The officers escorted Roberto into the foyer of the police station, took his international driver’s license and student card, and told him to wait in line. When it was his turn, the officer behind the front desk typed Roberto’s particulars into a computer then handed his cards to another officer who took them out of the room. Roberto felt naked without his ID.

A pretty, fresh-scrubbed officer beckoned him to follow her into a sparsely furnished room. “You can give your statement here.” She set a wrapped sandwich and a paper cup of coffee on the table in front of him.

The moment he saw them, Roberto was ravenous. In six bites, the sandwich was gone. “Can I have more?” He opened his wallet and started to count out bills.

She scowled. “Do I look like a waitress?” She turned away and adjusted a camera mounted on the ceiling. “The red light means it’s on. Tell me exactly what happened, starting at the beginning.”

“How is Helen?” Roberto tried to keep his voice even.

“In the hospital getting excellent treatment, but the perpetrator is getting farther away every minute. We have cars out looking for him.” She rubbed her forehead. To Roberto her concern seemed genuine. They believed him.

“Tell me everything you can remember about the attacker.”

It was weird. She had Roberto tell his story over and over, then asked a bunch of questions she should know the answers to, if she had listened. So, he was being interrogated after all. These Canadians. They appeared soft and friendly and brought sandwiches, all the better to trip you up.

Many hours later, Roberto re-emerged from the station. The officer who released him told him to wait by the curb for a ride. It was already dark. October days were so short here. One of many things he could never get used to: long nights, the wind and the cold. It was threatening snow. Specks of white flew into his face with a burning chill.

Roberto hated his parents for sending him to Loon Lake. Why not somewhere warm, like California? What was special about this small university surrounded by forests, lakes, and fields?

“It has a strong aura of magic,” Madre had said. Informants had brought the news all the way to Lima and she had to know more.

“We have magic at home,” he had protested.

“We buy you everything you want, let you see who you like, go where you like, but when we ask for one little favor . . .” His dainty mother looked up at him and sighed.

“I won’t be your lab rat. Why don’t you go yourself?”

His mother fussed with the buttons of her lace blouse. “It’s just a year. We’re doing you a favor.”

“Hilarious. As if you don’t have enough problems with magic here.”

“Respect your mother.” Papí imposed his barrel chest between them.

“I won’t go.”

He had tried to refuse but they threatened to disinherit him and cut off his hefty allowance.

If they knew what he was going through, they would apologize. Tomorrow, he would call his parents and tell them everything he had survived, but right now Roberto yearned to go back to the dorm, order pizza, and collapse into bed.

A cruiser pulled up to the curb, his ride home. He got in and asked the officer to take him directly to the school cafeteria. He had a sudden craving for gravy, mashed potatoes, and meatloaf.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go home and change your clothes first?” The officer raised an eyebrow. It was the same one who had brought Roberto in.

Roberto remembered that his jacket was singed. He ran a hand through his fire-crisped hair, stirring up a terrible odor. “I really need to eat.”

Roberto’s ribs ached where he had thrown himself on the ground to escape the fire ball, but the ravenous emptiness of his belly was much worse. If he didn’t eat soon, he would bite into his own arm just to chew on something.

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FORTY MINUTES LATER, Roberto drove a friend’s car to the hospital, feeling stuffed from gorging on cafeteria food. His hair was damp from the shower and it sent shivers down his spine. More than ever, all he wanted was to sleep, but as strong as his need to eat had been, the minute he had looked at his empty plate, all he could think of was Helen. He thought the compulsion to look after her had ended when the ambulance drove away. No such luck. Once he lost his fear of the police, and fed his raging hunger, it came back again. She had bewitched him and without his abuela or his mother to help, he couldn’t lift the spell.

The sensible thing would be to call the hospital and see if she was alright. Then he could go to bed in peace. Instead here he was, nearly falling asleep at the wheel one moment, and shivering the next, anxious to see she was okay with his own eyes. Roberto couldn’t feel more concerned if this stranger was his mother. It was wrong, and he knew it by moments, but then his attention would drift, and he’d forget again. Roberto’s brain was a muddle of sleepiness punctuated by moments of urgency, like two people trapped in one overfed body.

