1

Pace did not die. After he fell from the ledge, he suffered a severe head injury on impact with the outcropping below, on which he landed and broke both legs. He was found, unconscious, by a pair of hikers, a man and a woman, whose names he never learned and whom he never met. They managed to get him to a hospital and departed. All he was able to learn later, from a nurse who attended him in the emergency room, was that the couple was apparently from Iceland and that the man bore a startling resemblance to the actor Robert Ryan.

Pace eventually made his way to Bay St. Clement, North Carolina, where he took up residence in a cottage on Dalceda Delahoussaye’s property, which, of course, he had in turn inherited from his mother, Lula. The main house was rented to a young couple, a high school history teacher and his wife, who worked as a landscape architect. For several weeks after Pace arrived, he was burdened by casts on both legs and was frequently bothered by dizzy spells most likely caused by a concussion. The young woman was of great help to Pace during this period of his recovery, making sure that his basic needs were met, that he ate properly and was as comfortable as possible.

Pace slept often in these weeks and had difficulty determining the difference between dream and reality. After two months, when his mental faculties had returned nearly to normal and he had come to a full understanding of what happened to him, Pace realized that he was most satisfied while in a dream state, abetted as that was by extensive use of pain-killers and barbiturates, from which the doctor who treated him was at this point in Pace’s recovery attempting to wean him. Dr. Dacoit had been Dalceda Delahoussaye’s physician for the last twenty-two years of her life and had also tended to Pace’s mother upon occasion. Though now almost eighty-five years old, Dr. Dacoit was still in possession of his faculties and was the only doctor remaining in Bay St. Clement who made house calls.

“I been meanin’ to ask you,” Pace said to the doctor one afternoon when he was checking in on Pace’s progress, “where your name comes from. I never ran into it before.”

“Dacoit is actually a Hindu name, son,” said the doctor. “My grandfather, Kapoor, was born in Calcutta and was taken to America before the age of two by an uncle and aunt, who established a dry goods business in Baltimore. Kapoor’s father, my great-grandfather, was apparently a member of a murderous gang of thieves. He was himself killed and his wife abducted by a rival band of criminals. She was supposedly sold into sexual slavery and ended up in a cage on the docks of Bombay. Kapoor was taken in by one of her brothers and his wife. The name Dacoit came to be associated with the outlaw band in India and Burma. There are many people who believe this gang is still in operation in the present day, much as the mafia in Sicily and America continue their underworld activities unabated. The word ‘dacoity’ is commonly used in India to describe a robbery.”

“That’s very interesting, doctor. You ever consider changing it?”

Dr. Dacoit laughed. He had black smudges under both eyes, a large, hawk-like nose, and a full head of wiry white hair. Though an octogenarian, he did not wear eyeglasses either for reading or distance.

“No, why should I have?” he said. “The word dacoit means nothing in this country, and I’ve never gone to India or Burma. I would like to have but I never got around to it and now I am too old to travel that far and to deal with the everyday difficulties of life in such a confusing place.”

“When can I get these casts off?”

“Next week, I think, Mr. Ripley. How frequent are your headaches now?”

“I usually get them in the late afternoon, but they aren’t as bad as before.”

“Good, good. I’ll renew your prescription for the headaches, but I believe we’ll see if you can sleep comfortably without the barbiturates. If you have any problems with that, of course, call me.”

“Okay, Dr. Dacoit, I will.”

“See you in a week, then.”

“Oh, doctor?”

“Yes?”

“What’s your first name?”

“Hoyt. Named after a knuckleball pitcher on the Baltimore Orioles.”

“Just curious. Thanks.”

After Dr. Dacoit left, Pace thought about the randomness of events, how strange that this good and dedicated doctor bore the name of an organization of murderous thugs from another continent. Not very much made sense to Pace these days. His head began to spin and he closed his eyes and tried to sleep. He could not control his dreams any better than he could control the circumstances of his waking life, but he had no desire to try to manipulate his dreams. At least in them, he believed, the unpredictability could do him no harm.