He had to find it. This jester, this tease, this invader that lurked like a virus in some secret body cells between outbreaks—he had this idea that if he fixed it, he could repair his life. Yes, everything would be better then. He could handle the schedule, the layoffs, the night administrator’s music that smashed its way down the hall every night at eleven, even finding Joanna in bed with another man—they’d all be manageable, common failures, he thought, setbacks anyone could understand, if only it weren’t for this bug, this flaw, this break in his understanding of how the world was made.