《Severed Branch》


 Chapter 1

    Davis Archer was stirring a noodle mixture on the stove when he was startled by a soft ding set off to his right. His new watch then vibrated and another sound emitted from his laptop on the counter.


    It was not that the 26-year-old was worried about missing any notifications. Rather, his new phone was light years ahead of the flip phone he''d recently replaced and he hadn''t worn a watch for ages. There was also the fact that he didn''t receive many messages. He was unaware of the cavalcade of notifications a simple text message would bring with it.


    He also had no idea how his text messages synced to his computer. That was an issue for another time as he was equally unaware how to undo it.


    Davis finished stirring with his right hand and set the spoon down on the stove. He then turned his attention to his text message. He first checked his watch and saw that it was from Lucy and then eagerly grabbed for his phone.


    "What are you up to? I just got home from work."


    He read the message a second time on his phone and a rush of excitement washed over him. Lucy had been one of only a few women to get him to this point of a relationship over the last five years. They''d met online and had been texting for three weeks. He liked to move slow with women, and she was often busy with work, so it wasn''t a major issue. They had started talking on the phone about a week and a half ago.


    "Making dinner. Ziti."


    "That sounds so good. I should make that tonight."


    "This recipe is pretty easy. I can send it to you."


    After hitting send, Davis rummaged through the bookmarks on his phone for the recipe. He wanted to share it with Lucy and swiped away a couple of responses as he closed in on the link. Once found, he turned his attention back to the conversation.


    He saw the unread messages:


    "Actually, I''d rather just eat what you made ??"


    "I know you want to go slow, but I really want ziti and am too tired to make it myself."


    "Seems like a good enough reason to meet in person ??"


    The wind left Davis'' body as he did not expect this. He''d been very deliberate with the relationship process. He was not ready for an in-person meeting.


    Every moment he did not respond felt like an eternity. His palms became sweaty, and he was getting a knot in his stomach that was threatening nausea.


    "Or not...? ??"


    He indelicately tossed his phone onto the counter. It clattered on the hard surface and slid a couple of inches before coming to a stop.


    Davis looked average in most ways. He carried with a bit more muscle than fat on his 5-foot-9 frame. He was clean-shaven with dark brown hair parted to the right and often wore thicker black glasses. Looking ordinary was not his intention, but he appreciated the ability to blend into a crowd.


    His most defining feature was a heavily tattooed left arm and he often wore long sleeves. A short-sleeved black vintage hockey t-shirt did little to cover the artwork on this night.


    He was a smoker and rarely drank. He was a runner, but not health conscious. He did plan to quit smoking if it became an issue in a relationship, but now sure as hell was not the time.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    Davis grabbed a pack of Camel Lights out of the left pocket of his coat, which hung on a kitchen chair. He lowered his head by the stove and lit his cigarette off the flame cooking his dinner. Immediately, he took a long drag and leaned back on the counter, holding his smoke. He then exhaled upwards before dropping his chin to his chest.


    Now was the time, he thought. Not over text.


    He''d love to invite Lucy to his apartment for dinner, but he needed to be honest first. It was only fair to her and would spare himself added heartbreak down the road.


    Lucy was a 24-year-old nurse he had connected with on a dating site. Davis thought she was cute and would the word "spunky" if he were to describe her. She was 5-foot-3, with skin that seemed to stay tan all year round. Her dark brown hair had subtle blue streaks and was in variations of messy ponytails in every picture he''d seen. He loved that. She was a comfortable, yet trendy, dresser and that was a match for her outing and relaxed personality.


    Lucy''s personality made Davis optimistic about a successful relationship. She was often busy with work, so she did not demand much from Davis early on. She also lived far enough away that not having an in-person date wasn''t weird¡ªyet.


    Davis had smoked three-quarters of his cigarette when he finally looked at his phone. He''d ignored another series of alerts.


    "Was it something I said?"


    He stamped out his cigarette in the ashtray near his phone and slid it away from the counter''s edge. He reached for his phone and went to the phone book to find Lucy''s number. There were only four phone numbers stored in the phone, so it was a quick search.


    Davis touched her name to start a call and his eyes lingered on her photo. It was the first photo she''d sent him and he assigned it to her phone book entry. The picture was from a wedding the previous summer. She is smiling on a balcony in front of a beach wearing a sundress and holding a drink. He liked her inviting smile and big brown eyes. Sometimes he''d pull up the photo while they were texting as if he was talking to the woman in the image.


    "Hi."


    Lucy''s voice had a hint of excitement as she answered and snapped him out of his daze.


    "Sorry about that. I was getting the ziti into the oven," he lied. In actuality, his dinner was overcooking on the stovetop.


    "I just wanted to talk rather than text," he added.


    "No worries," she offered. She was audibly nervous, but she was trying to stay cool.


    "I would love to see you in person and make you dinner, but I need to talk to you about some things first."


    He continued quickly to dispel some immediate concerns that he figured may pop into her head.


    "I''m not married or anything. I also don''t have any kids," he started. "We can meet, eat and do whatever¡ª like normal people. I assure you. I want to tell you some things about me first."


    He winced a little bit over his choice of the phrase "like normal people." "Normal people," he thought, don''t need to qualify the fact that what they are doing is "normal."


    "Umm... okay," she responded, more confused than nervous.


    "I want you to know that I never lied to you about anything. I''m very inexperienced with dating, so I''ve been very deliberate about what I''ve told you about me. I want you to really get to know me before we meet in person, so there are some things about my past that I need to tell you."


    He took a breath to gauge her response.


    "So, what is it?"


    "Long story with context or short story like a band aid?"


    "What the hell are you talking about?" she asked.


    He winced. This was not going well.


    "I''d love to tell you everything, give you context and details. The short story may be the most effective and you can choose to hear more context if you''d like."


    "I was worried at first. Now I''m just confused. Are you really sure you want to make me work this hard this early in a relationship? I was asking about fucking dinner. I didn''t ask you to meet my parents. Just relax and say what you have to say. I''m tired from work and the excitement this whole thing started with wore off a while ago."


    "I was in prison," he blurted out. "Well, sort of. Juvenile detention until I was 21," he quickly added.


    "Ummm... okay."


    "It was high profile where I''m from," he said. He was talking fast. "I want you to hear it from me, not from somewhere else. I also think you need to know before this goes too far too."


    There was a pause.


    "I''m also an awkward fucker," he added, hoped to bring some levity to the conversation. "That certainly doesn''t help matters."


    "What did you do?" she asked matter-of-factly.


    It didn''t work.


    "I was convicted of involuntary manslaughter when I was 13. I was charged as a juvenile and released when I turned 21."


    He finally said something clearly and with certainty. He''d known exactly what he would say when the time came, but this was the first time he''d said those words out loud. Lucy was the third woman he''d told his secret, but the first he told like this.


    Davis wanted a woman he was dating to get to know him first, to see who he was now. If they got to know the real him, they might not worry so much about his past. He looked for the right time to be upfront, that way they would not feel misled or betrayed later.


    He had limited experience in these conversations, but he was not optimistic by how this one was going.


    "What was your name?" she said.


    Lucy was Googling him and not finding anything.


    "Shit," he thought. This was not good. The details would be much better coming from him.


    "T. Davis Collins," he replied with resignation in his voice. "I changed it to ''Archer'' and dropped the ''T'' when I turned 18."


    Lucy let out a sigh. This was not what she expected when she playfully invited herself over for dinner.


    The silence lasted a little over two minutes. He could hear the tapping and clicking of her computer, as well as intermittent sighs. Each sigh chipped away at Davis'' confidence that this would end well.


    "I have a lot to think about," she finally offered. "I''ll..." she sighed deeply once more. "I''ll call you."


    She hung up.


    There was a strong emphasis on "you" that was plain as day: "Don''t call me." All his energy drained from his body. He walked over to the stove, turned it off, and scraped the ziti mixture straight into the garbage. He hadn''t noticed it was ruined beyond saving. He wouldn''t have cared anyway. He''d quickly lost his appetite.


