Author's Note: Writing a story with all the characters coming from "Supernatural," a show I know and love, set at the University of Kansas, a place I know and love, should be Easy Fast 'n' Fun Fan Fiction, right? I HAVE NEVER DONE SO MUCH RESEARCH FOR A STORY IN MY LIFE. You can skip the following acknowledgments and get straight to the story, but then please come back and read them when you've finished the chapter (especially if you're liking the story!) because these people were all key to its being written.

Thank you SO MUCH to: Tara Eisenhour Vereen of KU Student Housing; Molly Zahn of the KU Department of Religious Studies; Jill Hummels, Public Relations Director of the KU School of Engineering; Kathy Rose-Mockry, Director of the Emily Taylor Women's Resource Center at KU; Mai Hester of KU's Watkins Health Center; the Johnson County, Kansas District Attorney's office; Jeff at the Sinclair station in Mission, Kansas; and most especially Kristi Henderson of KU's College of Liberal Arts and Sciences and her assistant, Emily; Capt. Schuyler Bailey of KU's Office of Public Safety (who went totally beyond the call, reading a giant email that I sent to him and telling me gently that I had to completely redo my crashing conclusion); my brother Phil, my source for medical and science information, who told me about certain injuries (trust me, what you do NOT want is something called "flail chest"); my friend Robyn, who made great suggestions, including one whole scene; and as always my mom, who listens and encourages.

.

.

March was mild that year, and classes had just resumed after spring break, but since it was late on a Wednesday night, Jayhawk Boulevard and its large classroom buildings were pretty well deserted. Only a very occasional car rolled past the rangy freshman wearing a backpack and talking on his cell phone as he made his way along the boulevard, turned right, and headed down the steep hill of 14th Street.

"I'm sorry, man. I didn't know. Yeah, you're right then, better to keep busy. Want my dinner-dishes duty every night?" He chuckled. "I'm on my way back, so tell Ash – No, dude, I'm walking. I've been sitting in the library for hours, I needed – "

A woman screamed somewhere, short and sharp. The freshman stopped dead, looking around. There was a tall stone wall to his left, a small tree at its end up ahead that obscured the view further down the sidewalk, a building with a wrought-iron fence across the street, Jayhawk Boulevard behind and above him at the top of the steep hill. It was hard to tell where a sound came from.

"Yeah, you did. I don't – "

There was another scream. The guy started fast down the sidewalk, pocketing his phone unceremoniously, looking in all directions.

There was a small drive and lot visible beyond the bush, just big enough for a garbage truck to back in and drive out. Beyond the lot, a walking path ran behind some of the campus buildings. A car was sitting in the lot, facing the street and idling as if ready to depart, though its lights were out. The dumpster that was usually at the back of the lot had been pushed next to the car, the two objects blocking the street view of whatever was happening in the lot.

Then a girl burst out from behind the dumpster, running toward the street, pursued by a man who caught her before she'd gone ten feet. He hit her in the gut and she doubled over, unable to scream, but stamping on the man's feet and kicking.

"Hey!" the freshman yelled as loudly and ferociously as possible. "Hey, you!"

The man looked at the approaching boy, then struck the girl in the face. The blonde girl went down hard, and the man sprang for the idling car. He hit the gas and drove right at the freshman who was about to reach the car.

The freshman sprang back with a short yell. He stared intently at the car as it sped away, then went over to the girl, who was stirring feebly as if she were still trying to fight even half-conscious. Half of a pair of handcuffs was closed around her right wrist, the empty cuff banging against a tree as she threw her arm out.

"Can you breathe?" the freshman asked.

The girl looked up at him, flinched, seemed to realize that her attacker was gone, sat up with a little grunt and nodded. A corner of her mouth was bleeding, and even in the dimness under the trees he could see the red mark under her eye that was going to be a massive bruise.

A security call box, affixed to a pole with a distinctive blue light on top, was just across the street. She'd probably been trying to get to that. The freshman's long legs reached it in only a few steps, and he banged the red button on the yellow box. "KU Police Department."

"Yeah, I'm on, we're on Fourteenth Street, a guy was just attacking a girl here. He drove away in a white Hyundai Accent, the license plate started with DIV."

"Is the victim still there? Can she talk?"

"She's still here. She's just sitting up now. But he hit her in the gut pretty hard, and in the face."

