40 Souls to Keep - 2. Chapter 2

“You get yourself cleaned up,” Helen said, and Jase didn’t argue. His clothes were passable, but he reeked of stale sweat—the smell of fear, another instinctive bit of knowledge, as impersonal as knowing that the SUV parked in front of Helen’s brownstone got horrible gas mileage and Christian’s colorful action figures were from some Japanese animated television show that was all the rage.

But who he was remained a mystery, like everything else that had come before the burning leaves, the park bench, Christian and Helen. He stepped into the bathroom, clutching the fluffy towel Helen had handed him. The mirror beckoned but he kept his eyes averted, sliding by to sit down on the closed lid of the commode.

His sneakers looked new, the laces a crisp, fresh white. The socks were white with gold toes, also blindingly bright. The feet beneath were unremarkable, wide with a high instep and trimmed nails. He shed the pants and T-shirt, swaying on his feet once he was naked. Clutching the edge of the sink, he turned to the mirror.

Not bad. The thought drew a sharp laugh. A head of wavy brown hair fell to the tops of his shoulders, looking more disheveled than coiffed. A matching set of large brown eyes framed a thin, straight nose and high-set cheekbones. His lips were full but very chapped. He looked exhausted. Haunted.

He examined his body, searching for any clue to his identity, wondering for the first time about his age. Late twenties, maybe? Despite feeling closer to a hundred at the moment. He ached as if he’d been beaten, but there wasn’t a bruise on him. Planting his hands on the sink, he scowled at the mirror.

“What were you hoping for?” he asked his reflection. “A luggage tag with your name and address?” Even dog tags would have been welcome—maybe he was some secret military experiment gone wrong—but there was nothing. He was plain and nondescript.

Ordinary.

Denial rose up in him. His jaw tightened. Now there was something. The ideas of being cowardly or ordinary didn’t sit well.It was when he lifted his arm to stroke the stubble along his chin that he saw the tattoo. Small, black, and hidden on the underside of his left arm, was a number.

40

“What the hell?” He turned his arm back and forth, contorting it in every direction, then leaned over the basin toward the mirror for a better view. Changing the angle only made his eyes cross. Forty? It could mean anything. He could make guesses for days and probably not hit on the significance, but it didn’t matter.

He’d found another clue. Ironically, instead of feeling cheered, his uneasiness returned. Fighting down a shiver, he turned to the shower, twisted the taps on full force and stepped under the spray.

Helen tapped on the door several minutes later as he was trying to tame his mass of hair.

“Are you all right, Jase?”

He blinked before remembering the name they’d agreed on. “Fine, I—” He tied the towel around his waist and opened the door. Helen stepped back as a wave of steam rolled out. “Helen?” He cleared his throat. “Would you have a pair of scissors?” At her raised eyebrow he reached to tug at a tangle hanging over one eye. “I want to get rid of some of this.”

“Are you sure?”

It was a fair question. He was making changes before he knew about how they might affect things when he got his life back. He hesitated, fingers caught in the strands. But the longer hair felt as alien as the clothes he’d been wearing. “Yes. I’m sure.”

Helen’s mouth turned up at the corner. “Then you leave it to me. I do Christian’s, you know. And I always did Jase’s too.” She shooed him back inside. “Get dressed, then come on out. We’ll get you fixed up.”

* * *
Jase admired Helen’s handiwork in the mirror. Whatever had motivated him to grow his hair that long in the first place had no hold on his tastes anymore. He felt ten pounds lighter. Hell, he probably was ten pounds lighter. Helen had spread a yellow bed sheet over the floor and placed a kitchen chair in the middle.

“Have a seat.” She tapped the back of the chair with her shears. Jase had, only to have another sheet draped over him like a blanket. “Now don’t move,” she warned.

Each time Helen had stepped away, he’d reached for the tiny mirror she’d brought out with the scissors. “More,” he said, and she’d obliged until the brown locks had been cropped too short to look unruly and instead fell in soft waves against his scalp.

“Better,” he announced finally, smiling.

Helen beamed. “It’s an improvement. Not that I’m against long hair on a man, mind you. I was at Woodstock.”

