry. I didn't know someone was down there."

The guy crossed his arms. "Course you didn't. You weren't supposed to see me. Blending in is my specialty. And if you hadn't fallen on top of me like a damned cow, I wouldn't have had to move." He paused to brush some unclassifiable matter off of his arms. "I should shove you into the wall and see how you like it."

Henry stepped forward, made himself imposing. He didn't have to say anything to indicate that no one would be shoving anyone into any walls, but instead of responding in a manner that I would've guessed he would (like cowering or throwing out some rude comment), the human trash pile, upon seeing Henry, grinned incongruously. It was the sort of grin that went up only one side of his face. Crooked, like he looked. He snickered, gave a brief nod, then said, "Yeah, it's you all right. Big, tough, everything's-got-to-be-my-way Henry. Real bully still, aren't you?"

My breath caught. The familiarity--that he knew Henry's name--

It grabbed Henry, too. "How do you know who I am?" he asked, his voice low.

I stepped forward so I could be even with him and, with apprehension, glanced at his face. I saw there a flicker of something like, like deflation, like something had pierced his hardness, even though it was slight. It disquieted me.

Still smiling idiotically, the guy shrugged his shoulders. "Knew you wouldn't remember me. Your brains got wiped out, didn't they? Just like they told me." He nodded in my direction. "Who's this you got running around with you? Some girl from somewhere? At least she's not ugly. But don't limit yourself--you're capable of getting lots of girls, as pretty as you are. Not all of us are so blessed, if you know what I'm saying."

I couldn't possibly have felt more awkward and offended than I did in that moment. Wrapped up in this guy's weird compliment to Henry was an insult to me, and I'd already felt uncomfortable enough with not recognizing my face that to have someone comment on it humiliated and angered me. Whoever this person was, I hoped Henry would hit him, or at least tell him to shut up. Even walking away would've been all right. But he'd known Henry's name . . . there was no way Henry would let that go, would leave without answers.

"Do you know me? How do you know about my memory? Who are you?"

"Whoaaa. Slow down there, soldier." The stranger held up his hands, palms out, in a dramatic gesture, as if he were about to stop an approaching car. "You can't hit me with all your questions together like that." He leaned back a little, looked Henry up and down. "You really are out of it? You don't even remember your old pal, Slim?"

"Slim?" repeated Henry quietly, looking away, no doubt wracking his mind for some recollection of it. I didn't like seeing him in this way, enthralled by this person who'd come out of nowhere.

"Yeah, that's me. Slim. Used to be someone else but, eh." He shrugged, "Didn't like him. And about your brain, there. Don't ask me why it's gone. Don't understand it, myself. A solid guy like you? And a buddy of mine, no less. You were just all of a sudden gone, and I thought, hey, he must not have thought too much of our camaraderie, that's all. Then out of nowhere they're calling me and telling me to find you. You're out running senseless. Somebody erased your brain, and they need me and my expert tracking abilities to come and find you. So I end up with a tip-off from a guy who stole a truck that you kicked him out of it and run off with it, and I tracked you from there and hey, here we are. Together again at last. Now how's that for a story, eh?"

The whole while he talked, Slim made gestures with his hands, like he couldn't stand still. I wasn't sure what to think, because half of what he said sounded sarcastic; it was difficult to tell whether he was being serious or making it all up as he went. But some of his details were undeniable--he knew Henry's mind had been erased; he knew about the truck; and he knew Henry's name. Whether this Slim was trustworthy or not, I was certain Henry wouldn't walk away from him, and I was dismayed.

"You say you're a friend of mine? From my past?"

Slim nodded. I looked at each of them; they'd forgotten me and were locked into each other. They couldn't be more different, though--I had a hard time believing they'd been friends. How could Henry, so magnetic and perfect, be connected in any way with such a rude, disheveled person?

Maintaining relentless eye contact with Slim, Henry moved slightly toward him, insisted, "You've got to tell me everything, then. Everything you know about me and about who they are."

"Does this have something to do with the Eden Circuit?" I interrupted, wanting to be a part of their conversation, afraid I was rapidly losing Henry.

Slim's easy-going grin morphed instantly; he glowered at me, with a hatred I didn't feel I'd earned. "Tell your girlfriend she'd better shut the hell up!"

Henry responded by immediately shoving Slim up against the tiled wall of the subway platform. He stood there amidst the trash, his hands gripping the guy's upper arms so tightly his knuckles turned white. "You are not allowed to speak about Nadia, you understand?"

I couldn't see Henry's face, but I could see Slim's Slim's, and the lower half of his face quivered as his beetle eyes darted from Henry to me and back to Henry. "Jesus, man, what's with your eyes?"

Henry shoved him hard, knocking his head against the wall, and I was actually afraid he'd hurt Slim. "Do you understand?"