    It was just 7:30 p.m., but he wanted this day to be over. He grabbed his prescription of Lorazepam and a bottle of over-the-counter sleeping pills. He took one of the former and two of the latter and laid in bed. He kicked off his shoes and decided his shorts were comfortable enough to sleep in. At least his pockets were empty. He fell asleep quickly, just as tears began to form in his eyes.

 Chapter 2

    There was a sharp knock at the door, startling Davis awake. The only sound he heard as he got his bearings of the new day was the constant pounding. He then heard yelling. The voices were unintelligible but distinctly angry. He rushed from his bedroom to see what was happening and find the source of the commotion. At the same time, knew in the back of his mind and the pit of his stomach what was happening.


    As he inched towards the door, the pounding and shouting grew louder. The cacophony of sound was recognizable as voices, but he was unable to discern words. As his hand reached out for the doorknob, the door flew open.


    How it did not hit him, he did not know. The shock must have made him jump back, as he was standing in the middle of his kitchen as the mob entered the apartment. There was a steady stream of familiar faces of random people in the building. They were followed by people from the neighborhood and then others he''d seen at the grocery store. He seemed to be watching from above. He saw every person he''d seen over the last five years filed through his door holding signs and shouting.


    The voices were now formed and very clear.


    "Murderer!"


    "Killer!"


    "You killed that boy!"


    His secret had gotten out and everyone came to run him out of town. Despite hundreds of people streaming into his one-bedroom apartment, he was calm. He knew there was still plenty time to run. But where? The bedroom door was a lot lighter than the apartment door they had kicked in, so he''d be a sitting duck. There was only one choice and that was out of his second-story window. He lunged for his computer, but it wasn''t there. It must be in his backpack that was over his shoulder. Feeling the weight of the bag, he turned towards the window and started at a full run.


    He soon felt his body make contact with the window¡ªhis arms outstretched to clear a path for his more vital parts. Where he anticipated resistance from the glass, there was the feeling of cotton. The give of the broken window was replaced by a net holding him in. The more he fought, the more entangled he became.


    Davis jolted awake and snapped out of his fight against the top sheet. His room was pitch black. He freed his head and stared at the ceiling. He felt relief, but disappointment soon filled the room. He''d had this dream before¡ªa lot of times before. There were similar dreams while he was in juvie. They increased in regularity as his release approached. Over the last five years, the dreams were more infrequent. They usually indicated one of two things: he felt too comfortable, or he thought his secret was out.


    The dreams first started as nightmares. Now, while not enjoyable, it was less scary. The mob never reached him. The dream itself was a harbinger of sorts, appearing in more than enough time to get away. Whenever he dreamed about the mob, he knew he had one of two options. He could hunker down in his bedroom and wait for the mob to get him or he could jump out the window and move on.


    He generally jumped.


    It was 4 a.m. when Davis jolted awake. There would be no mob before dawn, so he decided he may as well start working.


    Davis was a writer. That''s what he did, he wrote. He felt "author" was too misleading. He wrote. Almost every day, all day, he sat down at his computer and put words on paper. He was rarely "inspired," and did not have ambitions of the next great work of literature. He wrote mostly fiction and it was mostly his own work. He published under the pseudonym James Carrick.


    The author photo for James Carrick, he decided, would be fairly ridiculous. It was a black and white photo of himself hunched over a typewriter gazing into the distance. It offered the right amount of pretension to lend credibility, but also made you not want to meet him. The person in this picture, he thought, was probably an ostentatious prick. It also made him look 20-30 years older, so any ironic attachment to a typewriter was lost.


    James Carrick published six pulp novels since Davis was released from juvenile detention. Dr. Nevada Kane, the protagonist, was a gritty archeologist. His historically accurate adventures took him throughout 1920''s Egypt and northern Africa.


    Dr. Kane was also a clear tongue-in-cheek knock-off of Indiana Jones.


    Since Davis was always writing, he sometimes wrote essays on a wide array of sports topics. He had no real friends to speak off. The essays stemmed from conversations he had with himself. When enough had piled up, he offered them to his editor as an anthology. This was published under the name "Jimmy Carrick."


    "Davis Archer," meanwhile, was a writing fixer of sorts. He did uncredited work ghostwriting novels in a successful crime series. He filled in the minutiae for a best-selling author who, due to his contract, he was not allowed to name. For these jobs, his quality, speed, and discretion proved to be lucrative qualities. Davis'' editor was well-connected and funneled jobs his way. This allowed him to forgo a literary agent.


    As a writer, Davis had done well for himself. His own book series was moderately successful as low-cost paperbacks. His book of sports essays was excerpted and syndicated around the country. It also made a top-20 list for sports books released that year.


    The writing came easy because he focused on school while incarcerated. He had limited distractions and was interested in sticking to himself in juvie. He received his GED at 16 and earned a double bachelor''s degree from Grand Canyon University. He did online coursework and majored in English and history, graduating at 20. "Proud" was not the right word, but he was happy to be a... were they the Grand Canyon Antelopes? He never cared to remember, but he did have a t-shirt with whatever their mascot was emblazoned on it. It was a gift from the learning coordinator that helped him finish his degrees.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Davis wrote his first Dr. Nevada Kane adventure novel while in juvenile detention. The book was accepted for publishing when he was released. He also had his first ghost-writing assignment lined up.


    This line of work allowed him to remain isolated, but on his own terms. He could work from anywhere, which meant he could move whenever he started to feel uneasy.


    He was facing deadlines this morning for a new draft of his next novel. He also faced a deadline for the final draft of another author''s next book.


    Davis was still in his clothes from the day before when he settled into his chair in front of the computer. The sun began to glow on the horizon outside his living room window. This apartment sucked for writing. There were sterile white walls and just two total windows. This made it a chore to do anything that required inspiration. He''d set his desk up in front of the lone window in the living room to make the best of a bad situation.


    Every time he chose a new apartment, Davis chose function over distinction. These large, indistinct complexes often had partially furnished accommodations. He was able to blend into a crowd of residents and did not have to lug around a sofa when he moved. This particular unit also came with pots and pans. Judging by the condition, they may have been left behind by the previous tenant.


    He was debating which writing project to continue when Lucy crept into his mind. He liked her. In a normal situation, they''d be a great match and could have a nice, normal relationship. With his history, he was just happy that she was as patient as she was, and he was grateful for the opportunity. When it came time, he hoped she would be understanding, at least more so than Lisa or Karen. Definitely more than Leslie, who found out his secret on her own. That could not have gone worse.


    Hope flickered inside Davis for a moment, which pained him all that much more. He decided not to fight it. He wanted to see how she was feeling, which he could usually glean from her social media presence. This was a valuable took for knowing his standing with her early in the relationship. He became less reliant after the first couple of phone calls.


    Lucy was active on Instagram and Facebook. Instagram was for show, but she relied on Facebook for sharing her thoughts. He didn''t have a Facebook account. He avoided social media for the obvious headaches it could cause. He did maintain one social media account, a Twitter page under @JamesCarrick_1. That was more for work and promotion. The account followed one other account, his publisher, and featured 3,245 followers. He sent about three tweets a month to his audience of fans, corporate accounts and bots.


    He clicked on the bookmark that led to her publicly available Facebook page. As it loaded, he tried to prepare for every possible reaction. When he arrived it was, well, pretty bad.


    Lucy Atwater: OMG, the guy I''m seeing killed someone. Just found out tonight. He was a kid, but WTF.


    Not a good start. Then he scanned some of the more engaged comments.


    Sandy Ellington: What? who?


    Lucy Atwater: He was 13 and did it out of revenge or whatever. He got out of prison when he turned 21.


    Sandy Ellington: I REMEMBER THAT!!! Holy shit. That happened near where I grew up in Seattle. That''s fucking crazy. Are you okay?


    Lucy Atwater: I''ll be fine. Thankfully we never met in person. He wanted to tell me before, I dunno, sleeping with me?


    Sandy Ellington: I''m glad your safe. Block. Block. Block. Maybe change your number.


    Lucy Atwater: ??


    Denise Miller: That''s fucking crazy!