He opened his eyes to the sound of gravel under his tires and realized he was drifting into the unpaved shoulder. This was insane. He was going to get himself killed. The logical thing to do was to pull over and take a quick nap, before he crashed the car.

It was the sane thing to do, and yet Roberto couldn’t stop driving. He was too worried, his head looping and looping with questions. Was she alright? Her quick pulse and funny breathing were worrisome. Did that mean heart attack? And why had she been eating a jar of pickled monstrosities? It was repulsive and unnatural. Helen needed help and Roberto was letting her down.

The thought filled him with a deep sadness that served to keep him awake and on the verge of tears until he turned into the hospital parking lot. What was happening to him? Roberto never cried, and yet as he got out of the car, the cold wind on his cheek iced a rolling tear.

At hospital reception, a back-combed brunette with scarlet nails sat inside a Plexiglas box. Roberto had to stoop to talk to her through the bottom of the wicket because she slid the divider only halfway up. Her cell phone sat on the desk beside her and she kept glancing at it, and chuckling.

“Hi, hon, what can I do for you?” She gave him a toothy smile through the Plexiglas barricade.

“I’m looking for a lady named Helen. She came in by ambulance this afternoon.”

“Helen, eh? Is she a relative of yours?”

“No. She’s a thin, white-haired lady. I was there when she took ill. I called the ambulance for her and now I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

“How sweet. You’re a real life Good Samaritan, am I right? Well, I’d love to help you out, hon, but we get lots of old ladies. Loon Lake attracts more retirees than the early bird special.”

“I’m afraid she was having a heart attack. Could you check the Emergency Department?” Why was this cow making jokes? This was serious.

“No need. Give me her last name and I’ll look her up.” She tapped a computer monitor with her pen.

“She’s the owner of Helen’s Herbal Healing Shop. Maybe you know her?”

“Don’t you know her last name?”

“I found her when she needed help.”

“How do I know you’re not some kind of stalker?” She stood up, hands on hips, the teased top of her hairdo standing just above the Plexiglas barrier.

“Why would I do that?”

“I wonder too. I also wonder why your family sent you here.” She put a hand up to cover her mouth, but not before he caught her smirk. “I’m sorry, but if you’re not family and can’t even give me her name, you’re obviously not a friend. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Can’t you just tell me if she’s okay?”

“Who?”

“Helen.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” This time she didn’t even try to hide her smile. “Is there something else I can do for you? Maybe have somebody take a look at your back to check for burns?”

Roberto had showered and changed his clothes. He was wearing a hat that didn’t smell of smoke.

“How do you know—

“News travels fast in Loon Lake. I think you’d better be on your way, Roberto.”

“I never told you my name.”

“Which was very rude of you. I thought Peruvians were friendly.” She shook her head and sat back down.

“What?” How did she know where he was from? “Why won’t you let me talk to Helen?” He moved closer to the desk, fingertips on the glass.

Clearly the Canadians were spying on him, and maybe planning to pin something on him too. First the three-hour grilling in the police station with the too-nice policewoman, and now this? The receptionist avoided his gaze, tapping on her phone as if he weren’t standing right in front of her.

Behind him, Roberto heard grumbling from the line of people building up. Didn’t she care? Shouldn’t she be doing her job?

Ostentatiously, she started playing a game. He banged on the glass, but she ignored him. He felt like reaching through the glass and crushing her phone but what would be the point?

He decided to go out the front door and come in another way. The hospital was pretty big. He just needed to find a sympathetic nurse on another floor. Women liked Roberto and he liked them. He would give the new nurse a friendly smile and ask politely for the room number. Problem solved.

With new optimism, he tried to leave but someone took his shoulders and pressed him against the Plexiglas. Roberto struggled and craned his neck to see the same two attendants who had taken Helen in the ambulance. The man shot him a nasty grin just as Roberto felt a needle stab his leg.

He staggered free. Roberto’s head spun, and his knees went weak. He closed his eyes and felt himself hang-gliding off the cliffs in Lima again. His head climbed in a lazy circuit around a thermal until the fishing boats in the harbor shrank to bath toys. Picking up speed, he spiraled faster and tighter, the sky getting brighter with every spin until he merged into the sun.