"Who is this?"
"You know who."
Richard stood.
"Where did you get this number?"
A pause.
Then:
"Ask Angela what happened the week before Marcus died."
The line went dead.
Richard slowly lowered the phone.
For several seconds, he didn't move.
Then he opened another drawer.
This one was locked.
He took out a key.
Inside was a small envelope.
On it were four words.
**MARCUS — DO NOT SEND.**
Richard stared at it.
He hadn't opened the envelope in seven years.
He had told himself he never would.
Now his hands were shaking.
The following Saturday, Marcus Reed returned.
This time he came alone.
Malik opened the door.
"Mr. Reed."
"Call me Marcus."
Malik smiled.
"That would be confusing."
Reed laughed.
"Fair point."
Angela invited him inside.
They sat in the living room.
Reed carried a cardboard box.
"I found more things."
Malik immediately sat forward.
"What things?"
"Your father's."
Reed placed the box on the coffee table.
Inside were photographs, letters, an old notebook and several newspaper clippings.
Malik picked up a photograph.
His father stood beside a group of Marines.
He looked younger.
Almost Malik's age.
"That's my dad?"
"Twenty-three."
Malik smiled.
"He looks ridiculous."
Reed laughed.
"He would have loved hearing that."
"What was he like?"
Reed thought for a moment.
"Quiet."
"Mom says that."
"Funny."
"She says that too."
"Stubborn."
Angela laughed.
"Definitely."
Reed leaned back.
"Your father had this habit. Whenever things got dangerous, he became calmer."
Malik listened.
"Not fearless," Reed continued. "Calm. There's a difference."
"Did he ever talk about me?"
"All the time."
Malik looked up.
"Really?"
"He showed us pictures."
"Of me?"