It had been a long time since Maggie had slept anywhere and heard the howls of coyotes in the distance. But as she tried to get comfortable on the lumpy old sofa, she thought she heard Luc upstairs. It almost sounded like he was moving furniture around. After his blank episode earlier, Maggie wasn’t sure she wanted to go up and find him, indeed, stacking pieces of furniture on top of one another like a sleepwalker unaware of his actions.

No, that was ridiculous and she immediately admonished herself. Alzheimer’s didn’t manifest itself in totally absurd behavior. At least not that she knew of, but then what did she really know about it? She wished she hadn’t promised him that she wouldn’t call Julia. Racine needed to know if her father’s life might be threatened. Maybe the old man simply wouldn’t remember her promise. Or perhaps she could get him to call his daughter himself.

She watched the shadows of branches outside the window dancing on the ceiling. Luc had night-lights plugged into the sockets all over the house. In a weak moment, he had mentioned being afraid that one day he might forget how to switch on a lamp and be forced to sit in the dark. What an awful feeling it must be to know that could happen. She couldn’t imagine what it must feel like to realize that pieces of your memory, even the basic pieces, had begun to crumble. Or to not have any memories at all. She thought about Patrick again, wondering what, if anything, he knew about their father.

Her own memories, especially of her childhood, of losing her father and growing up with an alcoholic, suicidal mother, those awful memories were burdens she thought she could live without. But earlier today, remembering some of the good ones made her realize that she was cheating herself. What if she were like Luc, not able to sift and select, not having control over what went and what stayed…What an awful feeling that must be. And yet, she had been allowing herself to remember only the awful things when she, in fact, had a choice.

Maggie decided she would go out tomorrow and buy some timers for Luc’s lamps. Also some of the longer-lasting light bulbs. Maybe another lamp or two. She couldn’t keep him from forgetting how to turn on a light, but she could be damn sure he wouldn’t be left in the dark.

She heard him coming down the steps and she sat up. Before he got to the foot of the stairs she could see his elongated shadow carrying something over his shoulder and the little terrier following close behind.

Oh, Jesus! Was he, indeed, sleepwalking? And she tried to remember, were you supposed to wake a sleepwalker or leave him alone?

He rounded the corner and she recognized a bat hoisted on his shoulder in ready-to-swing mode. Instinctively, she bolted for her Smith & Wesson. As she whipped it out of its holster, she saw him putting his finger to his lips and whispering, “Someone’s outside.”

Maggie decided the old man must be sleepwalking or perhaps imagining things, the result of stress from an outrageous day. That was until she saw the shadow of a man pass by the front window.

She put up a cautionary hand to Luc and waved him away from the windows. The terrier growled but was sticking close by his owner. Maggie made her way to the front door, keeping her revolver nose down and close to her body. She worked the locks open, slowly, quietly. She looked back at Luc, making sure he was out of the line of fire. Then without hesitation, she flung the door open and stuck the Smith & Wesson’s nose in the face of the shadow just as it stepped into the porch light.

“Jesus, Bonzado. What the hell are you doing here?”