"Wil?" Red says.

He seems as surprised as me. But relieved, too. And hollow. Exhausted. Exasperated.

"Red?" I say.

I wonder if this is my imagination. A memory painting the sheriff into the night. But there aren't shadow people around. Just a damp, bloody Red.

His limp left arm dangles in a rusty red sling fashioned from a seat belt and a T-shirt. The left side of his body, from shoulder to foot, is the same color as the sling. I see the red is darkest at his left shoulder.

A thick bandage hides his nose. He breathes through his mouth instead. A gurgle growls from somewhere behind his throat.

"Let me in before they see me," Red says.

I hesitate. Do a quick check for weapons. He probably has one. But I can't see it. I let him in.

Red empties himself onto the table in the kitchenette. Breathes deep. Closes his eyes.

The room takes on a smell like sour beach. Salty. Warm. Polluted.

I give Red time to breathe. He opens his eyes. Slides into a chair. Leaves a greasy streak on the table.

"Been running," Red says.

"I can see that," I say.

I also see the handle of a revolver poised like a snake in his pocket.

I don't show my guest any courtesy. My hand tugs the revolver out. Red's face flushes crimson for a second. He's too tired to protest. Just shakes his head.

"You planning on shooting me?" Red says.

"Depends. You here to arrest me?" I say. Keep the revolver pointed at the floor. It's a Colt Anaconda in .45. Never shot one before. I'm a fast learner.                                                                                                                                        

"I had to outrun an FBI agent to get here. Been shot. Driven off the road. Ran over. Slapped around. Nearly killed every mile. But I made it," Red says. "This FBI agent, she's the one who wants to arrest you. I just want to talk."

"About what?" I say.

"You killed two too many people back in Betrug, Wil. The FBI got involved. Out of my hands," Red says. Coughs. "But I had to find you. Make peace with you."

I raise the revolver. Aim it at his head. Not that I plan on killing him. I just don't know what else to do. Need a platform to bargain with in this confusion.

"Seriously, Wil, listen to me. I'm not here to bring you in. I just need to explain things," Red says. "At least let me do that. Then you can kill me. And I can go to the grave at least half in peace."

I keep the revolver up. Think about the epiphany a few moments before. Try to keep the emotion off my face.

"I'm listening," I say.

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