He answered a few more questions, ending the conversation with, "Yeah, I'll stay here. Great, thanks. ΄Bye."

He hurried back over to the girl, who was standing, pulling her denim jacket close in front, staring at her purse on the ground as if she weren't sure she should pick it up.

"The cops have a car close by, they'll be here in just a minute," he told her.

She nodded.

"I'm gonna stay right here till they get here. You'll be OK."

"I feel so damn stupid," she said tensely, not looking at him. "I thought the chances of anyone, of anyone being out here, I mean – me specifically, were so minuscule."

"Well, they are, really. I mean, there's probably lots of girls walking around right now without anyone – "

"And I've taken self-defense classes. I thought, I can take care of myself. I had no idea how much it would hurt, or how – What an idiot!"

"Hey." The young man tried to look her in the eye, bending slightly to do it. "You are not the criminal here. OK? It's not your fault."

She nodded, trying to meet his gaze, trying to smile. "Thank you. Thank you."

"Hey. Glad to do it. What's your name?"

"Mm, Jess." It made her tense up even to give out the monosyllable, but the guy seemed to understand.

"Hi, Jess. I'm Sam Winchester," he said, as the blue-and-white Dodge Charger of the KU Police came rushing up 14th Street toward them.

"It was him, wasn't it?"

"We – don't know that," Sam replied.

Jess' breath caught in her throat. "It was him."

His eyes on the car, Sam raised his eyebrows and nodded, just once.

.

From the University Daily Kansan:

KU and Lawrence police are declining to say whether an attack on campus Wednesday night was the work of a serial rapist who has struck four times over the past two years.

Captain Jodie Mills, Public Information Officer of the KU Police Department, said that the attack was similar to the crimes committed by "MA15," so called because he brands his victims' faces with that mark.

"He attacked on a public roadway, had a weapon but also used physical force, and escaped in a stolen vehicle," Mills said. "These are all trademarks of that particular perpetrator. Since the attack was very fortunately interrupted, we can't say for sure, but the joint Lawrence-KU task force is looking closely at the possible connections."

The attack was disrupted when Sam Winchester, Wichita freshman, heard the victim scream and ran toward the attacker, causing him to flee.

"It was no big deal," Winchester said in a telephone interview yesterday. "I was glad I was there. Anyway, she really fought him. She made it hard for him to do anything to her."

Captain Mills urged all women who are alone at night to take advantage of KU's Safe Ride and Safe Bus programs.

.

"Dude! You're a hero and you don't tell your own brother?"

"Hey, I'd tell my brother if I was a hero." Sam's voice, on Dean Winchester's phone, sounded muffled, as if he were calling from a room where studying was going on. "All I did was yell and run at the guy. Hero would've been if I'd caught him or something."

"Sammy, you kept a woman from being raped and branded in the face. That makes you a hero in my book."

There was a moment of silence. "Thanks, Dean. That means a lot to me."

"So I'd say this calls for me buying a broke at the Wheel tonight."

A chuckle, and another second's silence. "Sounds good. Is it OK if I bring along a friend? He just had a bad breakup, and I feel like I should hang with him tonight."

This time the moment of silence was on Dean's end, as his jaw clenched and he shook his head a little. But when he spoke, his voice was cheerful. "Sure, Sam. Bring whoever you want. I really oughta have a party for you, but the house is even more of a dung heap than usual."

"That's the truth!" yelled the guy sitting across the living room from Dean, loudly enough for Sam to hear.

Sam laughed. "Tell Andy I said hi. Eight o'clock, at the Wheel?"

"Sounds good. If you're late I'll know you're saving a damsel in distress."

Dean disconnected as Andy looked up from his textbook. "He bringing somebody else along again?"

"Yeah."

"God, what'd you do, Dean? Molest the kid when he was young?"

Dean gave him the finger, but casually, as though he were too preoccupied to get into an insult war. "The weird thing is, we were really close when we were little. In a lot of ways, I raised him. But the last couple years, we get together, and we just don't have much to say. It's like anything I say pisses him off, and he doesn't want to bother telling me what he's doing, like I wouldn't understand. I don't know. Maybe it's good that he brings other people along. Want to go?"

"Got a test Monday. And I kind of haven't studied. At all. What's 'buying a broke'?"

"Sam's under age, so when we get together I get beer and he gets Coke. I just abbreviate it by saying let's get a broke."

