Thousand: Four Hundred Twenty-Four

on the word. There are other buildings, shacks, in the darkness. Bernie can’t make out how many. Two? Twelve? The man’s firm grip pulls Bernie completely out of the light and now only by keeping pace can he hope to avoid stumbling. The man is. Whistling? He’s whistling. Bernie imagines whistling along. He even puckers his lips. But he needs his breath for other things. The man pulls Bernie alongside and puts his arm again around Bernie’s shoulders. “Step,” he says, and Bernie lifts a foot. “Step step step.” Then the rattle of a key, a door sweeps back, Bernie