Jase tried to do the math in his head. Woodstock had been in ’69. But his computations hit a snag in seconds. “Um, is it...?” He stumbled over the words. “What’s the date?” What’s the year? he wanted to add. He was lost in space and time.

Helen responded breezily, as if commenting on the weather. “October 20, 2005.”

Jase opened his mouth, then closed it. How much time had he lost? He had no idea. He racked his brain for something to ground him. A date. An event. “I remember Hurricane Katrina,” he mused quietly. Not personally—not in the “We evacuated and lost everything we owned” kind of way. More as though he’d read the facts out of a newspaper.

Helen hummed and fluffed his hair. “Such a shame. All that history gone, some of it forever. Roger and I spent our honeymoon in New Orleans. Course it was much different back then.” Clucking her tongue, she flicked the sheet from his shoulders.

Yes, the city would never be the same...but that had been weeks ago. What about since then? Discomfited, he bent forward over his lap to massage his temples. Helen’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” He shot Helen a strained smile. “Woodstock, huh? I heard it was some party.”

Winking, she answered, “I don’t kiss and tell.”

Still, Jase got the distinct sensation she was younger than she looked. Her lack of spryness frustrated her; that he’d noticed right away.

Christian came barreling into the room, Pokémon action figures in hand. He skidded to a halt in front of Jase, ignoring his grandmother’s huff of irritation. “Wow, you look different,” he announced with the refreshing openness of youth. “Not so wacky.”

Helen cuffed him affectionately on the head. “Mind your manners.” To Jase, she asked, “Have you remembered anything about yourself?”

No, and not for lack of trying. He shook his head.

Helen brushed it off as casually as she dusted the loose hair from his shoulders. “It’ll come.”

“From your mouth...” he mumbled.

“And don’t you forget it.” Helen’s bosom shook as she laughed, the sound infectious. He couldn’t dredge up more than a half smile, but he appreciated the effort. Between the meal and the shower and the growing familiarity of his two companions, the anxiety had abated.

Until he stood and turned to help Helen with the sheet.

She folded her side in half and Jase mimicked her, but when they met in the middle, their fingers brushed...and Helen, Christian and the warm, welcoming living room grayed out. Jase froze, unable to move, while shadows grew and shifted in the corners of his vision. Far away, he heard someone calling, “Jase! Jason!”

A fact stole into his head. Not a memory, something different. And not about him. It curled up like a lazy cat in the sun, content to sleep forever, but Jase couldn’t let it. It was horrible and fantastic, terrifying and magical. He concentrated his whole will on moving and jerked his hand away from Helen’s. Light broke across his vision, like the sun emerging from behind a cloud. He shielded his eyes and realized he was on his knees on the carpet, keening under his breath. Helen knelt beside him, her arm around his shoulders while Christian hovered on his other side, tears shining in his eyes. Jase tried to speak and couldn’t. Frighteningly empty a moment ago, his head now swam with possibilities, none of them his.

“Jase.” Helen swept a hand over his forehead, then clasped his hand. “What happened?”

Jase pressed her fingers in a crushing grip. Well, you see, Helen...I saw the future. Not that he was going to share that little tidbit. It was a small thing compared to the other knowledge that had suddenly come to him. He jammed his other fist against his lips, desperate to stop the low whine that had Christian swiping frightened tears from his eyes.

“It’s okay,” he grunted, the words muffled behind his fist. “I’m okay.” His lie eased some of the fear in the boy’s eyes.

“I don’t believe that load of bull crap for one second,” Helen snapped. Her tone drew shocked looks from both Christian and Jase. “Let’s start by getting back in this chair, and we’ll sort it out from there. No need to be crawling around on the floor like animals.”

Or crazy people. Jase obeyed the tug and climbed back into the green armchair he’d claimed earlier. He knew the rule—crazy people didn’t believe they were crazy. Was he insane, then? Because what he’d seen when he’d touched Helen was a fact. Uncontestable. A fact he could change. “Oh God.” He buried his head in his hands. “Who am I? What am I?”

“Easy now,” Helen cooed. “Christian, fetch me a glass of water.”

Jase waited for the boy to scamper into the kitchen, then spoke before he lost his nerve. He straightened and looked Helen in the eye. “You’re sick,” he said, voice toneless. “You’re dying.”