"He could have my ID. They might not look at the picture that close."

"Nah, Sam's a Boy Scout. I don't think he'd use a phony ID if his life depended on it. Anyway, when I say under age, I mean sixteen. I'm not sure even I would want him drinking. And Dad would kill me."

"Sixteen! What is he, a boy genius?"

"Not quite. He skipped a grade early on, and then he was so anxious to get to college he wrapped up high school in three and a half years and started here in January. Pre-law. He'll prob'ly be on the Supreme Court by the time he's thirty."

Dean's housemate grinned. "You're not, like, proud of him or anything."

Dean grinned back. "Maybe a little."

Andy waved a hand. "He'll come around. He's sixteen, you helped raise him, he's just rebelling against a parental authority figure."

"What'd you do, Andy? Read a book?"

"I'm tryin'," Andy said, slumping over his textbook again.

.

The Wheel was crowded and noisy on Fridays, but Dean still managed to snag one of the wooden booths covered with varnished-over graffiti. He sat on the side facing the door, watching one of the TVs overhead and listening to the music blaring even over the sounds of college weekend celebrants, and had a pitcher of beer and a pitcher of soda waiting when Sam walked in with his friend.

"I like your preparedness – man, I'm thirsty!" Sam said, dropping into the booth, sliding over, and reaching for the soda pitcher all at the same time. "Dean, this is Cas. Cas, this is my brother Dean."

"I'm pleased to meet you," Cas said formally. He was wearing jeans like almost everyone else in the bar, but topped with a navy blue V-neck sweater over a white button-down shirt open at the throat.

"Hi, Cas. How do you know Sam?"

"We're in the same scholarship hall."

That could have been expected. Sam had been lucky enough to get a space in the William Schuyler scholarship hall at mid-year when another student had left – one of the older halls whose red brick and pillars more resembled a grand residence than the more modern halls. To get into a scholarship hall, which cost less than other campus housing, you had to meet certain financial and GPA requirements, as well as participating in the hall's cooking and cleaning, and it helped if you had significant extracurricular activities.

"Cas is the reason I was on campus the other night," Sam said. "I had dinner-dishes duty, but I really wanted to spend some time at the library. Cas swapped nights with me."

"Interesting," Dean said. "Swap dish duty with a guy and a girl winds up being saved from MA15. Everything happens for a reason."

"Of course, to say that, you also have to keep in mind the number of bad things that happen because of coincidence, too," Cas said. He was pouring soda into a glass, carefully. "But even acknowledging that, I think you're right, everything happens for a reason."

Dean leaned back. "You know, I bet I've heard people say that a hundred times, and I don't know if I ever thought of it like that. But you're right. Like, say, a nurse is supposed to do an operation, the operation gets canceled, she leaves early and gets killed in a car wreck when she should've been safe in the OR. If good coincidences happen for a reason, something like that would too. Except whose crappy reason would that be?"

"The devil's?" Sam asked, and took a drink of soda.

Cas shook his head. "That would imply that death is evil just by itself, instead of a stage of life we all reach sooner or later."

"A stage that everyone tries to avoid," Dean said.

"Just because we don't know what lies beyond it."

"I dunno. You ask the nurse's family, I bet they'd say it was evil."

He took a drink of beer, noticed Sam looking at him with a grin. "What?"

"Nothin.' You put up a good fight."

"Well, speaking of – " Dean lifted his beer glass. "Here's to Sam!"

Dean and Cas clinked glasses, Cas saying, "Hear hear!," then drank. Sam looked pleased, if embarrassed.

"Were you able to give the police any kind of description?"

"Only height and weight, just estimates. He was wearing a ski mask."

"They oughta ban the sale of those things unless you're buying skis."

Cas chuckled, and Dean looked pleased.

"So how are things?" Sam asked.

"Pretty good."

There was a moment's silence.

"How about you? Outside of the hero thing?"

"Pretty good."

Another moment. Cas took a drink of soda, looking back and forth between the brothers.

"Did you ever call the girl? See how she's doing?"

"I don't know her name. She was too shaken up to tell me anything but her first name, and when the police got there they talked to us separately."

"Too bad. Great way to impress a girl."

"Dean."

"Hey, I'm just sayin.' A girl might think it was a romantic way to meet."

