Yale kept wishing Julian would leave the apartment, but Julian didn’t want to risk being seen. He wanted to hide here till Sunday, when his flight would leave for Puerto Rico. He had a high school friend out there to stay with—and after that he wasn’t sure, except that it would be somewhere warm. “Maybe Jamaica,’ he said, and Yale said, “Julian, they kill people like us in Jamaica.” And Julian, disturbingly, had shrugged.
Julian spent most of his time locked in the master bedroom, or else working out in the Marina City gym in exercise clothes he’d dug out of Allen Sharp’s dresser. As far as Yale could tell, he was staying clean—but then he didn’t know what went on during the day. At 6:30 each evening, Julian would appear in the living room to turn on Wheel of Fortune, which Yale wojndered if he even enjoyed; he never made any effort to guess the answer. When the winner went shopping in the little showcase after each round, Julian would wonder aloud if the person would choose the Dalmatian statue. That was the extent of his engagement.
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