This was the third visit Audrey had paid Peter. She was beginning to really appreciate the company of the old man, who was going to be released from the hospital the next day. They'd kept him longer than was usual for heart-attack patients, because apparently he was still showing risk signs. Audrey didn't understand the complications, but she felt a twinge of sorrow that the man was going to be heading home. She was happy he was well, again, but she was sad that their visits would likely end. She'd felt a real sense of pride around him, as if she was doing something right for the first time in her life. Audrey had never been a rude or mean person, but she hadn't really gone out of her way to be kind, either, so this experience had caused her to be more appreciative of compassion.

The old man had been so nice to her. They'd actually spoken about a number of things, from the weather to colleges to art. Audrey had learned that Mr. Sutton worked at an art school and that he taught the basic foundations courses. She'd been interested in that, because she wanted to go into architecture, and they'd found a lot to discuss. Since her second visit, Peter's room had brightened. Audrey had bought a pot of violets and a basket of cookies in the gift shop, and they now were adorning the table next to his bed. Almost all of the cookies were gone, and the rest would disappear by the end of this third visit, no doubt.

It amazed Audrey that she felt so comfortable with this man. She knew it had nothing to do with the awkwardness of saving his life or feeling sorry for him. She'd felt those things only during the first moments of her initial visit, but they had quickly melted into ease. She found herself able to speak to Peter on a human level, as just a person, without any uneasiness about whether her words or thoughts would be picked apart. Because her days were filled with angst-ridden high school classes and being at home with her rather estranged father, Audrey rarely felt secure in expressing herself. She kept her thoughts locked up in her head where they spoke to one another. Here, however, in this hospital room, she felt content. It was the unlikeliest of places to find a friend, and yet, here Audrey had gained her best conversationalist. She was going to be sad when Peter had to leave.

That third visit, Mr. Sutton talked to Audrey about his various students and some interesting things they'd done or created over the years. Audrey was interested in hearing about all of them. Soon, she'd be a college student herself, likely enrolling in classes similar to the one Peter taught.

The afternoon went quickly, and when Audrey checked her watch and realized it was getting late, she reluctantly said her goodbyes to her friend. Before she left, though, he invited her to visit his classes at Delta College whenever she wished, and she promised she would do so, not only because she would be delighted to see him again but also because she was interested in checking out the campus.

As she gathered her purse and jacket and left the room, reminding Peter to take care of his violets, Audrey felt happy. She'd seen that it was beginning to rain from the windows in the old man's room, so she decided to stop in the bathroom and put up her hair, maybe take a few minutes to get her windbreaker on and her bus pass out of her purse so she didn't have to waste time doing it when she got on the bus, causing people to stand behind her in the rain. She didn't know where a women's restroom was, though; she hadn't had to use one during her previous visits. So she asked at the information desk and was directed down some halls toward another section of the building, not too far from where she already was. The hallway seemed to dim as she made her way down it, and she wasn't sure if it was because the weather outside grew darker or because the fluorescent bulbs emitted less light, but Audrey began to gain the uncanny sense that she was in a very sad part of the building. There were few nurses moving in this hall. The sound was minimal, as if whoever resided in this part of the building required a constant peace. It was different than peace, Audrey thought—it was more a stagnation. A disturbing settle, as if everything in this portion of the hospital had come to a standstill. Something was wrong, here. Something felt awfully empty. Then Audrey knew what was missing—it was hope. There was no hope in this hallway. It wasn't the lights or the lack of people or even the quiet that caused her to feel this; it was just an overall impression. Audrey didn't quite understand why she felt it, but she was nearly overwhelmed. The white noise of medical machines hummed somewhere in the space inside her skull, and the previous ease she'd felt moments ago evaporated.

Her pace slowed. Had she passed the restroom? No . . . she didn't think she had. Audrey turned to look back down the hall she'd walked through, but she didn't see any signs for a bathroom. Should she keep going down this hall? Something in her made her want to leave, but she couldn't. She felt drawn to some presence in this hallway, and it wasn't just the restroom.

Looking to her left and right, Audrey realized that every several yards there was a door on either side of the hall. This had to be a patient ward, not some technical wing full of X-rays and CAT-scan machines. There were people in these rooms, and directly to her right, only a few feet away, one of the doors was ajar. She couldn't help herself; that crack of darkness between the wall and the door was practically magnetic, drawing her to peek into the room beyond. Quietly, almost afraid to make noise (which was a moot concern, seeing as there were no creaking floorboards or objects to bump into), Audrey stepped closer. She was wary of making the slightest disruption; in fact, she felt as if her very breaths were loud and disturbing. Her right hand, fingers splayed and palm first, reached for the door, and she pushed it every-so-slightly inward as she drew her face to the opening and peered into the gloom inside.

It was difficult to make out much, at first. There was a bed in there, and a chair, and a dresser, and a hallway with another door. It very much resembled Peter's room, but this one seemed darker than his had been (especially after the violets and the cookies and the cheerful conversation). Audrey heard nothing and saw no movement, which gave her the courage to push the door a little further in and poke her head inside.

The moment her head of blonde hair nudged through the door, a voice said, "Who's there?"

It startled her so much that before she could even get a glimpse of who'd spoken she felt a spasm of shock swell through her body. Audrey's immediate reaction was to jerk her head back out into the hallway, which she promptly did—but to her surprise, the voice came again, louder this time.

"No! Come back. I didn't mean to scare you."

In the hallway, Audrey was conscious of the heaving of her chest. She didn't know why she'd let curiosity overcome her, but now she felt a horrible embarrassment. She'd violated someone's privacy. She didn't even think that was allowed, here in the hospital. People couldn't just waltz into patients' rooms. Whoever was inside had asked her to come back in, but should she? The voice had been male, and it had sounded young. She was still interested in who was inside, but the urge to run was throbbing through her limbs.