    Tracy Miller: Who''d he kill?!?


    This last comment made Davis especially uneasy. Tracy''s photo looked familiar, and he realized she lived in his building. They rarely spoke outside of a ''hi'' or head nod, but she was nosey and, by all accounts, the building busy body. She could cause issues around the building if she made the connection.


    What are the fucking odds, he wondered, that Lucy would know someone in his building?


    Denise Miller: I talked to Lucy OTP, I think this is it: https://www.seattletimes.com/seattle-news/crime/juvenile-sentenced-in-death-of-13-year-old-classmate</a>


    Tracy Miller: Holy shit. He looks kinda familiar. What does he look like now? Lucy Atwater, do you have a pic?


    Lucy Atwater: In your email.


    Tracy Miller: NNOOOOOO. He lives in my building! What do I fucking do?


    Steve Shearer: Tell your manager. I''m sure he can kick him out. There''s probably something in his lease about public safety.


    Chad Trombley: Dude USED to live in your building. Tracy''s nosey ass is going get that guy KICKED. THE. FUCK. OUT! LOL


    Shit.


    He closed out of the tab and leaned back in his chair to take stock of what he had read. He tried to remain calm and looked around for his cigarettes. He spied them on the counter and rolled his chair the eight feet to the kitchen to reach them. He then fished his lighter out of his coat pocket. He lit a cigarette and took a drag while staring out of the window, contemplating his next move.


    Davis surveyed his small apartment. He determined that he would be able to pack everything he owned into two suitcases about 30 minutes. He did not own a TV and none of the furniture. His computer was his primary source of entertainment. He used it for television, movies and video games.


    It only took 25 minutes.


    He returned to his desk dressed for the day in a faded, plain blue long-sleeve t-shirt and gray hiking shorts. With the expectation of an early departure, he also put on his shoes. He smoked a pair of cigarettes as he started looking for a new place to live.


    The knock at the door was surprisingly early¡ª6:30 a.m. A building manager that knocks that early? This apartment could not get any worse.


    "Hold on," he said loud enough to hear through the door, but not shouting out of respect for his neighbors.


    Davis closed his computer and slid it into a backpack. He grabbed his suitcases and worked his way towards the entrance. When he opened the door, a white middle-aged man with a crown of brown hair around his bald head awaited him. The building manager stood there impatiently. He tried to not appear nervous and failed miserably. He had a look of consternation on his round, clean-shaven face. His arms were crossed over a heavier mis-section covered by a loose-fitting t-shirt. When Davis saw him, he was repositioning his arms, nervously. This was less in search of comfort and more in an attempt to strike the proper authority.


    Davis walked past him and into the hall. He moved towards the stairs without acknowledging the manager''s presence.


    Later that day, he''d get a slight kick out of this interaction. He imagined the manager had woken up early and already had several messages. Tracy and her network of building complainers probably reached out last night. Davis imagined him practicing his eviction speech with a "firm, but fair deadline" to move out. He was particularly amusing when juxtaposed with what actually transpired. This would be a great story to tell at parties or with friends. That is, if he went to parties or had friends.


    "Keys are on the table," Davis offered without looking back.


    A few steps later, he stopped and turned. "If I don''t have my security deposit and last month''s rent in my account by the end of the week, you''ll hear from my lawyer," he added.


    He didn''t have a lawyer.


    "But..." was all the manager could muster.


    By this time Davis had reached the stairwell. "Fuck off," he shouted over his shoulder and then disappeared from view.

 Chapter 3

    Jenna let out an audible sigh as she leaned her head against the passenger window. Her neighborhood had come into view. Despite the exciting future, she was lost in thought about the past.


    "Are you okay?" Trent asked his fianc¨¦e. He parked his blue Honda CRV in front of her house, a white colonial-style house with a bright red front door. They had arrived for some final wedding preparations with some friends and family.


    "I''ll be fine," sighed Jenna while she unbuckled her seatbelt and exited the car. "It''s just... I''m excited about the wedding," she started to add, turning to face him as he came around the front of the car. "I''m just a little sad that so little of my family will be there."


    Jenna grew up as a part of a large family. She lost a brother to the criminal justice system when she was eight. Her mother then passed away from pancreatic cancer six years ago. The cancer was undiagnosed until months before her death. Her father then suffered a fatal heart attack 18 months later.


    She still had her 29-year-old brother A.J., as well as his husband Roland, to go with another brother, Derrick. Recently, Derrick''s health had been failing. There was an increasing likelihood that he could be in the hospital for the big day.


    A.J. had served as Jenna''s guardian beginning when she was 15, and he was 21. He filled the void left by her parents admirably. He navigated the special bond between a girl and her mother as a surrogate. He also doted on his little sister like a proud father. A.J. was a corporate lawyer and his added responsibilities made him stoic. He''d known Roland since they were teenagers and his partner helped balance him in recent years. Roland helped A.J. recognize the joys of life, rather than focusing on the difficulties. After all, Jenna was now an adult, he should know that he can unwind a bit.


    Derrick was a strong older brother. He lent extra care and attention to his sister through some difficult teen years. He then moved out of the house shortly after their parents passed and he had become a firefighter. He was the most social of the Collins boys, which made him quick to make friends. That quality added to an absence as he got older. It also allowed him to spend more time with friends to get away from difficulties at home.


    Roland was a strong addition to the family and was able to navigate the changing family dynamic. He was the yin to A.J.''s yang, a dynamic that began when they became closer friends and, later, began dating. A.J. benefited from his infectious optimism and enthusiasm. Roland''s meticulous and organized nature was also invaluable to the shifting family situation. He knew when the family needed light and shifted to comfort mode easily.


    As both the youngest child and the only girl, Jenna was watched over fiercely by the men in her life. She pushed back when possible, developing an independent streak. She and Derrick were similar in their outgoing nature. Meanwhile, her natural enthusiasm was tempered by a stoicism she learned from A.J.


    Jenna was in her third year of the digital design program at Seattle University. She never considered herself artistic, but she had a knack for graphic design. She considered moving into industrial design or drafting with a little more schooling. If her fallback was graphic design, she''d be content, but she was willing to try different career paths. She had two jobs, a well-paid internship at a local design firm and a campus job at Lemieux Library on campus. She worked a lot, but her library job offered a lot of downtime for her schoolwork and wedding planning.


    It was at the library where she met Trent. He caught her eye as a dedicated student that studied at the library a lot. In reality, he was able to navigate his studies pretty well and he had little use for the library. He found actuarial science studies interesting and was naturally gifted in math. He had met Jenna in his second year while working on a history paper. He decided the library would be the best place to read, look at the internet and generally loiter. His favorite spot was the second-closest table to Jenna''s counter. "I didn''t want to look too desperate," he''d tell people when sharing the story of their meeting. It came two months into her time at Seattle U and they became inseparable shortly thereafter. He was quite adaptable, and Jenna appreciated his patience and decisiveness.


    Jenna and Trent had started discussing marriage after two years of dating. Jenna wondered why people waited until after college to get married and Trent picked up on the hint. He bought a ring shortly thereafter and proposed last Christmas. They then found an apartment, which Trent would share with a roommate until the wedding.


    Neither family subscribed to the more old-fashioned values about living together before marriage. It was for more practical reasons that everyone agreed with the decision to wait. Jenna could save money. For Trent, he had moved out of his parent''s house in nearby Tacoma a couple years earlier. His former roommate moved in with him until the wedding.


    A.J. and Roland lived in the Collins family house, moving in ahead of their own wedding. The house was left to all four siblings. A.J. and Roland bought out Derrick''s share a year ago and agreed to buy out Jenna after the wedding. It was the perfect opportunity to give Jenna and Trent a tidy nest egg.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    The remaining brother was not responsive to the executor of their parents'' estate. The couple set aside money to pay off the last share of the house, should the need arise.


    Jenna and Trent approached the home slowly as they discussed her feelings. Trent tugged at Jenna''s elbow before the front stairs.