Helen scooped in a deep breath and backed away, but Jase had barely begun to grieve the loss before she advanced again, nails biting like talons into Jase’s arm. She bent down until they were eye to eye. “How do you know that?”

He couldn’t stand the fear in her voice. Lumbering to his feet, he staggered to lean against the fireplace mantel, and she let him go. They watched each other across the room, neither speaking, Jase reeling with his new knowledge. Helen had to be wondering why she’d ever brought him into her home, and he couldn’t blame her.

Finally, Helen looked down at the sheet still clutched in her hand. Her fingers trembled. “How, young man,” she asked, sounding stronger and more in control, “could you possibly know that?”

Christian’s arrival cut off Jase’s reply. No way in hell was he going to say another word in front of the boy—he’d lost enough. Christian paused with his dripping glass of water, glancing back and forth. Jase pulled himself together with one mighty breath. “That’s for your gramma.”

Still wary, Christian handed the water over, and Helen accepted it without comment.

Jase’s legs were going to fail him at any second. What had prompted him to say anything? What kind of person paid back kindness and understanding with a death notice? Twice he tried to explain, but the pain in her eyes robbed his breath. In the street outside the brownstone, a horn honked. Someone yelled, “Wait! I’m coming!” and as though the words held magic, Jase’s paralysis broke. He lifted a hand toward Helen, the urge to touch her sudden and urgent.

“Please. Let me help you.”

She took a step backward, and her fear erased the last of the complacent laziness he’d been feeling.

“Stop,” he said, and she did, retreating no further.

“What’s going on?” Christian asked, bustling in front of his grandmother and glaring at Jase. “What did you do?”

Christian, he almost said. Let me do this. Or you’re going to be alone again very soon. He stayed silent; the words would be beyond cruel to a child who’d already lost his parents. And there wasn’t a need. The moment he’d touched Helen’s hand and seen the cancer inside her, he’d known he could fix it. Insane, but the whole day had been a carnival ride. Strangely, this part felt more honest than the rest.

“Do you want me to go?” he asked, choking on the request, wondering if he’d be able to walk away, even if she asked him to. The compulsion to stay and help threatened to overpower everything, even good sense.

Dazed, Helen shook her head. “No.” She brought the glass of water to her lips, her hands shaking hard enough that water sloshed onto her sweater. She took a long sip, then handed it to Christian. “Sweetheart.” She focused on the child for a moment. “I’d like you to go play in your room for a bit.”

Jase watched him and knew the moment Christian cottoned on to the danger. “No,” he said, actually stomping his foot like a toddler, but Helen’s stern look had him stalking away, head hanging. Jase pretended not to see the glare the boy shot his way as he disappeared down the hall.

Helen took a deep breath. Without a smile to crinkle the laugh lines on her face, her skin sagged. Tremors still ran through her, but she surprised him with her next words. “Sit down, Jase,” she said, “and tell me what you know of this illness you claim I have.”

He obeyed, crossing to the chair and sinking into it with relief. One more minute and he would have fallen over. With shock. With fear. And maybe even a little grief. Whoever he’d been in the past, that man was gone, eclipsed by another man—Jase—who could do fantastic and terrifying things. He cleared his throat and clasped his hands between his knees. “You have cancer,” he said, choosing not to sugarcoat their conversation. He figured Helen would appreciate it. “You’ve suspected for a while, but—”

“I was afraid.” She pressed two fingers to her lips, cutting her eyes away to the window. “Yes. Afraid what it would mean for Christian. I denied the pain, the signs. Thought if I ignored it...” Tears shone in her eyes when she looked back. “So he’ll be alone again.”

“No.” And this was the other part. The opposite side of the horrible and the terrifying. The other thing he’d seen when they touched. “No. I’m not going to let you die. I won’t let Christian be alone. I can help you.”

Eyes owl-wide, she blinked at him. “How?”

He had no idea. But he knew he could. For the first time since he’d awakened, since he’d been born on that park bench under the oaks, something other than nausea swelled in his stomach and spread into his chest. Hope.

“I don’t know exactly how,” he admitted, and Helen gave a nervous laugh, too close to a sob for Jase’s liking. “I just know I can.” Pushing himself upright on unsteady legs, he walked to Helen’s side, then dropped to his knees beside her chair. “Give me your hand.”

