“Two days, I think. Could be closer to three.”
“Where have you been staying?”
“Staying? On lawns. Beneath bushes.”
“Fuck,” Cheryl says.
“Listen,” Gary says. “I’m hungry. I’m alone. And I’m very afraid. I understand your caution but I’ve got nowhere else to go.”
“You’ve tried other houses?” Tom says.
“Yes! I’ve been knocking on doors for hours. You are the first to answer.”
“How did he know we were here?” Malorie asks the others.
“Maybe he didn’t,” Tom says.
“He knocked for a long time. He knew we were here.”
Tom turns to Don. His expression is asking Don what he thinks.
“No way.”
Tom is sweating now.
“I’m sure you want to,” Don continues angrily. “You’re hoping he has information.”
“That’s right,” Tom says. “I am hoping he has ideas. I’m also thinking he needs our help.”
“Right. Well, I’m thinking there could be seven men out there, ready to slit all our throats.”
“God,” Olympia says.
“Jules and I were out there two days ago,” Tom says. “He’s right that the other houses are empty.”
“So why doesn’t he sleep in one of those?”
“I don’t know, Don. Food?”
“And you guys were outside at the same time. And he didn’t hear you?”
“Damn it,” Tom says. “I have no idea how to answer that. He could have been a street over.”
“You guys didn’t try those houses. How do you know he’s telling the truth?”
“Let him in,” Jules says.
Don faces him.
“That’s not how it works in here, man.”
“Then let’s vote.”
“Come the fuck on,” Don says, fuming. “If one of us doesn’t want to open the fucking door, we shouldn’t open the fucking door.”
Malorie thinks of the man on the porch. In her imagination, his eyes are closed. He is trembling.
The birds still coo.
“Hello?” Gary says again. He sounds strained, impatient.
“Yeah,” Tom says. “I’m sorry, Gary. We’re still talking this over.” Then he turns to the others. “Vote,” he says.
“Yes,” Felix says.
Jules nods.
“I’m sorry,” Cheryl says. “No.”
Tom looks to Olympia. She shakes her head no.
“I hate to do this to you, Malorie,” he says, “but it’s a tie. What are we going to do?”
Malorie doesn’t want to answer. She doesn’t want this power. This stranger’s fate has been dumped at her feet.
“Maybe he needs help,” she says. Yet, the moment after saying it, she wishes she didn’t.
Tom turns to the door. Don reaches across and grabs his wrist.
“I don’t want that door opened,” he hisses.
“Don,” Tom says, slowly pulling his wrist from Don’s hand, “we voted. We’re going to let him in. Just like we let Olympia and Malorie in. Just like George let you and me in.”
Don stares at Tom for what feels to Malorie like a very long time. Will it come to blows this time?
“Listen to me,” Don says. “If something bad comes from this, if my life is put in danger because of a fucking vote, I’m not going to stop to help you guys on my way out of this house.”
“Don,” Tom says.
“Hello?” Gary calls.
“Keep your eyes closed!” Tom yells. “We’re letting you in.”
Tom’s hand is on the doorknob.
“Jules, Felix,” Tom says, “use the broomsticks. Cheryl, Malorie, you’ll need to get up close to him, feel him. Okay? Now, everybody, close your eyes.”
In the darkness, Malorie hears the door open.
There is silence. Then Gary speaks.
“Is the door open?” he says eagerly.
“Hurry,” Tom says.
Malorie hears shuffling. The front door closes. She steps forward.
“Keep your eyes closed, Gary,” she says.
She reaches for him, finds him, and brings her fingers to his face. She feels his nose, his cheeks, the sockets of his eyes. She touches his shoulders and asks for one of his hands.
“This is new to me,” he says. “What are you searching—”
“Shhh!”
She feels his hands and counts his fingers. She feels the fingernails and the light hair on the knuckles.
“Okay,” Felix says. “I think he’s alone.”
“Yes,” Jules says. “He’s alone.”
Malorie opens her eyes.
She sees a man, much older than herself, with a brown beard and a tweed blazer over a black sweater. He smells like he’s been outside for weeks.
“Thank you,” he says, breathless.
At first, nobody responds. They only watch him.
His brown hair, combed over to the side, is unruly. He is both older and heavier-set than any of the housemates. In his hand is a brown briefcase.
“What’s in there?” Don asks.
Gary looks to the case as though he’d forgotten he carried it.
“My things,” he says. “What things I grabbed on my way out.”
“What things?” Don asks.
Gary, looking both surprised and sympathetic, opens the case. He turns it toward the housemates. Papers. A toothbrush. A shirt. A watch.
Don nods.