NOTE: A little bit of overlap from the previous part, for context.

Quietly Jeremy said, “My God, it happened a year ago.”

He looked at Foley and his eyes filled with tears. “I never had a chance to come home. My God, I never had a chance.”

Foley leaned forward, placed his elbows on his knees, and steepled his hands. “I think that’s probably right.”

After a moment Jeremy composed himself.

Foley said, “How are you doing?”

“Okay, I guess. Considering the circumstances.”

“Will you tell me about the newspaper now?”

“It was a lot like this poster. A year ago the newspaper story said one thing, and yesterday it said something else.”

“What was the story?”

“A baseball game. My team won the championship, and I made a big play. The newspaper said I won the game. ‘All star third baseman Jeremy Crowther ended the game with a thrilling double play…’ I was really proud of that.”

“But the story changed?”

“Yesterday it said, ‘Mild mannered third baseman Christian Cavezos’. Jesus. ‘Mild mannered third baseman.’ Who writes this crap? Stan Lee?”

“You mean Jerry Siegel.”

“What?”

“Stan Lee was Spiderman. Superman was Jerry Siegel.”

“Thanks for that fascinating historical fact,” Jeremy said.

“This was at the McKinley Park Library that you learned this?”

“How did you know that?”

“I was still following you. I heard you telling the guy downtown where you were going. By the time I got there the police had come. Looks like you caused a bit of commotion.”

“Well, when a newspaper story forgets who you are, it’s a bit of a shock.”

“So I gather.” Foley stood up. “You want something to drink?”

“Do you have root beer?”

Foley moved toward the kitchen, which opened off the living room. “As a matter of fact, I do. You want it in a glass or in the can?”

“How about a glass? It’ll be almost like being civilized.”

Foley opened the freezer door and took out two frosted mugs. He dropped four ice cubes into each one, and filled them with root beer that foamed perilously close to the tops of the mugs. He brought them into the living room and set one on the coffee table in front of Jeremy.

Foley sat back down in his chair. “So the newspaper story was the straw that broke the camel’s back?”

“More like the sixteen ton weight that broke the Chihuahua’s back.”

“So how does that fit with your theory?”

Jeremy blinked and sipped the root beer, smearing foam on his upper lip. He wiped it off with the back of his hand.

He said, “After you photoshopped Paul Quinn, hypnotized everyone I ever knew, and stole my fingerprint card from the police station, you broke into the library data system and rewrote the story. Anybody who would write ‘mild mannered’ is obviously a big enough Superman fan to know about Jerry Siegel.”

Foley smiled. “Not bad.”

Jeremy set his mug on the table and frowned. “Not good, either.”

Foley nodded. “Care to try again?”

Suddenly Jeremy was angry. No, he didn’t care to try again. “Look, you’ve asked me enough questions. You got any answers? How does a piece of paper forget a person?”

Foley took a long pull on his root beer. “I was hoping you’d be able to offer a fresh perspective on the question. I’m no closer to answering it than you seem to be, and I’ve been thinking about it for forty five years.”

“Forty five years? What are you talking about? You said that Paul Quinn poster is from a year ago.”

“And it is. But that’s not the first time I’ve seen a piece of paper forget a person.” Foley stood up. “I want to show you something else. I’ll be right back.”

Foley headed back down the hall.