    "I''m sorry things have been difficult the last few years," he said, putting his left arm on the outside of her bicep. "You said it yourself, this is an opportunity for you to get that big family back. My parents love you and my sisters adore you. We are all here for you."


    She smiled and leaned in for a hug. Her athletic, but petite, figure was absorbed in his tall, stocky frame. Her head came just past his shoulders, allowing her a perfect resting spot for her head when he held her. She liked to tell people this as a sign that they "fit together perfectly."


    Jenna pulled back. Her electric blue eyes¡ªa trait of all the Collins children¡ªconnected with Trent''s brown eyes. She leaned in for a kiss and they held each other tightly for an extra moment before turning back toward the house.


    Sarah, the head bridesmaid, greeted the couple as they entered the foyer. She scrambled for flutes of champagne as she finished off a glass of her own. She''d been best friends with Jenna since they were 10 and, as such, their styles were similar. Sarah was an inch taller but had a similar build. From behind, they looked a lot alike, but Sarah had blonde hair. She also had freckles, a button nose, and brown eyes, which dispelled any notion that they could be sisters.


    When they entered the living room, the rest of the party had already assembled. Trent''s brother and best man David was talking with Roland on the opposite side of the room. A.J. meandered around the room while on the phone.


    David was a spitting image of his younger brother in his round face and curly hair. He was just an inch shorter, but rail thin and wore glasses. Roland and A.J. made a dashing couple. His deep brown skin and A.J.''s olive complexion adorned similarly athletic builds. A.J.''s physique was a natural byproduct of a fast metabolism and stress. Roland, who was two inches shorter, had always been an avid runner. Both were smart casual dressers and they garnered admiring looks when out together.


    "No, that sounds good. You know what you''re doing," A.J. said on his end of the phone conversation. He saw his sister walk in the room and continued, "Listen, my sister and her fianc¨¦ just got here, so I have to get going. You''re in good shape on this. If you need anything else, I can connect with you in a few hours." After a pause, he added, "Yeah," and finished, "You too. Bye."


    He put his phone in his pocket and went straight to his sister. He gave her a kiss on her forehead and a half hug, squeezing her into his torso. He offered his free right hand to shake Trent''s before turning his focus to the room.


    "Now that we''re all here, what should we tackle first?" asked A.J.


    "Well, Roland has the seating chart and an RSVP count with some questions," started David. "Jenna and Trent, you need to make some final decisions on the program."


    "That''s it?" asked Trent. "Shit. This thing is getting close."


    Jenna responded to Trent''s mocking concern with a performative jab in his ribs. She added, "Last chance to back out."


    He met her smile and said, "Not a chance," pulling her close and giving her a kiss.


    Everyone smiled at the couple before A.J. interjected to get the group on track.


    "Roland, why don''t you get us started," he said to his husband.


    Facing the rest of the room he continued, "Roland can give you the long or the short version. Though I warn you, the long version involves a PowerPoint presentation."


    A big smile swept across his face.


    "It does go fast, and the last 45 minutes are really interesting," he added to polite laughs across the room.


    "Why don''t we stick with the short version," Jenna interjected with a smirk on her face.


    "Sorry, babe," A.J. said to Roland.


    Roland chuckled to himself, took a drink of champagne. He pulled out a diagram of the reception as all eyes turned to him. Roland grew up in British Columbia and, as such, had a pronounced Canadian accent. He also embodies some Canadian cliches. He was overly polite and punctuated many sentences with a ubiquitous "eh." He was a civil engineer, loved organization and making things fit together. He was a natural to put together the seating chart and was excited by the challenge.


    "Thanks everyone," he started, laying the diagram on the coffee table. "So, as you can see, I laid out all the RSVPs and expected future RSVPs at the tables. We have 76 confirmed guests, with space for up to about 75% of the late responses, yeah?"


    "Here is a list," he continued, sliding a list of 12 names to Jenna and Trent, who had huddled on the other end of the table. "You can mark up who you think will RSVP or not. Taking into account who can''t be by who and how close we''d want them to the head table, here is where everybody shakes out, eh."


    "I ran with your theme of two families coming together and got a good mix of Collins and Arnolds at each table. No one is on an island," he continued.


    Trent surveyed the materials. He was impressed, but looked at Roland, noticeably with a question in mind.


    "Yeah... hmph," Roland interjected, reading Trent''s mind. "Mary and Rob, eh? Your mother told me they''re separated, but both would be attending. I put them far apart, but in good company"


    Trent was satisfied with the answer. The discussion continued with small talk and inside jokes about some of the guests. At the end, David asked about the PowerPoint presentation and everyone had one last laugh.


    Jenna was quiet throughout the discussion and had a look of consternation on her face. She had entertained the idea of extending an invitation to her third brother, Davis. She was scared to broach the topic with either of her other siblings, so she relented. They''d shot down any thoughts of bringing Davis into the fold in the past. She first introduced the idea when their mother passed. Each time, the conversation turned out to be a non-starter.


    The sadness overcame her as this seemed like the final chance. She followed up the seating chart discussion by excusing herself to the bathroom.

 Chapter 4

    Jenna passed the main floor powder room and opted for her bathroom upstairs. Once inside, she sat on the closed toilet, leaned back, and took some deep breaths.


    Moments later, a knock at the door broke her from her meditative state.


    "Hey kiddo," said a voice she instantly recognized as A.J. "I know you''re not peeing. Can I come in?"


    Jenna looked a bit cross at her brother. He always knew what was going on, but she remained hopeful that he wouldn''t know exactly why she was upset this time. She was not prepared for that conversation.


    "Yeah. Come in."


    A.J. entered and closed the door behind him. He leaned on the sink across from his little sister and waited for her to start.


    She knew she was being petulant, but she refused to start the conversation or even make eye contact.


    The elder Collins made it easy on his sister by not forcing the issue. With the confidence of someone who usually knew what the problem was, he started.


    "I know you''re upset that Derrick might not be there. We still have a couple weeks, and they might find a new kidney for him. There''s the ''Be the Match'' drive coming up. We need to stay positive."


    Jenna''s sadness was compounded by dismay as she wasn''t even thinking about that. Her brother was fighting for his life, and she was upset that a man she''d not seen in 13 years was not invited to her wedding.


    "Yeah," she said after a moment of comprehension. "I''ve been pretty optimistic, really. Sometimes it dawns on me that he won''t be there."


    "I know."


    "I know you agreed to be my ''Man of Honor'' and stand up there with me, but if Derrick isn''t there, I don''t know who will give me away."


    "Listen, I was really flattered you want me to stand up with you. I really am and I''m excited to do so. That said, if you''d like me to give you away, I can."


    "Actually," Jenna paused. It just dawned on her to suggest Davis but dismissed the thought as quickly as it entered her mind. She had already decided that she wanted Roland to be her backup to give her away. It was the most appropriate decision, and she loved her brother-in-law so much. "Actually, I was thinking about Roland. Do you think he''d be my backup to give me away?"


    Tears started to form in A.J.''s wide eyes at this surprising news. He instinctively looked away. A.J. was humbled on his husband''s behalf and knew how much it would mean to him. He took a minute to compose himself before replying.


    "I think that is an amazing idea. He would be honored," he said softly.


    Jenna stood up and gave her big brother a big hug, holding a bit tighter and longer than usual. When the two separated, A.J. turned to the door. Jenna returned to the toilet, sitting on the edge of the seat, staring at her lap where she was fiddling her fingers.


    A.J. turned to face his sister.


    "Is there something else?"


    Jenna took a deep breath. She debated one last time and opted for a buildup to what else was bothering her.


    "You know how our family has gotten smaller? Y''know, we had six of us. Then five. Mom went, then Dad. It''s just three of us, I know four with Roland, but there''s just three. And Derrick might not be at the wedding and, it could be just the two of us."


    "Yeah," A.J. said nodding skeptically. He was not 100% sure where this was going, but feared he knew.


    "When we were looking at the seating chart, the thought dawned on me. I had thought about inviting someone but didn''t want to raise an issue. I kept waiting for the right time and it just never came. Now, with everything finalized, there is no right time, and the window may have closed. I just..."