"Don't think she did, Dean. As a matter of fact, my guess is that seeing me would just remind her of what almost happened to her."

"Well, yeah. I suppose so."

Sam took another drink, then said in the tone of one admitting something reluctantly, "She was really pretty, though. And I did tell her my full name, so if she wants to find me on Facebook – "

"That's my bro!" Dean took a sip of beer. "You have any brothers or sisters, Cas?"

"I have three older brothers, an older sister, and a younger sister."

"Wow." Dean looked at Sam. "See, it coulda been worse. You could've had three older brothers."

"I'm not complaining. You went to my games and talked me down from my junior prom nerves."

Dean's face got tense. "Sam – "

Sam held up his hands. "That's a compliment to you. Not a swing at Dad."

Another moment of silence.

Sam's mouth quirked. "How's the car coming along?"

"Comin' along great. Having a hard time finding a carburetor, though."

"You're restoring a car?" Cas asked.

"Well," Sam said with vast quiet amusement, "it kind of depends on how you define 'car.' If you define it as an object that actually moves from point A to point B – "

With a tolerant smile, Dean flipped him off.

"See, our dad for years nursed along this pathetic rust bucket – "

"Nineteen-sixty-seven Chevy Impala, one of the sweetest rides ever created."

"You know, I think he kept it because of memories associated with our mom. But a few years ago it got to the point where even he couldn't keep it going, you know, he really needed a dependable car. But he couldn't bear to get rid of it, so for years it sat moldering in the garage."

"It's not moldy."

"Meanwhile, in high school Dean bought a rust bucket that was almost as pathetic and used it as transportation while he fixed it up. In January, he sold it at a profit. Dad tells Dean, let's go down to Rainbow Motors, I'll buy you a used car for your birthday if you'll keep up the maintenance and insurance. Dean says he really wants the Impala."

"So after Dad recovered from his heart attack – "

"Actually," Sam dropped his ribbing tone, "I think Dad was thrilled. I think he knew it was a little obsessive to keep a non-working car in the garage forever, but he just couldn't bear to let a scrap dealer or someone like that get it. We towed it up here and Dean's been working on it ever since, and I think Dad will be ecstatic if Dean can get it back to any level of functionality."

"Any level? That sweetheart's going to blow everything off the road."

Sam went back to younger-brother mode. "Yeah? I'll believe it when I see it."

"Believe it now, Sammy."

"I do," Cas said, and they both looked at him, a little surprised. "People who have a passion achieve goals that other people thought were impossible."

Dean smiled triumphantly, looked at Sam and pointed to Cas. "What he said."

"Mm," Sam said with a mouthful of soda, then swallowed. "You remember the American History class I told you about?"

"The one with the great teacher?"

"Right. We started on the opening of the West today. Completely fascinating, and not just the history, the – the psychology. Did you ever have a teacher who – you felt like you weren't just learning the subject, you were opening up your mind?"

"Miss Braeden, senior year," Dean said promptly.

Sam looked tired. "Dean – "

"What? This isn't a horny high-schooler story." With a sudden grin, Dean looked at Cas. "Although if you were gonna tell a horny high-schooler story, Miss Braeden would've been worthy. Just out of college, nice firm bod, and she wore a lot of that clingy knit stuff." He shot a look over at Sam, who was staring fixedly at an overhead TV, and cleared his throat. "Anyway, she convinced me that creative writing, writing to express yourself, wasn't just a girly thing. You can really explain stuff to people, explain it to yourself."

"Yeah, that's – " Sam began.

"You ever have a teacher like that, Cas?" Dean asked.

"Last semester I took an acting class," Cas said. "I thought it was a stupid thing to do at the time, but the way the teacher approached it, it helped me learn some things about myself. Not be so afraid of emotions."

"Why'd you take it if you thought it was a stupid idea?"

"Oh. Someone else was taking it, said it would be fun if we were in the same class."

Cas' voice and face were melancholy. Dean shot a glance at Sam, who nodded very slightly.

"Well," Dean didn't miss a beat, "that's the good thing about taking different kinds of classes. You never know what's actually going to turn out to be interesting."

Sam was still looking at one of the TV screens. "Royals suck this year."

"That's to counterbalance the Chiefs sucking less last year," Dean said.

Sam laughed. "'Scuse me, Cas."

Cas rose to let Sam out, then sat back down opposite Dean, who cleared his throat.