"G-got it!" Slim gasped, and Henry let go. Slim slid down to the ground, whether from weakness or shock I didn't know. He wiped at his watering eyes. "You've changed, Henry," he wheezed bitterly. "I don't even want to take you back no more." He got to his feet, adjusted himself, walked past Henry and me with a dark glare, and added ruefully, "But I guess I got to." He kept on down the subway platform, and he called sourly over his shoulder, "You want to know who they are, you've got to follow. And don't lose me, because I'm not going to watch out for you."

As Slim strode away from us, Henry looked questioningly to me. I was still overcoming my shock at what had happened--Henry had become violent so quickly, and something in me told me I should be worried. But I couldn't help also taking pride that his anger had been on account of me, to defend me. And then on top of that, there was guilt for the pride. It was too complicated to work through at the moment, but mostly, I was grateful that Henry hadn't forgotten me, was seeking advice in the moment, even if I couldn't give it to him. I didn't trust this person, this stranger, but I also couldn't tell Henry to turn away from potentially discovering information about himself. I wanted to take his hand, to reassure him that I would go where he wanted, but then I recalled the way he'd flinched from touching me in the bar. So, passing him a determined expression, a brief nod, I set off in Slim's direction, and Henry readily accompanied me, probably relieved that I hadn't decided against Slim.

The two of us said very little, as usual, as we were led out of the subway station and through the winding streets. They were mostly deserted, now, especially as we seemed to head deeper into areas more like where we'd left the truck. We kept a good distance behind Slim, as if we were suspicious of his motives, although sometimes we'd lose him and grow frustrated only to bump into him in some dark corner, where he'd sigh in irritation because he'd had to wait for us. There were no signs to tell us where we were going. We burrowed deeper and deeper into the bowels of San Judo; we were in a damp maze where the only lights were reflections glinting off the moisture dripping from the gloom above. We climbed metal staircases and slinked into the rotting hallways of old buildings, left through shattered windows and descended drain pipes. We shimmied between dumpsters and skulked from doorway to doorway, keeping in the shadows the entire way. If Henry and I had felt like criminals before, we felt a hundred times more so now, and we weren't even sure what exactly we were hiding from. The farther we wandered, the more I began to doubt our decision to follow Slim, but even if I had wanted to protest, I didn't know what to suggest we do instead. I had to ignore my misgivings and follow Henry, just as I'd been doing since he'd helped me out of Oliphant. He'd gotten us this far, hadn't he? I'd still be stuck in high security if it weren't for Henry.

At length, after nearly two hours of stumbling through the darkest, foulest alleys, we came to a dead end. From what I could tell, we were behind a tall, gray slab-of-a-building. It was huge, probably some kind of warehouse, and it had one overhead bulb hanging out of its rear, casting a beam of sickly yellow light down over the rusted metal door it was above. From where we stood, there appeared to be no other entrance into the building. There weren't even any windows. It was just like a big block of cement with one solid door and an old, fizzling light. Behind the building, off to our right, was what looked like a garbage dump. Piles and piles of old cars, twisted metal, machinery, and unidentifiable conglomerates of rotting trash stretched on into the night for who-knew-how-long. We'd come from an alley and rounded the corner of the building to get to the back of it.

"Over here," hissed Slim, motioning for Henry and me to join him against the chain-link fence that separated the junkyard from the warehouse, where the bulb's light didn't touch us. "We wait until dawn."

"What?" asked Henry a bit breathlessly. "Why? What are we waiting for?"

Slim leaned back against the fence, crossed his arms in petulance, and looked away like he was remembering the way Henry had attacked him in the subway. "Patience. It's a virtue and all, right? You'll see."

"So we have some time," Henry continued, his face hard. "I want you to tell me what you know about me."

"Why should I?" Slim asked, turning and looking at Henry in disgusted. "You threatened me back there."

I slid down against the fence, very tired from the night's events and unable to shake the feeling that whatever I'd been building with Henry over the past few days was about to crumble. There was certainly a part of me that had at first wondered whether what Slim knew about Henry could somehow relate to me, as well, but he hadn't recognized me, and that worried me. I'd had this sense that whatever was in our past, Henry and I had been through it together, but if Slim had no concept of who I was and yet was some great friend of Henry's . . . well, perhaps we weren't as connected as I'd begun to feel we were. Maybe I'd even been the wrong person he'd taken from Oliphant--what if he were supposed to meet up with some other no name? That thought terrified me. I didn't want to lose him if he realized I wasn't who he'd thought I was. And then there was this "they" that Slim had mentioned. He was supposed to be taking Henry to them. What did they want with him? Who were they? Was this some sort of trap? I wanted to talk to Henry about my fears, but I couldn't do it with Slim standing right there.

As I blundered through my thoughts, Slim was sighing, frowning, giving in to Henry's demands. "Look, I don't like you being different and all. I don't know that much about you—I never did. But we were friends once, that I do know. You pulled me out of some bad situations, too, so I guess I owe it to you to tell you what you were like." He paused, studying his supposed former friend. "You really don't remember, huh?"

Henry only shook his head.

