Only one other visitor came in the days before Black was discharged from Charlie Med.
He came in wordlessly and sat down on a stool, facing Black. He put his hands in his lap and smiled at Black serenely, onyx eyes shining behind his spectacles.
He sat like that a full minute, just looking.
Finally Black let out an exasperated breath.
“What is this?” he asked. “You’re gonna put the whammy on me?”
His visitor said nothing.
“Okay, fine. Don’t talk. You don’t have to. You can sit there smiling and listen.”
His visitor just kept smiling.
“You screwed up,” Black said, to no discernible reaction.
He waited a moment and went on.
“You left me your signed confession.”
His visitor blinked once but otherwise sat rock still.
“I know why you carried it with you,” Black pressed. “It’s your goddamned talisman.”
“I want it.”
The soft voice startled him. It made his skin crawl.
“Fuck you,” Black said sharply. “You won’t have it, and you won’t find it.”
He looked at the pale hands, clasped gently in his visitor’s lap. Then up at his eyes.
“I know who you are,” Black said. “You’re a damned legend in the Valley.”
The eyes beamed and burned, examining Black.
Black leaned forward.
“I know you by name.”
The smile was gone, giving way to an unnameable expression. His visitor leaned forward as well, his face close to Black’s, his eyes searching the air as though he were listening very closely for something, and spoke a single word, hardly more than a whisper.
“Try.”
He sat back, and the beatific smile returned. He rose, placing a small metal object on the side table, shining eyes on Black.
Pistone left quietly, without another word.
Black picked it up. It was a metal dog tag reading WILLIAM BRYDON.