"Yeah?" I ask.
"Last week," Palakon says.
Trying not to appear surprised, I quickly recover from the words "last week" and say, coolly, "Well, then, that's not him. That's not Sam Ho."
Delta looks back at the Japanese man.
Crater leans in to Palakon and with his pen points out something in the folder Palakon has resting on his lap.
Palakon nods irritably.
I start freaking out, writhing in my chair.
"They can alter photos," I'm saying. "I saw Bentley Harrolds do it yesterday. They're constantly altering-"
"Mr. Ward, these photographs have been thoroughly checked out by a very competent lab and they have not been altered in any way."
"How do you know?" I'm calling out.
"We have the negatives," Palakon says tightly.
Pause. "Can the negatives be altered?" I ask.
"The negatives were not altered, Mr. Ward."
"But then... who the hell is that guy?" I ask, writhing in the chair, gripping my hands together, forcing them apart.
"Hey, wait a minute," I'm saying, holding my hands up. "Guys, guys, wait a minute."
"Yes, Mr. Ward?" Palakon asks.
"Is this... is this for real?" I'm scanning the room, looking for signs of a camera, lights, some hidden evidence that a film crew was here earlier or is right now maybe in the apartment next door, shooting me through holes strategically cut into the crimson and black walls.
"What do you mean, Mr. Ward?" Palakon asks. "'Real'?"
"I mean, is this like a movie?" I'm asking, shifting around in my chair. "Is this being filmed?"
"No, Mr. Ward," Palakon says politely. "This is not like a movie and you are not being filmed."
Crater and Delta are staring at me, uncomprehending.
The Japanese man leans forward but not long enough to let me see his face clearly.
"But... I..." I'm looking down at the photo of Sam Ho. "I... don't..." I start breathing hard, and since the air is so cold and thick in this room it burns my lungs. "They... listen, they... I think they double people. I mean, I don't know how, but I think they have. doubles. That's not Sam Ho... that's someone else... I mean, I think they have doubles, Palakon."
"Palakon," Crater says. The tone in his voice suggests a warning. Palakon stares at me, mystified.
I'm fumbling in my pocket for another Xanax and I keep trying to reposition myself to keep my arms and legs from falling asleep. I let Russell light a cigarette somcone's handed me but it tastes bad and I'm not capable of holding it and when I drop it on the floor it lands hissing in a puddle of melting ice.
Delta reaches down for his Starbucks cup.
Another photo is handed to me.
Marina Gibson. A simple color head shot, unevenly reproduced on an 8 x 10.
"That's the girl I met on the QE2," I say. "Where is she? What happened to her? When was this taken?" And then, less excited, "Is she... okay?"
Palakon pauses briefly before saying, "We think she's dead."
My voice is cracking when I ask, "How? How do you know this?"
"Mr. Johnson," Crater says, leaning in. "We think this woman was sent to warn you."
"Wait," I say, unable to hold the photo any longer. "Sent to warn me? Warn me about what? Wait a minute. Jesus, wait-"
"That's what we're trying to piece together, Mr. Johnson," Delta says.
Palakon has leaned toward the VCR and presses Play on the console. Camcorder footage, surprisingly professional. It's the QE2. For an instant, the actress playing Lorrie Wallace leans against a railing, demurely, her head tilted, and she's alternating staring at the ocean with smiling at the person behind the camera, who quickly pans over to where Marina lies on a chaise longue, wearing leopard-print Capri pants, a white gauzy half-shirt, giant black tortoiseshell sunglasses that cover almost half her face.
"That's her," I say. "That's the girl I met on the QE2. How did you get this tape? That's the girl I was going to go to Paris with."
Palakon pauses, pretending to consult his file, and finally, hopelessly, again says, "We think she's dead."
"As I was saying, Mr. Johnson," Crater says, leaning toward me a little too aggressively, "we think that Marina Cannon was sent to warn-"
"No, wait, guys, wait," I'm saying. "It was Gibson. Her name was Gibson."
"No, it was Cannon," Delta says. "Her name was Marina Cannon."