"So have you decided on a major, Cas?"

Cas smiled a little. "Hope so. I'm a junior. Religious studies."

"What are you gonna do with it? – I know, everyone asks you that."

"Teach, probably. Maybe do further study in languages and translate. But I'd like to be one of those teachers we were talking about just now. I find discussions of – of the big questions, fascinating."

"Yeah, I could see that about you," Dean said with a smile as their eyes met.

There was a quiet moment somehow very different from the Winchesters' silences.

"Well, as a fellow junior, I'm sorry I mistook you for a freshman," Dean said. "I figured – you're a friend of Sam's, and you're not drinking – "

"I like a beer sometimes. Just thought I should take it easy tonight. I didn't want to get maudlin."

"Yeah, I know. I mean, Sam didn't tell me much, just that you're going through something."

Cas nodded. "He's a good guy."

"True." Dean took a long drink of beer. "I've been there. What you need is to get back on the horse. I could line us up with a couple of girls, we could go out. No big deal, you know, just have some fun."

Cas cocked his head slightly and gave Dean a searching gaze for a moment.

Then, "Well, I'm gay, Dean. So you wouldn't really need to line me up with a girl. But I could probably get a date and we could double-date. Or the two of us could hang out together. If you wanted to."

Dean gave an explosive laugh, raising his hands. "No, no. Not my thing. No insult. Just not my thing. But, you know, I hope things work out for you. With a girl or a guy. Either way. Whatever."

"Thanks," Cas said, somehow managing to get a desert's worth of dryness into the syllable.

When Sam got back to the table, Dean engaged him in a vigorous discussion of sports. Cas contributed quietly, poured himself another soda, his eyes on the TV.

.

When Sam and Cas got back to Schuyler, a slender blonde girl, her hair shining under the porch light, was sitting on one of the chairs scattered around the long front porch waiting for them. Sam's step hesitated, then resumed when Cas recognized her.

"Rachel?" Cas asked, taking the two stairs quickly. "Are you all right?"

Rachel looked at him a little disgustedly. "Yeah, Cas, I'm fine. Considering, you know, that my brother's all miserable."

"Oh." Cas sounded a little abashed. "Sam, this is my younger sister, Rachel. Rachel, this is Sam. He dragged me out and forced me to have a good time tonight."

"Dragged you out? Where?"

"Does my baby sister need to protect me from dens of iniquity?"

"No, I didn't mean – I just – Sorry." Rachel looked up apologetically at Sam. "I'm no fun."

Sam laughed. "Well, it's never too late to start. I'm gonna turn in, Cas. Take it easy."

"You too."

Cas pulled a chair over beside his sister and sat down. "It's nice of you to come by. Sorry I wasn't here."

"No, I should've called to check. It was just – the way you sounded on the phone last night, I figured you'd be sitting here staring at the wall."

"I know. You shouldn't have to put up with my whining."

"You didn't whine. But I really do wonder how often you're going to let jerks use you before you learn."

"Lucian was not – "

"I met him twice, Cas, remember? The first time he acted all depressed, just to keep getting your attention. And when we were watching the Super Bowl over here? He was flirting with other guys and guys' dates, just to make you jealous."

"Lucian is desperately insecure. His background is – "

"You can't save someone from their background single-handed, Castiel. They have to be working at it too."

"He had a very hard time believing that anyone could love him."

"Yeah, and Uriel? You tried to save him too, and Zack. Just a big bunch of using – users."

"Using users?" Castiel said with a small smile.

Rachel stamped her foot. "Don't make me laugh! I'm being indignant!"

"Yeah, I got that."

"Seriously, Cas, can't you just try going out sometime with someone you don't need to save? I'm not saying fall wildly in love with him, but couldn't you go out with someone just to, you know, have a good time?"

"Talk about the pot calling the kettle black."

"Hey! I have a good time."

"Rachel, when was the last time you went out on a date? Never mind that, when was the last time you went to a concert that wasn't a benefit for a cause? Never mind that, when was the last time you just went shopping with a bunch of other girls?"

"Shopping?"

She sounded as if her brother had just suggested setting herself on fire. Castiel laughed outright, and she looked a little embarrassed.

"It's like you resist having a good time. With Sam just now – you meet a good-looking guy in your own class, the first thing you tell him is, 'I'm no fun.'"

