That's a bald-faced lie! I'm the one—" But Burt and Mel were already running through the crowd. Alistair stood his ground as he saw the girl in the wheelchair wheel off in the opposite direction. She seemed even more frail now, like a delicate antique doll. But she didn't look scared, just sad. "Is she gone?" Burt and Mel turned back to him, shrugging. "Yeah." Alistair turned to the other man in the wheelchair. The old woman in the wheelchair was already out of sight. "You can come with me now." "I can't." He looked like he was going to cry, tears rolling down his face as he wiped at his eyes with his free hand. "I'm stuck here, man. You're gonna have to go get your own way home." "I'm not leaving you," Alistair replied, taking a few steps towards the chair. "You can't just take on people like that, Alistair! It's dangerous. We're here in the park. Look around, man, you won't find a single one of us. We're homeless, okay?" He stared straight into Alistair's eyes. "I'm sorry I tried to steal that bag. And you know what? I'm sorry we broke into your car. But this is so much worse. And you should leave. Because it's not safe, and you can't take on the whole city. You just can't. It's not your responsibility." Alistair turned to go, but the old man grabbed his hand and held it for a long moment before letting go and closing his eyes as Alistair wheeled away. Alistair made it back to his car, still feeling shaken. All he wanted to do was go home, forget everything that had happened that night. And yet, he knew that somehow this had changed everything. He started the car, then looked down at the purse on the passenger seat. That thing had gotten him into all this. And he didn't think he could let it be with him when he got home. It would only be a temptation for him. He grabbed it and flung it on the back seat, then got in and started the engine, driving home through the empty streets. The bag was still there. He didn't even bother to look for it in his seat. He closed the door behind him and locked it, hoping nobody would try and come in. He walked in a daze up the stairs, still lost in his own thoughts as he unlocked the door to the apartment and went inside. He got a beer out of the fridge and sat down at the kitchen table, trying to shake off his nerves as he tried to get back to normal. A part of him wondered what Jolene would think of it all. If she'd thought he was like a superhero. The other part of him was angry at how wrong he'd been. It was easy to fight all the evil in the world, but you had to be smart about it, not just decide it's someone else's responsibility. If he got a second chance, he would do better next time. Because that's what all superheroes have to do. It's only logical. He grabbed the paper and dialed the first number on the list, leaving a message as soon as the automated machine picked up. He didn't leave a name, just said that there had been some trouble at the bar he worked at and a few other places, and they should call the police and just tell them it was him. There were twenty more numbers on the list, then he got up and paced around the apartment. The next few calls were pretty routine. All different people. One person asked if there was anyone they could call for help because they were homeless and in danger, someone else asked for the same thing because they were afraid of someone, and a third person was having some trouble with their electricity bill because they were moving into a new apartment, and they needed to get it straightened out right away so they could move in. They all sounded so desperate, like the city itself was a terrifying monster. But these people probably lived in places with people, he thought, where you could look out your window and see at least one other person. He took the next number on the list and waited for his phone to ring, going back and forth from the living room to the kitchen. After four rings, it finally picked up. "Hello?" "Hi, is this... is this Martin?" "Yes." "Martin, this is Alistair. From the other night." There was a pause. "The one with the bag?" "Yeah. Alistair. From the other night. The one with the bag." "You want the ten-dollar thing again? Sorry I didn't call you yesterday." "No, I just want to ask you something. You're alone?" "No. My wife is asleep. She went to sleep right before the last song. It's a very long name." "Really? That's a coincidence. It's also my wife's favorite song. Hey, did you have any luck with the bag?" "Actually, I did. It took me a long time, but I found it." "You found it? Where?" "Well, that's kind of embarrassing, I guess. I took it over to the garbage bin just down the street, and I just left it there." "You left it there? Are you fucking nuts?" "Sorry, I didn't think about it. I've been looking for it for so long, I just—" "You just what? Just left it in the garbage bin? That was brilliant! Can you fucking believe that?" "I know. I know. Look, I'll pick it up tomorrow." "You do that." "I mean, I'll take it over to the trash, okay? It's okay. But what should I do with it?" Alistair went back and forth a few times, trying to think of something that wouldn't involve them going back to the park and risking getting caught by the cops. "Do you have an address I could send it to?" "Yes." "Okay. Send it to the Park Avenue address, number three twelve." He was just glad that it was close enough to where he was right now that he could just pick it up the next day. "And I want that fifty dollars." "I told you, I couldn't get it, I'm sorry. It's all I have." "Okay. I understand." "I hope you do. We're about to get kicked out, and—" "Martin?" "Yes?" "Just give me that address and I'll send you some money to pay you back." "All right." He gave Alistair the address, and when he hung up, Alistair sat in his chair for a minute, wondering why it was taking so long to get the money. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, looking at the time. Ten p.m. He should have expected this. Every superhero has his kryptonite. He put the phone down on the table and thought about going to the kitchen, getting a glass of water, then going to bed. Then he went back into the living room and picked up the phone, turning it on again to see if there was any message from the park. There was. He dialed the number and it rang, and rang, and rang. He finally gave up and hung up, then turned off the lights and sat on the couch, staring blankly. What the fuck is wrong with this city? He waited until nearly eleven before he finally got a call back. "You know what time it is?" the voice asked. "Sorry," Alistair replied. "I thought you were asleep." "It's eight-thirty. What do you want, Alistair?" "Are you still there?" "Yes, I'm still here." "I was kind of hoping you could do me a favor." "What kind of favor?" "Well, there's this thing I have to go pick up and I could really use your help." "It's the park, isn't it? You've got the bag?" "Yes. But it's a big bag." "All right. Do you have an address? And I can do this during the day if you want. It'll just take a little longer. Can't do it at night, of course." "No, I think I can get it during the day. It should be all right." "Good. I should be able to get it there in about two hours." "So what's the plan?" "Well, I could call a cab, but I was hoping you could help me. There's nothing on the way, just some back roads and stuff, and it's dark so the cops have blocked off the highway, so I'd have to take you the long way. If it's not too much trouble." "I'll be your driver." Alistair smiled, shaking his head, then gave him an address in a