Her eyebrows shot up over the rims of her glasses, but she held out her arm, then scowled at the offending limb as though it hadn’t asked her permission to move. “Holding hands didn’t go so well for us last time.”

“Yes, but...trust me.”

Could he even trust himself? He stared at her hand until Helen spoke.

“I knew when Christian pointed you out,” she said, voice cracking. “I knew there was something about you.”

Jase shook his head. “How did you know?”

“I—” Helen looked down at her outstretched hand. “I can’t explain it. I wanted to help you. I needed to help you. I’ve never felt such a strong need before.”

What rabbit hole had he fallen into? And what had happened to him there?

Tears splashed over Helen’s cheeks. When her hand began to tremble, Jase shook off his doubts. “I’m glad you did,” he said. “You’re a good person, Helen, for taking me in. Now I’m going to help you. ”Five minutes ago, he’d been nobody and had nothing. Now he owned one thing, but it dwarfed simple concerns like his name and age. Some tasks, learned intuitively, could be mastered in a heartbeat, while others took years. This skill would be easy; he felt it to his core. Maybe he’d been doing it all his life. He had no idea, but it felt new. Fresh and clean. He tightened his grip, then freed the power inside him and sent it through their joined hands.

It hurt.

Not her. In fact, she gasped and a flush overspread her cheeks. A small moan, nothing more than a breath of air, crossed her lips.

For Jase, the experience couldn’t have been more different. At first it felt like he’d thrust his hand into a hornet’s nest—a thousand tiny pinpricks of pain stung his palm. They spread up his arm, across his shoulder and down into his chest. Jase moaned too, his more pitiful than hers, but he held on, understanding instinctively what was happening. He was the poultice, drawing out her poison, taking it into himself and crushing it with his will. This was no delicate surgery. He attacked, ousting what had invaded her fragile body. He gritted his teeth, biting back a pained cry. Its end was both quiet and definitive, like the closing of a door. Jase released her hand and let himself fall backward onto the carpet. After a moment’s consideration, he kept going until his back hit the floor. Dazed, he stared up at the cracked plaster ceiling, flying on a high that had come on as suddenly as the pain had left. His heart raced. His toes tingled. Christ, he was hard.

The last was downright funny, and he laughed, a series of hearty barks that brought tears to his eyes. He lifted his head to look at Helen. Boneless against the back of the chair, she stared at him, mouth ajar. Outwardly, she looked the same, but Jase knew the truth.

He’d cured her.

“Was it as good for you as it was for me?” he asked.

Helen’s slack-jawed expression turned into a grin.

* * *

It took some doing to convince Christian that nothing had occurred, because it surely had, and the kid was no idiot. He eyed Jase suspiciously, Pikachu action figure clutched in one fist and a deck of dueling cards in the other. Jase left the watered-down explanation to Helen and retreated to the bathroom, more to escape the boy’s penetrating stare than from any need to recover. His lethargy had beat a path to God knows where. His aches and pains were nothing but a memory. On the inside of his arm the tattoo ached, and absently Jase rubbed it as he tried to bring himself back to earth.

“Mmm.” He pressed his forehead against the cool door. How do you feel? Helen had asked before he’d run and hid. Fine, he’d replied, because how could he explain the exquisite high he was riding without sounding like a blissed-out addict? Concentrating on long, deep breaths, he scooped icy water from the tap and splashed it on his face. “Get a grip,” he mumbled.

A tentative knock at the door had him reaching for the embroidered hand towel on the sink. “Jase?” a small voice called.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, Christian?”

“Gramma wants to know if you’re okay.”

Helen was concerned. Christian was still holding a grudge. Jase would have to be deaf to miss the distrust in the boy’s voice. The elation was fading, but enough lingered to give him the courage to take the bull by the horns. He opened the door, startling Christian into stepping back into the wall. Drawing in a deep breath, Jase stuck his hands in the front pockets of his pants and leaned against the jamb, casual as could be—as if he hadn’t just exerted some sort of superpower on an old woman—and met the boy’s eyes. “You mad at me?”

Christian shrugged. “No,” he insisted, but his eyes slid away to rest on the framed picture on the wall beside Jase’s head.

Undaunted, Jase said, “Thanks for your help today.”