"All right. Sit down, already. We got a ways to wait. There's only two times to get into this place, and that's at dawn and at dusk." Henry somewhat grudgingly placed himself on a concrete barricade next to me, and Slim sat down across from us, pulling a cigarette out of his front coat pocket and lighting it with a match that seemed to appear out of thin air. I considered his features a little more, now that we had the time and he was in close proximity. His nose was definitely a little crooked, possibly because someone had once hit him, maybe broken it. Hints of a mustache brushed his upper lip. His eyes, dark and small, were nevertheless imbued with a softness, causing me to wonder whether I'd misjudged him. Even his hands, small and shaking as he held his cigarette, indicated shot nerves, or maybe even some residual symptoms of withdrawal. His mat of brown hair, his unattractive features, the clear appearance of having been through difficult times--his brashness was a disguise for whatever insecurities he had. I was sure of that, now. Slim wasn't likely a bad person. Maybe he'd fallen in with bad people. I found myself forgiving him for insulting me. If he'd been a friend to Henry, then perhaps he could be a friend to me, too.

"Yeah, all right," Slim was conceding. "It was like--eh, maybe two years ago I met you. You didn't tell me where you came from; don't think you knew. That was all you ever told me about that. Me? I've always been on the street. Ever since I can remember. Never had no mom, no dad—just a placement home I left early on. Anyhow, I was sleeping in the same part of the park every night, and you come up to me one time and asked if I had a place to go. I said no and who's asking? And you tell me not to leave, you'd be back; you had to go meet someone in the church-- Kayla I think maybe it was. Said you had to do something with a candle in there, maybe light one, or something? Don't ask me what, cause you never told me. But when you came back out, of course I was still there, and you started talking for a while. Then, for a few weeks, it was like we were brothers. Like, we did everything with each other. We'd steal crap and walk down the streets scaring little kids just because and all. It was like we were brothers. But you'd always go somewhere else at night, and it had me asking questions.

"And then it got close to winter, and the storms came into the park, and it wasn't the place to be at dark, you know? I got cold and things got hard, and one night, just when I was really starting to worry about myself, you finally told me about this place. Called yourself a scab. Then, Henry, I got real nervous. See, I'd heard about them scabs before. I'd heard stuff from one guy about how his friend was picked off by a scab. And remember Old Lisa? No, guess you don't. Gave us free pizza sometimes. Told me once this kid that was brought in from a children's home or something—he went missing, and some word got around that it was a scab who did it.

"Now there you are, telling me after all the time we spent together you were a scab? I could only figure it was some sort of a gang, right? Cause nobody really knew. Well, I was right, in a way. But you were a scab, Henry. The scabs aren't no gang."

I glanced at Henry, and his face was knotted in thought. He looked more serious than ever, and I could tell that none of what this guy said was registering, though he was trying to connect to it.

"Well," continued Slim with a shrug and a drag and then a puff that sent smoke up in a cloud over our heads, "at first I was scared, but when you said you could make sure I was ok for the winter . . . you know that's how kids get in gangs and all, right? They have real hard times and the gangs promise they'll be good if they join. Yeah, so I wasn't exactly joining, but I followed you, cause I trusted you at that point, and then . . . then it was like a whole new world was there." Slim waved his hands in the air as if indicating something magic were floating there. "Henry, it was a world I never knew about. Nobody ever knew about it, but it's right down there, underneath us, man, and you invited me into it like I was being saved by Jesus or Buddha or something like that. The rest . . . well, the rest I don't want to tell you, cause I think they'll want to do that. It was the best, Henry. The best. It still is. We were different circuits—I never knew which one you were on, and you never knew mine. But we still saw each other sometimes, on the streets, mostly, and then, all of a sudden, you just weren't there anymore. You went MIA, or whatever they say. I thought maybe you just left, you know?

"Eh, it doesn't matter so much." Slim rubbed his smoldering cigarette on the cement, putting it out. I suddenly wondered how old he was. "Now it's been some months and all. You've been gone, but I've been doing ok. I got me promoted and all in my circuit. Good job, now. The hours aren't as bad and it's actually kind of fun, looking for recruits and all. That's why I said blending in is my specialty. That's what my training was, after . . . well, after I switched circuits. I was trained to become a recruiter, just like you were before you switched circuits. And I get special privileges sometimes, but not so good as the other guys. I've done ok for myself, Henry. If I'd had a mother, she'd be proud, no doubt about it."

Henry was utterly silent, moving through forests in his mind, and I felt desperate to reassure him that whatever he was thinking, it'd be all right, but I didn't know what I could say. So, standing up, I re-situated myself on the barricade next to him, and I put a hand on his back. It was the first time I'd touched him since he'd given me those flowers, but I felt nothing special in it, beyond just the warmth his body let off. Something disappointed me about that.

Not reacting in any perceivably positive or negative way to my touch, Henry asked Slim, "What were you promoted to?"

Slim grinned, showing teeth that could've used some braces. "Me? I told you. Recruiting. I'm just like you were, Henry. I'm a genuine S-C-A-B. A scab, and all."