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    She stopped talking, unable to finish her sentence.


    "Fuck," A.J. sighed. "You''re talking about Deuce."


    He''d picked up on some clues that she could be thinking about him over the last few weeks. She''d always been curious about her estranged brother. There were questions about her older brothers from time to time over the years. They started after their father passed. It was understood that, while their parents were alive, that the subject was off limits.


    Tears welled in Jenna''s eyes as she nodded in the affirmative.


    "I''m not going to interject my feelings or how I know Derrick feels," A.J. said, aiming for a delicate tone. "We all know what his ''situation,'' but it''s your day and your decision."


    "I will say this," he continued. "If he were to come to your wedding, he would be the center of attention, and not in a positive way. Our family would talk. They would talk to Trent''s family. I think, on a day when we should be focused on you and Trent, we would be walking into a minefield with him."


    Jenna nodded along, tears streaming down her face as he talked.


    A.J. continued, now with a bit more of an agenda behind his words. He crouched down in front of her, taking his sister''s hands. "This is your day. You don''t deserve that kind of aggravation. And does he really deserve to be there?"


    He stood.


    "Plus, we have no idea where he is or how to find him," he added, knowing full well that it was, in fact, due to a lack of trying.


    The two sat there in silence. After a couple of minutes, she dried her eyes and looked at your brother.


    "You''re right," she said.


    As she stood, he put his arm around her. He let out a sigh and said under his breath, "I wish I wasn''t."


    The two returned to the party downstairs. They drew undivided attention as they entered the room. To cut the tension, as well as give some context to their absence, Jenna asked to speak with Roland in the kitchen. Her surprised brother-in-law acquiesced and followed her out of the room.


    A.J. put on a smile and crossed the room to his glass of champagne. He finished the half glass in one gulp and filled the flute again. He was looking out the window deep in thought when Jenna and Roland re-entered the room. Both of them had fresh tears in their eyes and smiles on their faces.


    Trent got up with an even larger smile.


    "Will you do it?" he asked.


    Roland smiled and nodded.


    "That''s great," Trent said, crossing the room to give him a hug.


    "I''ll be very happy if I''m not needed," Roland said, "but I''m proud to help if it comes to that."


    David and Sarah, aware of the proposal, congratulated Roland. A.J. followed with a hug and kiss of his own. Roland lingered in his arms, soaking in the feeling.


    "Right, then," Trent offered in hopes of getting everything done. "Program?" he asked, turning towards David.


    "Yes," his brother responded. "Father O''Riley is lined up to officiate. He has accepted the request of ''religion lite,'' so to speak. Cousin Randy is doing a reading, Aunt Elise is doing another. I think everything just needs to be put in order."


    "Do we want to run through it and see what works?" offered Sarah.


    The party wordlessly went with the suggestion, with David offering direction.


    "The fireplace here," he said motioning to the wall opposite the entry, "will be the altar. Trent, you go here and everybody else into the hallway."


    When everyone had their places, David started his narration.


    "Mom and dad go, then us. First A.J., you roll solo," and A.J. went down the aisle.


    "Sarah, you and I are up," and the pair went down the aisle. When they reached the altar, David assumed the role of officiant.


    "Jenna and Roland," and they followed suit.


    "Finally two more couples." David waved his hand in a flourish to represent the remaining wedding party.


    "Okay, let''s get started. We are gathered here today and whatnot. Speech about Christian marital values or some shit," everyone smiled. "Do we want a reading now?"


    Trent looked at his fianc¨¦e and they shrugged in the affirmative.


    "Right, then. Cousin Randy will represent the Arnolds. He will read a proverb about the Irish loving marriage," David said as he wrote down the order of the proceedings.


    "Where did we finish on unity candles?" Trent asked Jenna.


    "We went with sand," she replied.


    "Well then, something something ''unity'' something something sand," David offered glibly, scratching more notes.


    "I can get the sand in the wedding colors," chimed in Sarah, raising her hand.


    "Thanks," replied Jenna with a smile.


    "Okay, let''s get Aunt Elise up here with some poignant words on commitment. It will be a sober reminder that there is no divorce, only death," David said, without thinking. He jotted down more notes. "Then we finish with the ''I dos.''"


    "Does anyone have any objections with this run of show?" he asked, scanning the room. "Speak now or forever hold your peace."


    Everyone looked around as well and nodded in agreement.


    "Okay, we''re done then. I''ll make the final arrangements with the program and this wedding is officially planned."


    Sarah and Roland offered up a cheer. Trent kissed his bride-to-be, leading the others to join in the cheering.


    Streetlights lit up the night sky as Trent, Jenna, David and Sarah left the house. A.J. and Roland bid them good night. On the front stairs the quartet lingered for a few minutes with their own goodbyes.


    Jenna held Trent''s hand on the way to his car, giving it a light squeeze as they approached. He took the cue and looked down at her. She gave him a smile and a kiss.


    "Are you feeling better?" he asked.


    "A bit," she said with an affirming smile.


    "Well, that''s a step in the right direction."


    He let go of her hand and went around to the driver''s side. They entered the car and pulled away into the night in search of dinner.

 Chapter 5

    Outside his former apartment, Davis reached the sidewalk and headed east. There was a train station in the uptown area where he could store his bags. He''d also be able to get breakfast at his regular morning spot.


    Within minutes, he was navigating his way through a narrow doorway to the train terminal. He opted for the door nearest the lockers. It was a bit cumbersome but more direct than the wider main doors at the front of the building. Once inside, he took a right and was in front of the lockers looking for some available larger units. He found a pair of adjacent lockers, placed a suitcase in each. He plugged in the requisite quarters and stowed his luggage. He then grabbed his backpack and set off for breakfast.


    The main entrance was more direct to the main street. He navigated a surge of morning commuters entering the depot. He took a right once outside the wave. Tim''s Coffee and Donuts was a half block down. He ordered three glazed donuts and a large iced coffee before finding a table near an outlet. It was still early, so the remote workers and aspiring authors had not yet filled the prime tables. He set up shop in the back corner with his back to the front windows and opened his laptop.


    Davis let out a sigh and began his search. This was becoming standard practice. He''d moved six times in the bit over five years since he was released. The first few times, he left out of paranoia. He was fresh from juvenile detention. Every second glance or hushed whisper was his neighbors recognizing him. Everyone was talking about him despite. This was all despite the long odds anyone was aware of what had happened 700 miles and eight years away from there. The city condemned another apartment building he lived in. In his next stop, a neighbor was too creepy. Ironically, he gave off a killer vibe, the exact thing he fought so hard to prevent in his actions.


    This was the first time anyone was asking him to leave because of his past. He''d limited his options to those places without a "Have you been convicted of a felony?" question on their rental application. The quality of the buildings made it so none of this struck him as odd.


    The first thing he needed would be a place for the night. He opened up a new tab in his browser and typed "extended stay hotels." He clicked on the "extended stay hotels near me" offering in his search bar. Davis was hoping his housing search would be quick, but he did not want to risk a lengthy search. The options were not very diverse, or appealing. The hotels he found ranged from "seedy and depressing" all the way up to "kind of seedy and depressing."


    He retrieved his food and drink order at the counter. Returning to his seat, he immediately ate a donut and a half and washed it down with a third of his coffee. His mind then ran over the options on the screen in front of him.


    While itching his ear, his head cocked to the right. His eyes found one of the black and white photographs that lined the wall of the restaurant. The one that caught him in a trance was an artistic shot of a distinct roadside attraction. According to the sign, it was the largest donut in the world. Despite dozens of visits, he realized for the first time the photos were of iconic donut shops. The recognition came and went with a shake and a smirk.


    Davis returned to that first photo and noticed it was in the middle of nowhere. His mind jumped to family road trips from when he was a little kid and the freedom of the road. He didn''t have the car, but he did have the freedom. Freedom from juvie and nothing tying him to this depressing city. He could leave and expand his search to anywhere a train could take him. He did not like the bus and had never been on an airplane.


