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I went over your Program with Joanne this morning and we think you’re ready for the final two steps that we cover here, which are Step Four and Step Five.

It doesn’t matter that I haven’t done the other ones?

Will you ever do them?

No.

Then let’s talk about Four and Five.

Okay.

Step Four, we made a searching and fearless moral Inventory of ourselves. Step Five, we admitted to God, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.

My Confession.

Yes.

Except for the God part, it sounds fine.

We recommend that when you do your Inventory you write everything down.

Okay.

And we recommend that when you do your Admission, you do it with a Priest.

Why?

They have experience doing it. They tend to reserve judgment and they tend to be objective. Most people think it’s the best way.

I look down, think, remember. I take a deep breath.

Ken speaks.

I can try to find someone else.

It’s fine.

When will this happen?

Depends on how long it takes you to do your Inventory.

I’ll be done by tomorrow.

It usually takes people three or four days.

I know what I need to say.

Don’t make a joke out of this, James.

I won’t. I promise.

Are you comfortable doing Step Five day after tomorrow?

That sounds good.

I’ll schedule a Room for you. Think about whether you would like a Priest or not.

A Priest is fine.

If you have any questions, come find me.

Okay.

I stand and I thank him and I leave. I walk back to the Unit, where Lincoln is leading a group on Relapse Prevention and the Recognition of Triggers. He is standing in front of a blackboard speaking. The men are spread out in front of him on the couches and the chairs.

I look for a place to sit. On one of the couches there are two spaces on either side of one man. He is a new man, a man I have never seen before now. He has long, stringy hair that has been dyed black. He is wearing black leather pants and a black T-shirt that has a picture of a skeleton on it. His left arm is missing, and his right arm has been freshly amputated just above his elbow. What remains of it is covered in bandages and rests in a plastic splint that emerges from beneath his shirt. It holds the arm above his chest and parallel to the ground. There is a red snake tattooed around the width of his neck and the bottom of his eyelids appear to have been tattooed black. His eyes themselves are a dull brown. They stare straight ahead. They are motionless. There is nothing in them.

I look for another place, but there isn’t one. I sit next to the man and I try to pay attention to what Lincoln is saying, but I can’t do it. I am uneasy next to this man and I stare at him out of the corner of my eye. I look at the stump of his right arm. The bandages are clean, but beneath their edges, his skin is light blue covered with greenish black spots. I look at his neck and I follow the snake around it. The snake’s head is on his Adam’s apple and its jaw is wide and hissing, I see its tail disappear down his back. I look at his face. His skin is pale yellow, the sign of a fading jaundice, there are small scars on his cheeks, as if he has cut himself with shards of glass or a razor blade, and there are the remnants of holes in his eyebrows, lips, nose and ears, as if his face was once pierced.

Worse than anything I can see is what I can smell. The man smells like he is rotting, like there is something inside of him that is either dying or dead, like whatever it is has been there for a long time. I can almost see the smell, and when he exhales and his breath leaves his body, there is another equally foul smell. It is sour and slightly chemical, old and incredibly dirty. It is as if he brushed his teeth with a mixture of raw sewage and motor oil. It is as if the last time he did so was years ago.

I am not the only one who notices the smell. I am not the only one staring at this man. Everyone in the Room, including Lincoln, is drawn to his presence. Some, like me, watch him from the corner of their eyes.