Another small shrug and a mumbled, “You’re welcome.” At least it was something. Jase plowed ahead.

“Most other people would have stayed far away from me.”

Christian blinked as if Jase had suggested he stomp on a puppy. “But you looked like you needed help.”

Jase took his turn in the shrugging game. “Most people would have walked away anyway. You didn’t back down. That was very brave. Your dad would have been proud of you.” And probably would have beaten the kid for his lapse of judgment, but Jase didn’t add that. Christian rejoined with, “What’s wrong with Gramma?”

Jase let the surprise roll over and through him. Why was he shocked? Kids weren’t blind, even if most adults treated them that way. “She was sick.”

The boy swallowed several times before asking, “Bad?”

Jase felt a tendril of the euphoria return. “No. Not anymore.” He held his hand out and Christian took it. “She’s going to be fine. You’re both going to be fine.”

Christian’s eyes grew heavy-lidded for a moment, and then he nodded. “Okay. You’re right. We’re both going to be fine.”

Jase frowned, the pattern of influence now too obvious to ignore. This subliminal power of his might have been the most amazing and horrifying thing of all. He’d been able to pretend ignorance, but now...he could almost see the boy’s will, as though it were a physical thing, his to bend and shape.

The healing, the power to influence others, and the memory loss—they had to be related. Or had he always done this, felt this way? No. He shook his head. Impossible. He wouldn’t have forgotten that he could heal. Not willingly. But the realization that he could direct people’s actions with nothing more than a word terrified him, frankly. The responsibility felt like a two-ton weight on his shoulders. He’d need to be careful.

* * *
They were all content to forgo any additional excitement for the evening. Jase nurtured the tentative truce with Christian, playing video games until Helen interrupted them for dinner. Nobody talked about the police or suggested Jase go to the hospital. They sure as hell didn’t discuss Helen’s terminal illness over their peas and carrots or how Jase had healed her. Helen affected a definitive “we’ll deal with it tomorrow” attitude, for which Jase was thankful. Wrung dry emotionally, he went to bed when Christian did, stripping down to his T-shirt and underwear and curling up on the adjacent twin bed in the boy’s bedroom.

“We’ll find out who you are tomorrow, Jase,” Christian said through a yawn. He fell into sleep like every child, quickly and deeply, leaving Jase alone with his worries.

Would they solve the mystery tomorrow? He had his doubts. And the nagging notion that he shouldn’t go looking for the answers endured, clutching at his brain like a razor-sharp claw. “Who am I?” He traced the tattoo on his arm. His skin tingled where his calloused finger rubbed the ink.

Forty. Forty what?

Christian mumbled in his sleep, and Jase peered at him through the dark, smiling in spite of himself. At least he wasn’t alone anymore. The thought gave him comfort, but not enough to offset the nagging worry that he had his own family somewhere. Idly, he scratched at his ring finger, circling the smoother skin where, at one point recently, a ring had sat.

Sleep remained elusive. He tossed and turned, feeling every lump in the old mattress while he listened to Christian snoring softly in the bed across the room. Eventually, he drifted into a semiconscious state, where a parade of unfamiliar faces flashed through his head, their lips moving as they spoke, the words impossible to decipher. A bell started to ring. The deep gongs reverberated in his ears, their precise cadence hypnotizing. Half-asleep, he counted them, wondering why they seemed to go on and on when it couldn’t be past ten o’clock at night. They continued—ten, twenty, thirty, forty.

Forty, Jase thought before sleep finally reined him in.

He woke to screaming. His own.

As his throat closed around his next frantic yell, a light came on in the room and Christian appeared beside his bed, tousled and crying and clutching his pillow. Helen dashed in, her housecoat thrown on inside out over her nightgown. Out of its bun, her hair was long and full, curling over her shoulder in a thick braid. It brushed his face when she leaned over his bed. She shook him by the shoulders and called his name.

His reply emerged as a wheeze. He’d screamed himself hoarse.

“Sorry, sorry,” he choked, kicking the covers free and shoving past Helen as gently as he could. He needed to leave. To go.

Stumbling into the hallway, he bounced off the opposite wall before jogging barefoot toward the front door. Both Helen and Christian followed, Christian tugging at his T-shirt, begging him to stop. The boy’s cries sounded far off, his tiny hands nothing more than a tickle of sensation against his skin.