    He had a newfound enthusiasm. He closed the extended-stay hotel tab and went to the Amtrak national map. He was completely untethered by work or other people. He examined each route and considered the possibilities of each stop. He absentmindedly ate his remaining donuts and drank his coffee.


    As much as he kept returning to Colorado or Utah, after 90 minutes, Davis opted to head north to Portland, Oregon. He was a bit reluctant to move towards Seatte. He had not interest in returning to where he''d grown up. He felt Portland was far enough away. Plus, if he didn''t like it, he''d move to Salt Lake City or Colorado Springs.


    With a new city in mind, he made his travel arrangements. There was a 12:57 p.m. train that would get him as far as Sacramento. There, he could need to wait for his connection to Portland. An 11:59 p.m. train would have him in Portland by mid-afternoon the next day. He was not in a rush but chose to get situated back at the train station and pass the time there. He packed up his belongings, got a free refill of his coffee, and headed back to the depot.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    When he arrived at the train station, the crowd had thinned considerably. He walked right up to the window and purchased a ticket. He then found a seat and passed the remaining time before boarding by finally setting up his phone. In a larger city, he''ll need a ride-sharing app. He''d also like to end the cacophony of vibrations and dings every time his phone wanted to tell him something.


    As he looked for more things to configure or update, it dawned on him to check his phone book. He could delete the pizza place and the Chinese food restaurant. Portland was probably well outside their delivery zone, after all. He gave his editor, Jason, a personalized ringtone as he was the only person he''d answer for. This helped him to ignore spam calls.


    Then he came to Lucy''s entry. Davis paused over the ''delete'' option before he had an impulse. He opened the messages and saw their exchange from the previous night. This brought back memories of the phone call. He recalled his feelings this morning when he realized she was not going to understand after all. Disappointing sadness washed over him. He took a deep breath and continued with what he intended to do. He sent her a message:


    "I''m sorry about everything. I understand. Moving to Portland. Goodbye."


    He hit ''send'' and immediately deleted her entry from his phonebook. The sadness waned a bit as he put his phone in his pocket. He figured this was the official end of their relationship. There was closure and, by letting it go, he was ending things on his terms.


    That text message would be their last communication. He knew that. But, if she called or texted and wanted to meet for coffee, he''d gladly throw the train ticket in the trash. He was realistic, so he did not hold out hope.


    He anticipated the train boarding soon. He decided to get a light lunch and try to people watch for story ideas to take his mind off Lucy.


    He grabbed a packaged sandwich and bag of chips for lunch and returned to his bench. He mindlessly chewed a tuna salad sandwich. His attention shifted from passenger to passenger, looking for something identifiable. Davis eavesdropped on conversations and looked for interesting people. He would then fill in the blanks of their life with his own stories. If it was interesting, he would make notes in his idea notepad.


    Today, it turned out to be a fruitless exercise. It seemed the men were all fleeing the city because their difficult past had been exposed. The women were each looking to get away from an ex that they just found out was a convicted killer. He was not in the right mindset for this exercise.


    He let out a disappointing sigh and put his pen and paper back into his backpack.


    The announcement that his train was boarding soon rang out through the terminal. This gave him a thankful reprieve from his futile efforts at creativity. He put the last of his chips in his mouth and quickly moved to collect his luggage from the locker.


    He stopped by a newsstand and purchased some activity books for the trip. He collected a stack of logic puzzles, word searches, and movie-themed crossword puzzles. He gave the cashier a $10 bill and told her to keep the $1.23 change. He stowed the books away and walked briskly to the platform.


    The first train ride was rather quick. It seemed that way at least. The activity books were an effective distraction. He effectively limited his Lucy thoughts.


    Davis arrived in Sacramento in the early afternoon. He stowed his bigger luggage in a locker once again and headed towards the exit. A display of local Sacramento attractions caught his eye. He scanned the pamphlets and postcards for anything nearby. He grabbed a few interesting sites within walking distance. He conferred with an older man at the information desk. Upon his advice, Davis discarded all but one for the California State Railroad Museum. He folded the pamphlet to fit in his back pocket and headed towards the waterfront.


    Davis grew restless as the afternoon wore on. He wandered around the waterfront, did a tour of the museum, and loitered in a tattoo shop. As dinner time approached, he realized he still had four hours before his train and he''d already been up for 16 hours. He decided to return to the train station, get dinner nearby and set up shop with his laptop. The thought of doing anything other than planning for Portland seemed like a waste of time. He was also not in the mood for thinking about any phase of his life other than the future.


    With a stomach full of Chinese food, he started to scan places to stay in Portland. He skipped past a host of hostels and targeted a couple week-long vacation rentals. Before making any arrangements, he turned his focus to the apartment market. He started on Craigslist. The listings featured fewer corporate buildings, which had questions about felonies. He also came to loath their sterile units.


    Davis had a list of eight apartments to look at in Portland when the boarding announcement came. He''d set up appointments at six of the places, with emails still unanswered at the other two. Before closing his laptop, he weighed his vacation rental options. One stood out as it was more central to five of the apartments he was looking at. He fired off an email to the owner. He also wrote down the numbers for a few regular hotels in case he didn''t get a response in time.


    His computer was packed and he had 10 minutes to board when he realized he''d forgotten his suitcases. He ran to the other side of the main terminal to retrieve his bags, weaving through passengers on the way. He managed to gather his possessions and make it to his train with two minutes to spare. He wiped the sweat from his brow as he found a seat. He leaned his head against the window and quickly fell asleep.

 Chapter 6

    Don and Gwen Collins were high school sweethearts. They were married shortly after graduating from the University of Puget Sound. Don majored in business and leadership and went to work for his family''s realty company right away. Gwen earned her degree in chemistry and began a career at a pharmaceutical company.


    They forged an upper-middle-class lifestyle for themselves in an affluent Seattle suburb.


    Andrew John¡ªA.J¡ªwas planned. The couple spent four years establishing their careers before attempting to have children. A.J. seemed to come easy, as the couple had only been trying to conceive for three months when Gwen became pregnant.


    The twins took a little more time. They planned for a two-year gap in their children. Three years after A.J. was born, J. Derrick and T. Davis followed. The boys were given single initial first names as an homage to Don''s best friend. J. Keith Tollefson had just recently died in a car accident when the boys were born. J. Derrick was quickly dubbed, "J.D." The moniker lasted until he was 13 when he insisted on being called, "Derrick." T. Davis was affectionately referred to as ''Deuce," as ''T.D.'' did not have the same ring to it. Gwen''s father had coined the nickname as he was the second of the twins born. He was two minutes younger than his brother.


    Jenna Samantha caught everyone off guard when A.J. was eight and the twins five. Don had undergone an¡ªapparently failed¡ªvasectomy six months prior to conception. The Collins felt their family was complete with three active sons, so it was a practical decision. Jenna''s conception was a miracle to the couple and she was the girl Gwen had secretly hoped for. She was never considered an accident, but rather a blessing on the family.


    Over the years, Don and Gwen established themselves as pillars of the community. They did charitable work in the church and were active with the rotary and chamber of commerce.


    All four kids were easy to make friends with and followed their parents'' active nature. Their schedules were full of sports and clubs throughout their early childhood. A.J. grew up quickly. He was the oldest of four and having responsibility thrust upon him in the household. He took pride in watching over his younger siblings. He was close with his father and matched his serious, yet caring demeanor.


    J.D. was the social butterfly of the children. He made friends wherever he went and made sure everyone in the room was aware of who he was. His relationships were usually superficial and advantageous to him. He did cultivate a small, tight inner circle of friends. In contrast to A.J., he was unconcerned by most things and acted impulsively. Despite his outward friendliness, he often rubbed some people the wrong way. Nonetheless, he remained quite popular. He was also above average in most athletic and academic pursuits.


    As a member of J.D.''s inner circle, Deuce was "popular adjacent." He was the more reserved brother. He also often found himself defending his brother''s careless behavior. J.D. seemed to suck a lot of the oxygen out of a room, so Deuce was reticent at forging his path in these circles. He did make efforts early to carve out unrelated niches away from his partner. He gravitated to sports and activities that J.D. had quickly abandoned or had shown no interest in. They were teammates on the baseball and basketball teams. Deuce did not even consider following his brother into debate. He also relished having soccer and piano lessons to himself.


