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“Erased myself,” Martin repeated slowly, as if tasting the words. “Yes, I suppose I did that. I got a whole new identity. It’s not hard to do if you live in Boston, and are willing to take some chances. I approached people on the street—fences, drug addicts—until I found the people who were willing to sell me an identity. I bought my name—Martin Thornton—got a social security number, a driver’s license, everything I needed, and then I hitchhiked out of Boston, didn’t tell a single person where I was going. Actually, I didn’t know myself.”

“Where did you go?”

“I went out to Seattle at first, got a job pumping gas, started working my way through school. The dreams stopped then. It seemed that when I found out about my mother’s murder, I didn’t need to dream about it anymore. The funny thing is, I wanted to remember my mother, I wanted to know what she was like. I wanted to know who murdered her and why. But the dreams never told me that.” He stopped suddenly, stuck out his hand for Janet to take, and said, “I dated. I slept with my first girlfriend when I was nineteen. I felt like a man. I felt normal.”

“You are normal,” Janet said, and there was absolute conviction in her voice. “What happened to you, Martin—your mother’s murder, being uprooted, not having your father tell you the truth—you dealt amazingly well with all of it. If I’d started having those dreams, I would have ended up in Boston Harbor or slitting my wrists. You didn’t do either of those things. You survived.

“I don’t blame you for leaving your father, for chucking all of it. The only thing is, I wish you had told me. We’ve been married eleven years, and you never told me. What Agent Savich said about the truth—he’s right, only the truth will do. I wish you’d told me so I could have helped.”

“I couldn’t,” he said, looking directly into her eyes. “I never wanted to think about him again. I never wanted it to touch our lives. I didn’t want it to hurt you, or us.”

“Well, aren’t you a bloody fool!?”

He actually grinned, squeezed his wife’s hand. Savich held very still, knowing he was invisible to them in this moment.

A few moments later he brought them back.

“Martin, the first episode, when was that?”

Janet Thornton sucked in her breath. “What a horrible word.”

Savich shrugged. “But I think it fits, more or less, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Martin said. “Now I can say that. Six months ago, it just hit me like a hammer. All sorts of wild things careened through my head. I thought I was going crazy. It lasted only a couple of hours, but I scared the hell out of Janet. She talked me down, thank God. The girls weren’t here that time or the second time either. That was about two months ago, and that one lasted longer.”

“You were here, at home?”

“Yes, Janet and I were having dinner—hot dogs and baked beans, potato chips—all my favorites. It was the day after my birthday. Janet thought we should have our own private celebration, without the girls. They were at a sleepover at a friend’s house. I suddenly remembered this was exactly what I always loved to eat when I was little. I started crying. Janet held me, didn’t stop talking to me, and finally, after a while, everything began to fade.”

Savich looked thoughtful. “The day after your birthday. You nearly remembered something.”

“You think so?”

“Maybe. Then what, Martin?”

“I—I was going to go to a doctor, really I was, to a shrink, but I didn’t know anyone and I was, well, I was ashamed. No, I was afraid of what a shrink would say, afraid I’d end up in a padded cell and my life would be over, all except for those horrible dreams. Believe me, Janet’s been on my case, but—I didn’t go, just didn’t.”

“Doesn’t matter now. If it’s okay with you, Martin, I’m getting rid of that shotgun. I want you to promise me you’ll never as long as you live have another gun in your home.”

Martin looked over to where Janet had laid the shotgun on the floor beside the front door.

“All right. Yes, I promise, Dillon.” He rose, but Savich held out his hand.

“Let me tell Chief Gerber that I’ll be