"Oh, would he even be interested?"

Cas nodded. "Very straight. He's a friend who hauled me out of the house when I was feeling down."

"Well, good. You should have a friend like that."

"Do you?"

"Mm. Well, Andrea went to K-State."

"We're in the second semester, Rachel. Haven't you met anyone at the dorm who could be a friend?"

"Well, they're all – I know some – " She slumped a little. "I'm pathetic."

"I've wondered sometimes about us – all of us, I mean. Mom and Dad have a good marriage and a lot of friends, and all their kids are hyper-serious loners."

"Hey, Michael has a solid marriage! And that's not easy to do when the Marines are hauling you all over the globe."

"True."

"And Raphael – yeah, he needs to find someone as intense as he is. Gabriel's not – well – yeah, he's a loner, but he's not serious. And Anna could – if she'd just – My God, you're right."

"I blame Dad's genetics. Mom's intense, but she has a sense of humor too. I think Dad married her because she was the first person who ever tried to make him laugh."

"That'd make sense if Raphael weren't adopted."

"Oh. Yes."

Rachel straightened, looked at Cas intently. "OK. Wherever the pattern comes from, we're going to break it."

Cas imitated her tone. "OK. How?"

"We're going to have a contest. You and me," she said seriously. "Who can have the most fun."

"Uh – that's pretty hard to quantify."

"We'll do it by points. Going on a date – a fun date – let's say that's five points. Going out with a friend, that's like three."

"I think that should be worth more."

"It's harder to get a date."

Cas crinkled his nose. "Not for you, Rachel. Trust me. Once you start trying, it'll be easy for you to get dates. Going out with friends should be four points."

"Oh, all right. Watching a whole movie that's a comedy, even if you're by yourself, one point."

"Buying something fun, just because you want it and not need it, one point."

"Oh! Could that even be something inexpensive? Like bubble bath?"

"Sure. It should only be inexpensive stuff, really. And we can only do that, like, twice."

"Oh! I just thought of something." Rachel's eyes were sparkling. "If I have the guts to do it, it'll be worth an easy seven points."

Castiel sounded suddenly nervous. "It goes without saying that neither of us should let our grade point average drop."

Rachel gave him another disgusted look

"Yes. I'm sorry. I can't help but feel responsible for you."

"You just be responsible for you, Castiel. Have a good time with some nice people who aren't soul-sucking vampires."

"That's a good phrase."

"Thanks. I'll call you a week from Sunday to tally our points. Then each week after that until the Sunday after our last final. The one with the most points wins."

"Wins what?"

"Oh, we'll work that out as we go along. Anyway, for sure the title of Novak Family Pattern Breaker."

He smiled, and she cocked her head, studying him. "Are you really OK?"

"I will be. Thanks, Rachel. I appreciate your – Well, I appreciate you."

"Me too." She pressed a hand to his arm, then stood. "I've got a chapter to read yet, so I'm going now."

He stood as well. "I'll walk you to the bus stop."

"You don't need – " Then she noticed his gaze, which was going just yards up 14th Street, to the parking lot where Sam had saved a girl two nights ago. "Well, maybe it's not a bad idea."

She bounded off the porch and did two cartwheels, her long legs and arms in perfect symmetry, landing on the sidewalk under the streetlight. "One point."

"Great. Already I'm behind." But Cas was smiling his small curved smile as he caught up to Rachel.

As he did, Sam was sitting in his suite, holding a piece of paper by one corner, talking on his cell phone.

"Detective Henriksen? This is Sam Winchester, I don't know if you remember – yeah, thanks. Um, sorry to call so late, I mean, I guess you were there anyway. But I just got back to the hall and looked in my mailbox, and there was this envelope. No return address, and there was a piece of paper inside with – you know the article the UDK ran? Well, someone clipped a couple of paragraphs out, the part about me, and glued it to a piece of paper. And underneath there's printed, 'I Know Where You Live.' I mean, I figure it's just some jerk's idea of a joke, but I thought I should let you know.

"No, it's like a computer printer. – The postmark's Lawrence.

"Sure, I'll be glad to. But I really think it's just some asshole's idea of humor. Don't you?

"Yeah, exactly. OK. I'll see you then."

He disconnected the call. He laid the sheet of paper gingerly on top of the envelope already on his desk, seeming unable to take his eyes from it.