honey?
    Becca wipes her hands on her jeans. No, I'm fine, she says. I was just looking for a magazine to read.
    You want some company? They make a mean margarita in the lounge next door. Aside from the losers and degenerates, it's not half bad. They got free peanuts and pretzels too.
    Becca smiles. I'll keep that in mind.
    On the way back to her room, she stops at the soft- drink
vending machine, feeds a dollar into the metal mouth, her heart still beating wildly. She's reaching for a Pepsi can when a van pulls to a stop nearby and two goons step out, followed by Jack Brown, looking sheepish, calling out, Hey, Becca. We need to talk.
    We don't need anything, she says, hurrying toward the stairs. Before she can reach them one of the goons clamps a hand over her mouth, dragging her backward. Becca's Pepsi can drops to the ground and fizzes. She flails as he pins her arms and the other goon grabs her feet. A car honks as she twists and squirms, shouting, until they slap a piece of duct tape over her mouth. Jack Brown follows behind, saying, Hey, go easy on her. She's my girlfriend. Or used to be.
    The van is already moving before Jack is ready, and he has to run across the parking lot to hop inside, whatever he started already in motion and out of control.
Pa r t Tw o
Look out the window. And doesn't this remind you of when you were in the boat? And then later that night, you were lying, looking up at the ceiling, and the water in your head was not dissimilar from the landscape, and you think to
yourself, "Why is it that the landscape is moving, but the boat is still?"
â Jim Jarmusch, D ead Man
The Painted Cliff Face
A  h a r r i e d  n u r s e  a t  t h e  h o s p i t a l info booth tells officer James only immediate family members are authorized to visit the young woman. Elray explains who he is, how he found her in the manger.
    When I called before I came, nobody said family only. I mean, if the rules could be bent and not broken, I'd appreciate it.
    Go on, says the nurse. I see why you'd be caring to know how she is.
    Could you tell me the name?
    What name?
    The girl. The sick girl.
    Ruby Elizabeth Cole. Seventeen years old and a mother already. The young nurse in the info booth leans forward and whispers, Her father's a war vet, and a preacher to boot.
    Elray wanders confused down several hallways before he finds Ruby Cole. Her room is small and cramped, with two folding chairs at the foot of the bed and barely enough room to cough without hitting your head on the ceiling.
    In bed Ruby resembles a sick mermaid, her hair wet and bedraggled on the pillow, tendrils tangled and wave- tossed, breathing ragged, eyelids purple, nose pink. Her face looks cat- scratched, lips blushed and swollen. Elray watches the blue veins in her neck, the slight hollow of skin in the center of her collarbone. An IV stand holds liquids in clear plastic pouches, tubes from them to her arms. She's also hooked up to a monitoring contraption, a video screen that shows her vitals.
    In the pale room, with its tiled floor and simple white walls, a single window presents a view of white sky and mountain silhouettes in the distance. Time seems to contract and withdraw, like an old- fashioned film in which the bright scene of the film's actionâ say, a farm in winterâ appears in a circle surrounded by the blackest darkness until it contracts and all that's left is the mane of a horse, snow falling on a barn, a pitchfork upright in a hay bale.
    Elray can't keep his eyes open. He dreams he's trying to swim but has no legs. He awakens with a crick in his neck. A nurse is checking the girl's pulse. She smiles at him and says he's a good man to watch over the girl.
    Becca wipes her hands on her jeans. No, I'm fine, she says. I was just looking for a magazine to read.
    You want some company? They make a mean margarita in the lounge next door. Aside from the losers and degenerates, it's not half bad. They got free peanuts and pretzels too.
    Becca smiles. I'll keep that in mind.
    On the way back to her room, she stops at the soft- drink
vending machine, feeds a dollar into the metal mouth, her heart still beating wildly. She's reaching for a Pepsi can when a van pulls to a stop nearby and two goons step out, followed by Jack Brown, looking sheepish, calling out, Hey, Becca. We need to talk.
    We don't need anything, she says, hurrying toward the stairs. Before she can reach them one of the goons clamps a hand over her mouth, dragging her backward. Becca's Pepsi can drops to the ground and fizzes. She flails as he pins her arms and the other goon grabs her feet. A car honks as she twists and squirms, shouting, until they slap a piece of duct tape over her mouth. Jack Brown follows behind, saying, Hey, go easy on her. She's my girlfriend. Or used to be.
    The van is already moving before Jack is ready, and he has to run across the parking lot to hop inside, whatever he started already in motion and out of control.
Pa r t Tw o
Look out the window. And doesn't this remind you of when you were in the boat? And then later that night, you were lying, looking up at the ceiling, and the water in your head was not dissimilar from the landscape, and you think to
yourself, "Why is it that the landscape is moving, but the boat is still?"
â Jim Jarmusch, D ead Man
The Painted Cliff Face
A  h a r r i e d  n u r s e  a t  t h e  h o s p i t a l info booth tells officer James only immediate family members are authorized to visit the young woman. Elray explains who he is, how he found her in the manger.
    When I called before I came, nobody said family only. I mean, if the rules could be bent and not broken, I'd appreciate it.
    Go on, says the nurse. I see why you'd be caring to know how she is.
    Could you tell me the name?
    What name?
    The girl. The sick girl.
    Ruby Elizabeth Cole. Seventeen years old and a mother already. The young nurse in the info booth leans forward and whispers, Her father's a war vet, and a preacher to boot.
    Elray wanders confused down several hallways before he finds Ruby Cole. Her room is small and cramped, with two folding chairs at the foot of the bed and barely enough room to cough without hitting your head on the ceiling.
    In bed Ruby resembles a sick mermaid, her hair wet and bedraggled on the pillow, tendrils tangled and wave- tossed, breathing ragged, eyelids purple, nose pink. Her face looks cat- scratched, lips blushed and swollen. Elray watches the blue veins in her neck, the slight hollow of skin in the center of her collarbone. An IV stand holds liquids in clear plastic pouches, tubes from them to her arms. She's also hooked up to a monitoring contraption, a video screen that shows her vitals.
    In the pale room, with its tiled floor and simple white walls, a single window presents a view of white sky and mountain silhouettes in the distance. Time seems to contract and withdraw, like an old- fashioned film in which the bright scene of the film's actionâ say, a farm in winterâ appears in a circle surrounded by the blackest darkness until it contracts and all that's left is the mane of a horse, snow falling on a barn, a pitchfork upright in a hay bale.
    Elray can't keep his eyes open. He dreams he's trying to swim but has no legs. He awakens with a crick in his neck. A nurse is checking the girl's pulse. She smiles at him and says he's a good man to watch over the girl.
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