He had to leave.

Helen trailed behind, calling a name. It wasn’t even his name, just one she’d given him. He didn’t belong here. “I have to go,” he growled when Christian gave up trying to hold him back and squeezed between Jase and the front door. “Let me go.”

“You’re not even dressed.” The boy shoved him in the stomach, bracing himself against the door. “Are you crazy?”

That brought him up short when nothing else had. He leaned over Christian’s smaller frame and rested his forehead against his hair, marking how the boy’s shoulders rose and fell in agitation. “Yeah, kid. Crazy like a fox. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

Christian answered with a sniff. He gave up pushing on Jase’s stomach and threw his arms around his waist.

Helen hovered, hands fluttering at her throat. She’d left one slipper behind at the other end of the hall, and her braid had come loose. Stray tendrils formed a wild halo about her face. “Come along, child,” she said, voice frail but authoritative. “Back to bed.”

Jase nearly cried when he realized she was talking to him and not Christian. Another surge of Go! Now! took him, but this time he managed to resist throwing Christian out of his way. “Can’t go back,” he said, swiveling so he could growl it in her face. Hating himself, he used his power to bend her thoughts. “I have to go forward.”

“Fine! At least go forward with your pants on,” she snapped back. Christian made a hiccupping sound.

Like a rising seesaw, Jase’s mind tipped up and away from the fear, restoring a bit of rationality. He couldn’t say he cared for the ride. The details of the dream weren’t fading, but growing more intense, more detailed. He had a job to do. But he couldn’t deny it was the middle of the night, he was almost naked and he had nothing to carry him forward on his mission. Not even his name.

He stopped struggling and let Helen guide him into the living room. With a gentle pressure on his shoulder, she pushed him into a seat. “I’d offer a cup of tea, but truth be told, I don’t think I should leave you alone at the moment.” She waved Christian back when he tried to ease around the doorway into the room.

Jase watched the exchange with dismay. “And just how do you think you’d stop me, if I really made up my mind to go?” he challenged, sick with shame at his tone, but too distraught to correct it. “Sic your grandkid on me?” He pressed his palms to his eyelids.

“Careful. I just might.”

Jase peeked between his fingers to where Christian huddled in the doorway. The boy scrunched up his face and growled like a tiger.

Jase rolled his eyes back to Helen. “Scary.”

Helen’s mouth thinned at his peevish tone. “You can’t fool me. I know all you have to do is tell me to get out of your way, and I will. In fact, if you asked for everything I own, I’d give it to you, wouldn’t I?”

Jase beat back another wave of shame. “I’d never do that.” Helen had done nothing but help him since they’d met, but he was too tired and terrified to care about her delicate sensibilities. “I know you don’t understand. Hell, I don’t even understand. I feel like I’ve fallen into some twisted fairy tale. Nothing makes any sense. But I have to leave. The dream—I need—” How did he explain the dream? “There’s someplace I need to be. Someone I need to help.”

Helen’s fingers curled into his shoulder. “Someone like me?”

“Yes.” Jase nodded. Exactly like her.

Outside, the wind howled, bitingly cold with the coming winter, and Jase shivered. He reached for his euphoria of earlier but felt as lonely and isolated as the moment he’d awakened on the park bench. Bracing his hands on the arms of the chair, he levered himself to his feet, scowling when Helen startled and Christian made a surprised yelp.

“I just want my clothes,” Jase said. “I’m cold.”

Helen drew her robe around her, then lowered herself to the sofa, sending Christian down the hall with a wave of her hand. He was back a few seconds later with Jase’s pants. Jase drew them on, though they didn’t help with the chill that had settled around his heart.

Helen clasped her hands in her lap. “Will you tell me?”

He found he wanted to share the burden. He looked to Christian, then caught Helen’s eye and tried to communicate his wishes silently, but she shook her head. “I think he should be allowed to stay and listen.”

Well, Jase didn’t. He took hold of the new bundle of power within himself and spoke. “Send him away.”

Her breath caught on a couple of shallow inhales, and her fingers tightened in the terry robe, but she obeyed. “Christian, back to bed. Everything’s going to be fine. Jase and I are going to have a little talk. I’ll be there to tuck you in soon.”

