The letter waited for him in his mailbox, ready to jerk him back to reality. Other than bills and direct-mail solicitations, Dan didn't get much mail. Who did anymore? Occasionally there was an envelope for Mark, and this would make Dan stiffen for a moment, as if it heralded that his boyfriend had somehow returned, unbeknownst to him. But then reality set in, and Dan would realize he didn't even know where to forward Mark's letters. It was almost as if the man had never existed, or that he was a figment of his imagination. It was weird how there was nothing of him left in the tiny one-bedroom apartment, no trace, sentimental or otherwise.

Dan might as well have always been a single guy, a Florida bachelor.

So why are you chasing after another guy's man? Why don't you take advantage of your singlehood, play the field, bring home a different guy every night?

Dan shook his head, sorting through the mail until he did come to a handwritten envelope, for him, and bearing the return address of the Florida State Penitentiary.

Adam had written. Maybe now Dan would get some kind of explanation. Maybe at last he would understand.

He turned the simple, white envelope over and over in his hands, staring out at some kids playing in the complex pool, listening to their screams and their laughter. Their splashes and taunts.

Getting a letter from someone in prison made Dan feel set apart from the rest of the world. As tempted as he was to tear the envelope open right here and right now, in the bright afternoon sunlight with a tennis court nearby and the sounds of a game in progress mingling with the roughhousing in the pool, he somehow sensed it wouldn't be right.

He hurried home, where he had left the blinds drawn and the air conditioning set at seventy-two. It felt blessedly cool and dry in the apartment, and very dark after the bright sun outside.

He set the envelope and the bill from Tampa Electric down on the breakfast bar and went into the bedroom to change. He slid out of his khakis and white Oxford shirt and rep stripe tie, kicked off the loafers, and threw the black socks in the hamper. He dressed in a pair of board shorts and a tank top and padded back into the living area barefoot. He eyed the envelope and decided he would get dinner going before opening it.

In the kitchen, he set the oven to preheating, took out the cheese pizza, and rooted through the crisper drawer, finding some still-fresh romaine and a couple of stalks of celery that would make a decent salad. He cracked open a beer.

What are you waiting for, doofus? His eyes went back to the envelope, sitting innocently on the bar, waiting for his touch. Dan thought it was like a snake, biding its time until Dan's hand came near, and then it would bite him.

You're being ridiculous. Which are you more afraid of, Dan? That the letter contains all the answers? Or that it contains none?

He shook his head at his own indecision, snatched the letter off the counter, and went with it into the living room. He plopped down on the couch, picked up the remote, paused, then flung it back on the coffee table.

Open it, dumb-ass.

He tore the envelope open, took out the single piece of lined notebook paper inside, unfolded it, and began to read.

Dear Dan,

You are probably wondering, no doubt, just what the hell is going on. I don't blame you. Sometimes I don't think I know myself. Sometimes, I lie here on my bunk in this cell and try to convince myself that this is all a nightmare and I'll wake up with Sullivan -- beautiful Sullivan -- snoring softly beside me. Outside, I'll hear the familiar cooing of the mourning doves that perch on our backyard fence.

You know, like it once was.

Until it all turned to shit.

I wish I had easy answers for you. I wish I could explain my behavior to you. I can't. All I do know is that this monster, this virus, has taken over more than just my body.

It's taken over my soul and my mind.

When I told you I don't remember strangling Sullivan, that was just the truth. I still don't remember it. Maybe it's my mind's way of protecting me from something that would hurt so bad it would kill me. I don't want to remember! I love that guy, you know? We had our problems, but if I saw myself hurting him like that, I think it would drive me over the edge, so I do think my own mind's protecting me by keeping that time a big old empty blank.

I hope you'll look in on Sullivan, speaking of him. Make sure he's doing okay. He's a good guy, has a good heart, and doesn't deserve someone like me. Also, he worries too much.

I hope you'll be the buddy you signed on for and help me make sure my Sullivan is doing okay.