Chapter 11: 2:17

The footage played all the way through.

Nobody in the kitchen moved while it did, not even to put down a fork.

It played the part about the dock gate and Medic 6.

It played Nick saying, "That was my truck," in a voice I'll hear for the rest of my life.

Then the Wall went dark and left us all standing in the morning light from the lamps.

The closet had a camera after all.

Somebody had known I'd look for a room without a dome, and had put one in the room I'd pick.

I'd spent four days thinking I knew this building better than anybody in it.

The man on the Wall had known I would think that.

Eighteen was the first to speak.

"You deleted it," she said. "There was a tape, and you deleted it."

Then she stopped talking, and the color drained out of her face all at once.

She sat down on a stool.

Three put down his spatula.

"New Year's," he said slowly. "Six years ago. The garage stairs."

"I was on the high-limit bar that night. She came in shaking. I poured her two shots."

He looked at his own hands.

Five set the coffee pot down on the counter.

"Honey," she said to me, very quietly. "I was there too. I walked that baby to the elevator."

Nobody said anything.

I looked around the kitchen at the people left in the house.

Five's number was the slot bank she'd worked for thirty-one years.

Three's was the third station at the high-limit bar, the one by the pit.

Nick's was the number on his ambulance.