Jase swallowed his self-disgust. Helen might think Christian mature enough to handle the truth, but Jase didn’t agree, and he had the power to win the battle. He reached for his shoes as he struggled with how to begin, removing the balled-up socks from the sneakers. In the end, he cut to the chase. “Helen, I’m sorry. But I really have to go.”

Her eyes brightened. “You’ve remembered something.”

Jase blinked. She was the type to hope for the best.

“No.” He paused in tying his laces. “I had a dream. Only, it wasn’t a dream. There’s somebody I need to get to. Quickly. It’s not like you—” He waved in her direction. “It’s more...I have to hurry.”

“Jase.” Helen scooted to the edge of her seat, throwing her shoulders back as she prepared her lecture.

“No,” he barked, cutting her off. She was far too used to bargaining with a child, and his patience was wearing thin. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t understand.”

“Do you even understand it?” Her question felt more profound than he thought she probably intended.

“Not yet.” But he was determined to figure it out. Not immediately. Not tonight. But someday. “I need to get to Kansas City.”

His words hung in the air. Jase clenched his teeth and waited. Helen knew what he needed; she had to know. Here was their moment of truth, and Jase prayed she would agree to help him, because if she didn’t, he’d take what he needed, damn both his conscience and the consequences.

What kind of man treated people like this? Maybe he was a monster, after all.

“The bus station is close, just a few blocks away,” was what Helen said when she broke the silence. “You can walk or we can call a cab. The ticket to Kansas City shouldn’t be outlandish. I’ve got more than enough cash in the house.”

Jase whispered a broken thank-you into his fist and made a silent promise that he would ask for nothing more.

Ten minutes later, she pressed double the amount he needed into his hand, then added a brown bag with a sandwich, chips and an apple. The food catered to a child’s taste. Christian’s, no doubt—packed ahead of time for school. Peanut butter oozed from the edges of the gummy white bread. He dropped it on the table. “I don’t take food from children.”

She handed it right back. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not destitute. I’ll make him another one.”

“I won’t—”

“You won’t what?” she asked, her voice loud enough that Jase darted a glance toward the bedrooms. “You won’t take a goddamned sandwich? After what you did for me?” Her voice wavered over the profanity. Tears welled at the corners of her eyes. “Now you listen here. What you gave me...I could work the whole rest of my life and never repay you.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” he blurted, then blanched. Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut?

“You think I don’t know that?” Helen smoothed her hair back, holding it away from her cheeks for a long moment before dropping her arms to her sides. Frail, but determined, she said, “It was for him.”

Yes. For Christian.

“Will he be a good man?” Helen whispered. “Will he do great things?”

At a loss, Jase backed away. “I don’t know.” Not a lie, exactly, but it wasn’t as though the boy’s future had played out before his eyes. Christian was important, but why was something Jase couldn’t put his finger on. He thought he might have known—in that split second when he’d touched Helen’s hand—but if he had, the truth had slipped away as cleanly as water down a drain. He had no hope of calling it back. He was sure of one thing: Christian needed Helen. The boy couldn’t lose someone else; the grief would wrap him in enough bitterness that he would never...never what? Jase pressed a hand to his forehead. That part was out of reach. Down the drain—or at least behind a curtain he had no business pulling back. He’d done his part. “Take care of him,” he instructed, then tucked the money into his pocket and the brown bag
under his arm.

At the threshold, he paused, fighting the urge to take the few steps to Christian’s bedroom. He wanted to say goodbye, to see him one more time, even if he had no right.

No, your part is done.

He left, closing the door firmly behind him, and made his way out of the brownstone to the street. At the corner, he turned right, not bothering to look for a cab, and started toward the bus station. Soon his brisk walk became a jog. Quickly, a voice in his head chanted. Faster.

At the next corner, he stopped long enough to fish the sandwich from the bag. He ate as he jogged, focusing on the taste of peanut butter. He was twelve hours old, saddled with a mission he didn’t understand, and still just as clueless about himself as he’d been the moment he’d smelled burning leaves.

There was no room in his new life for Christian. The boy had to let him go, to grow up and do the things he was destined to do. Jase needed to forget him too.

But he knew he wouldn’t.