    Deuce was unheralded in most areas but quietly excelled. He was a tough defender in soccer with an eye for going forward and assisting the attack. He was always one or two passes ahead of assists, so he received few plaudits. He was adept at playing the piano but refused to play in front of people. In a larger family, Deuce preferred to keep some things to himself as ''his'' and only his.


    Davis loathed the ''Deuce'' nickname after his grandfather shared its origin as a joke when he was six. His tantrum yielded nothing more than amused looks from the assembled adults. Abandoning the moniker proved to be a futile enterprise.


    The only inroads he made was that Jenna may have never called him Deuce in her life. He taught her to call him ''Davis'' with some early encouragement.


    The youngest Collins looked up to her three siblings as they doted on her every need from an early age. She was spoiled without acting the part. Each family member tried to give her anything she wanted and she was appreciative.


    In her first eight years, Jenna was a fixture at events and games for everyone in the family. She drew attention from adults wherever she went with her cute and precocious nature. On her own, she played soccer¡ªat the suggestion of Davis¡ªand joined a dance team¡ªat her mother''s insistence. She hated both activities but thrived in tee-ball. It was a development that seemed to make everyone happy.


    The Collins had a fast-paced and social lifestyle. Don and Gwen balanced their own social engagements with those of their children. Both parents made concerted efforts to split the children''s responsibilities. They tried to spread their time among their children equitably and were on top of everything. The one exception was Deuce''s piano playing. The teacher said he was playing well, but they''d have to take her word for it.


    It was not a facade. The external perceptions matched the inner workings of the family. To keep the balance, Don and Gwen managed the household with military precision. They kept to their schedule and rewarded responsibility and good decision-making. The parents loved each of their children and had reasonable expectations for them.


    One phone call shattered everything.


    Gwen was managing the household affairs one night when A.J. answered the call in the kitchen. She was corralling Jenna and giving A.J. information to order pizza for dinner. J.D. was getting ready for debate practice.


    "Hello, may I speak with the parents of T. Davis Collins?" said a grave voice on the other line.


    "Mom, phone for you," A.J. said, offering the receiver to his mother.


    "Thanks, dear, can you help Jenna find her coat," Gwen said, passing off her youngest to her oldest, "Hello, this is Gwen."


    "Ma''am is your son T. Davis Collins?" the voice asked.


    "Yes, he is. Is everything okay?" she asked, concern rising in her voice.


    "Ma''am, my name is Detective Adam Tinsley. I am assisting local police on a case, and I need you to come down to the station."


    "Is my son okay?" she asked frantically.


    "Your son is safe, ma''am, but you should come down so we can speak in person. Do you know where you are going?"


    "Yes, yes," she responded dismissively, scanning her brain for an idea of what the problem could be. "I can be there in 15 minutes."


    She hung up the phone and turned her focus to her children. All three stood in the adjacent dining room. They nervously looked at their mother, whose face had lost all color.


    "Is everything okay, mom?" asked A.J.


    "Change of plans, dear," she started, attempting to remain calm. "Get pizza for everyone," she added, starting to work her way around the room. "J.D., you''re not going to debate tonight. I''m sorry. Jenna, sweetie, mommy has to run out for a bit, listen to A.J. and eat your dinner really good."


    She finished by addressing all her children, "I''m not sure when I will get back. When your father gets home, have him call my cell phone, and make sure you get your homework done. You can watch TV after that."


    Gwen was in a daze as she finished the instructions for her children and left the house. She could not recall any part of the drive. She and could not recall if there were buses outside the high school as she drove by or even if that was the way she took. When she arrived at the station, her autopilot continued. She entered the building and managed to get connected with "Detective Leonard."


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    The detective guided her into a conference room that was being used as a makeshift office. Leonard and his partner Detective Tinsley were out of Seattle. They had been called in by a colleague. The small suburban police department did not have much experience in this type of case.


    Leonard addressed the shell-shocked mother but received no confirmation she was listening. Gwen Collins'' trance continued through some formalities. It was broken when Leonard insisted on a response.


    "I''m sorry, what?" she finally asked.


    "Ma''am, I''m helping out the local police because a child has died," he said gravely. "Tim Watkins. Do you know him?"


    "That''s horrible," she offered, still in shock. "Yes, he is on my sons'' baseball team. His stepfather Craig is the coach. What happened?"


    "Well, ma''am, it seems there was a fight. He fell and hit his head."


    "And Davis? Where is my son? Did he witness it?"


    "Your son is in another room. It appears he was the one fighting with Tim and the boy fell and hit his head on a rock. Preliminarily, that is what killed him."


    Gwen''s face displayed a lack of recognition of what Leonard was saying, so he continued.


    "Based on the initial evidence, it looks like a pretty intense fight. Your son is a suspect in his death."


    "Suspect? Davis? That can''t be. He was friends with Tim," she insisted.


    "Well, Mrs. Collins," he started, asserting a little more gravity to the situation. "According to the victim''s stepfather, the boys had fought earlier in the day. His statement¡ªand based on what your son has said¡ªyour son went to find Tim. His step-father heard an argument. When he came out to investigate, he found Tim dead and your son by the body crying."


    "That can''t be, no," the mother protested, adding defensively, "You, you can''t talk to my son without a lawyer or at least a parent. He''s only 13. He''s confused. Tim probably fell and hit his head when they were rough-housing."


    She rose as if she were to go find him when the detective motioned for her to sit down.


    "Ma''am, please sit down. We''re not done here. I assure you; we have not interrogated your son."


    By this time, Detective Tinsley had joined the conversation. He looked at his partner with an air of concern. Leonard disregarded the look and continued.


    "What I''ve told you, he was saying unprompted in the car. We are not using this as evidence, but we are considering it to give some direction to the investigation."


    Tinsley then laid out what they thought happened.


    Davis and Tim fought earlier in the day. It started with some pushing and accusations, but other kids pulled the two away. Later, Davis went to find Tim. They didn''t have much evidence of what transpired when he found him in his backyard. They were heard arguing. When Tim''s step-father looked out a second-floor window, he saw the boys pushing each other. When he reached the yard, Tim was laying on the ground and Davis was next to him.


    Once Gwen composed herself, the detective led her to the room where her son was sitting. When they entered, she saw her son sitting across the room, hands on his lap and staring at the floor in front of him. He had blood on his shirt and his hands were stained with blood that he could not wipe off.


    The mother was at a loss. She wanted to hug her son, but when she saw him the thought that he may have killed another boy entered her mind. She slowly walked to her son and squatted beside him.


    "Honey are you okay?" she asked, taking his hand and trying to make eye contact. "Everything is going to be okay."


    "We would like to officially talk to your son now," Tinsley said. "I''d like to hear his side of the story and we can look to get him processed."


    There was a knock on the door. Leonard opened the door, talked to an officer, and stepped to the side to allow Don Collins to enter.


    "Don," Gwen exclaimed. "What are you doing here? Timmy Watkins is..." She couldn''t finish her sentence.


    "I know," he responded, taking a seat next to her and holding her hand. "I got a call from Alex. He filled me in. You should''ve called, I''d have come right away."


    Eventually, the attention turned to Davis. The three adults watched him closely. Detective Tinsley took the lead, activating a recorder before they got started.


    "Davis, son, do you know why you''re here?"


    Davis subtly nodded his head.


    "I''m going to need you to answer me out loud."


    He cleared his throat and said "yes" in a volume just above a whisper and without looking up.


    "Would you like to tell me what happened?"


    "Ummm..." Davis started. "I went over to Tim''s house to talk to him."


    Davis then proceeded to explain that he went over to apologize. Their argument earlier on the day was due to a misunderstanding and, as they were friends, he felt bad.


    He usually went to Tim''s back door, entering the backyard off the main road that connected their houses. As he emerged from the hedges, he heard arguing and hid.


    "Who was arguing?" Tinsley asked.


