Pamela San Francisco — 1974 Lake Merritt

Ryan watches, heart sore as Pamela roams the city, spending each night in a different place. She is careless. If instinct had not pushed her underground, she would have stayed outside to greet the dawn. She would have welcomed it, a brief burning and then nothing, a fleeting agony in turn for oblivion, a small price to pay for cessation of sorrow. Pamela walks miles, crossing bridges at night, staying in Berkeley, Oakland or Marin, smiling bitterly as she remembers Teresa’s hatred of the sticks.

Berkeley is a banquet. Students returning from late night classes, study sessions or parties are easy pickings. Ryan watches her suck young bodies dry, weigh them down with stones and sink them in Lake Merritt.

“Lake Merritt is a tidal lagoon east of downtown Oakland.” Ryan says. He is talking to Huck, but hoping his words will seep into Neil’s consciousness. Huck squawks encouragingly.