A laugh came from inside the room. It wasn't a joyful laugh, though—it was one of, perhaps, derision. Audrey couldn't quite make out what emotion was mixed into it, but before she could really think about it he said, "I know you're out there. You tried to peek at the freakshow. There's no shame in it. But at least come get a real look at me, since you've gone to half the trouble."

Yes, there was clear contempt in his tone, this time. Audrey could pretty much feel it give her goosebumps. And as he spoke, she felt not only his disdain but also an angry determination of her own. Fine, she thought to herself, gathering a courage that came from his superciliousness (whoever he was). I will. With that, she pushed open the door and strode into the room as if the person inside was another Peter.

But it was certainly not another Peter that she saw, in the bed, under a solitary lamplight. It was definitely not someone capable of cheerful conversation and laughter. Whoever he was, Audrey recognized that he likely had a right to feel every bit of resentment in the world. It was a person, though if Audrey hadn't known better, she might have been confused even at that basic fact. The limbs of the person were so contorted that the girl couldn't help gasping at the sight of them, even though they were under blankets and pulled up by contraptions of odd sorts. There was a head on the pillow, and it was this that she focused her eyes on, because the rest of the figure made her feel hurt to look at. She wished she hadn't been curious. She wished, as she stood there, that he hadn't invited her in. She wished she could turn and run away without being terribly rude. But she couldn't. She'd come into the room of her own accord, and so she had to stay and deal with the consequences.

The person was staring at her. His face was scarred terribly. His nose was missing a nostril on one side and his jaw was concave on the left. His skin was pulled taut and appeared painfully tight over various parts of his cheeks, as if someone had peeled parts of his flesh off and then stretched the remains together to cover the wounds. But his eyes were clever. They were bright and black, like shiny little beetles, and they surveyed Audrey with pure awareness. He was alert, whoever he was, and his slit-of-a-mouth began to frown as if he was wondering what exactly this person wanted to see him for.

Audrey felt that she should say something, even though her throat had constricted something awful. "I—I'm sorry—" She had to stop and swallow, regain her composure, before continuing. "I'm sorry," she said clearly, noticing that if she looked at the floor or some other inanimate object it became easier to talk. "I didn't mean to be nosy. I . . . I was lost and looking for the restroom." The lie may or may not have been convincing. She didn't care.

The head turned away from her and looked at the ceiling. The profile was nearly as ghastly as the rest of his body, because of his misshapen nose. He did have some blond hair, but it was limp and greasy-looking on the pillow. His pale skin practically reflected the light. He was about fifteen feet away and yet Audrey felt as if he was crowding the entire room.

He didn't say anything so she felt she had to go on. To get out. "I guess . . . I'll leave you alone. Again, I'm—I'm sorry." She was rushing her words, not really knowing what she was saying because of the fear suddenly growing inside her. "I'll go. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry to bother you." She turned toward the door.

"No," he said, quietly this time and not demanding like the last time he'd spoken. "No, please . . . don't go. I'm sorry."

His tone had shifted so drastically from scorn to melancholy that she could almost feel her heart melting. She couldn't just walk out. This person was still a person, no matter how mangled his physical form appeared to be. She couldn't turn and leave. Not if she was any sort of real human being. She didn't turn around at first. Instead, she reached out her arm and put it against the wall to balance herself. She was afraid she'd fall over. But she stopped. She didn't leave, but she couldn't face him again.

He knew it. "I know you don't want to look at me. I know it's awful to look at me."

She felt a sob rise in her throat because she knew he was right but didn't want to admit it.

"I'm sorry that I'm scary to look at."

Why did his voice have to be so normal when the rest of him wasn't? It might be easier to leave the room if he didn't sound like a person.

"I . . . I don't want you to leave." He coughed, then added almost inaudibly, "If you could just overcome the fear of looking at me . . ."

It was too much for Audrey. Looking away from him had given her the clarity of mind to realize how awfully cruel and cowardly she was being. How unfair she was being. An overwhelming audacity overcame her. She spun around and walked resolutely to the bed, then sat down in a chair next to it. The sound of machines whirred in the surprised silence that ensued, though he was the one, this time, who felt shock.

"Don't you dare apologize to me." She looked at his face, fiercely, her own eyes sparking with the self-reproach she'd infused in herself. All sense of the lateness of the afternoon left her as she looked at him, fully, being so close now. He had been broken, she saw—his features had been damaged—but he had been lovely, once. "What is your name?"

He was astonished but found his voice. Staring into her eyes, reflecting the light he found there in his own, he said sincerely, "Charley." Then, a sour grin sneaking into his mouth, he added in his original tone of voice, "Did you want to know just to give the freak a name? So when you're explaining me to your friends you have something to call me?"

"No," she said, not shifting her features or her voice to show vexation. "So I can talk to you. I can't talk to a person without knowing their name. It just seems weird. And I wouldn't have any friends to tell, anyhow."

He regarded her, narrowed his eyes, as if trying to figure out what to think of her. His skin was so pale his veins practically showed through. He had dark circles under his eyes. "All right then," he finally said, apparently deciding to believe her. "How about you?"

"Audrey."

"And you'll sit and talk to me for a few minutes? You won't leave?"

"I won't leave. I'll talk. But I have to leave before it gets too dark. I have to catch the bus home."

"I won't take long," he said. "Just tell me what the weather is like, now. Describe what you need to wear, out there. I haven't been outside in months." He stared once again at the ceiling, a far-off look in his eyes.

Audrey told him about the cool spring weather, about rains that were beginning to come, and about Peter Sutton. Charley listened with avid interest. And by the time Audrey did get around to leaving, it was well past darkness.