The next afternoon, my rented room was dim.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the men's suit jacket hanging over the back of a chair.
It was the one Arthur had wrapped around me the night before.
The blood on the cuff had dried dark.
There were two knocks at the door.
I got up and opened it.
Arthur stepped inside.
The room was less than two hundred square feet, low-ceilinged and cramped. His tall frame made the space feel even smaller.
He didn't show the slightest disgust at the damp corners or the peeling wall.
He simply pulled out the creaking folding chair and sat down.
"Last night's misunderstanding is cleared up," Arthur said, looking up at me with focused eyes. "Now it's time to talk about what happened five years ago."
He paused.
"Why did you leave after saying yo