    Davis shook his head, without looking at the detective, and mumbled "I don''t know."


    Tinsley and his parents noticed a shift in his demeanor. There was tension as he continued. He mentioned waiting until the coast was clear and checking on Tim.


    That tension seemed to ease as Tinsley continued his line of questioning.


    "What did you do next?"


    Davis slumped in his seat and said that he''d crouched down, poked, and shook his friend. When he saw the blood, he checked Tim''s head and that was how he got blood on himself.


    "Do you remember Coach Anderson coming out?"


    Davis looked directly at Tinsley and replied, "I don''t know." He quickly added, "No. I don''t think so."


    The interview wrapped up shortly thereafter and Davis was able to leave with his parents. He was the focus of the investigation from that point on, with Craig Anderson the prime witness.


    Anderson testified he had heard arguing. When he looked out the window, he saw Davis punching Tim repeatedly. It was a slight embellishment from his initial statement to the police, but no one noticed. Or cared. Anderson added that he ran downstairs and into the backyard, but was too late. Tim was on the ground dead. He then ran inside and called the police. He would add that he struck Davis out of shock and anger. He thought that''s what led to him being on the ground crying when the police arrived.


    Davis was charged with involuntary manslaughter as a minor. With his age and the charge as such, he was able to avoid being charged as an adult. The district attorney made one offer, one which would see Davis released at age 18, but it hinged on a confession.


    His story was inconsistent but for the fact that he did not do it. His story wavered on what he''d overheard, where he''d hidden, and how long he waited before checking on Tim. He also did not have any accounting of Coach Anderson''s presence.


    Detectives had a working theory: Davis went to find Tim and they picked up where they left off with their fight. Davis had several bruises and cuts that indicated he had been in an altercation. Tim had consistent injuries, including a cut on a knuckle on his right hand. Tinsley and Leonard regretted they could not prove with certainty what happened. They theorized that Davis had grabbed the rock out of anger. The force with which he hit his head on the rock was incongruent with the force of a 13-year-old pushing the victim. Unfortunately, they could not disprove Tim hit his head while falling. Without proof of intent, the district attorney''s office pushed for the lesser charge. This cause consternation among investigators.


    Don and Gwen implored their son to confess to receive the lighter sentence. They offered it as self-preservation at first. Over time, the tactic shifted. They wanted their son to admit what he did to take steps in rehabilitating. He could work through his issues and still have a life.


    The first night home, J.D. moved into A.J.''s room and Davis found himself without a roommate for the first time in his life. The car ride home was quiet, as were the next couple days. The Collins family walked on eggshells around him. Most of the family refused to make eye contact with him. Jenna was kept away and conversations were always ending when he entered the room.


    Meetings with Davis'' defense lawyer revolved around getting him the lightest sentence. Adults in the room implored Davis to confess. No one ever discussed proving his innocence. The evidence seemed overwhelming, even to his parents.


    The young man quickly shut down and became despondent. This carried over to the trial and he was labeled as unrepentant by both the DA and the media following the case.


    Davis never took the stand and Craig Anderson proved to be the star witness against him. The little league coach was also approachable to the media. He advocated for his dead stepson on his wife''s behalf. He also offered sympathy to the Collins family. Anderson even asked to speak with Davis alone. Afterwards, he would dramatically tell reporters that he had forgiven the young man.


    Davis was found guilty. When the judge announced the verdict, Gwen cried, and Don held his wife close. The couple had been in the gallery every day. They struggled to come to grips with what their son had done, as well as his refusal to tell the truth.


    Though they wouldn''t admit it, the DA''s portrayal of Davis swayed them. His portrayal as a violent child who fought often was consistent with his behavior. His being unremorseful in the scared them, as well. At night, they were introspective on what they could''ve done to prevent this. They also wondered what they can do to keep their other children safe, as well as make sure they don''t turn out the same way.


    When the final hearing was over, Davis looked at his parents in the back of the courtroom. His father consoled his mother as he offered a sympathetic look to his son. Davis turned to wipe his watering eyes and runny nose when the bailiff came to escort him from the room. As he approached, the officer asked Davis if he''d like to say goodbye to his parents before he left.


    Davis turned and scanned the gallery to find his parents once more. He caught a glimpse of his father as he disappeared out of the door. He lowered his head and turned back to the bailiff, offering a soft, "no, that''s alright."


    The bailiff led him away.

 Chapter 7

    The Collins'' life was turned upside down after the death of Tim Watkins. The community was divisive throughout the trial. There were some that sympathized for the family, while others blamed them what their son had done. The once active social life receded. All community events and extra-curricular activities ceased. The kids were pulled out of school in favor of homeschooling through a private teacher.


    The family left their tight-knit suburban community when Davis was convicted. They settled on the opposite side of Seattle. They looked to blend in a more densely populated, but quaint, neighborhood. They adapted to a new life. It was difficult. Hoping for some semblance of anonymity, the family pushed forward. Over time, things became easier and they were able to carve out a new life.


    Don and Gwen struggled to replicate their old lifestyle for their family. Getting the children acclimating to their new surroundings took priority. They developed a new rhythm and a new lifestyle. There was a reluctance to make friends, to get involved and to engage the neighbors. Over time, those things came back to a lesser degree, but it was never the same and never totally comfortable.


    It was months before the parents realized they had not connected with Davis. From the time they heard what he''d done, he seemed like a different person to them. There was a small bit of fear for their other children. This paired with concern over what kind of life he''d ever be able to have for himself. Any emotional attachment to their son atrophied during the trial. By the time the court rendered its decision, they felt there was little they could do for him. In prioritizing their family''s new life in those first few months, they''d moved on, if almost by accident.


    There were regrets, but by the time they''d realized they''d cut off Davis, it seemed too late. What do you say after three weeks? It''s even harder after six.


    The new life was starting to take, and it did not seem like the right time to mess that up. The worrying at night faded and there was less crying. Life kept moving for the Collins''. Don and Gwen were ever truly happy again, but they became satisfied with "comfortable."


    For A.J., the upheaval came at a weird time. He had always embraced the responsibility of being the oldest child. Now, he took on the role of a "third parent." His hope was that he would be one less thing for his parents to worry about. He also ensured J.D. and Jenna had what they needed. The sense of duty, coupled with, as wrong as it felt, the freedom of starting a new life, emboldened him.


    He''d wrestled with his sexuality for some time. This new confidence allowed him to embrace who he was and what was going to make him happy. It was ironic that the things that made him different gave him comfort. Sixteen is not a comfortable time for many people. Six months later, he came out to his parents and they supported him.


    The only thing working against A.J. during this time was the guilt he felt for being happier than he''d ever been before.


    J.D. processed everything internally. He''d always been rather superficial and never had deep feelings to share. Now, without his twin, he felt alone for the first time and angry. Where he''d taken comfort in large friend groups, he now felt alone in a crowd. In his new life, he went by "Derrick" and remained sociable. He made new friends but maintained a public superficiality. In his old life, he had a dozen friends that knew everything about him. Going forward, he had dozens of friends, but a handful had any idea of what he was going through. To his family, the only thing that changed was his name, but he was filled with anger and darkness on the inside. He processed these feelings as best he could, but there was always a distant and pained look in his eyes.


    Jenna was unfazed by the transition. She was too young to understand what was going on and she found herself shepherded along to this new life. Her questions were often dismissed to the point that she stopped asking. With so much change going on in her life, the absence of her brother was the only thing she noticed.


    She made new friends, grew up, moved on, but never really forgot. In her teens, she read every article the internet had on her brother''s case. There were still questions that went unanswered. Whatever happened to Deuce, who she called "Dooz" for a short time, remained a mystery. There was futility in seeking out information. She found constant roadblocks in finding out anything about his life. She was 16 when he was released and there was no trail of evidence to pick up on.


    While his family adapted and worked to move on with their lives, Davis waited. He had no idea what to expect, but he held out hope that someone would reach out to comfort him. Someone would let him know everything was going to be okay and that he was not alone in this. There was an expectant hope that there would be a visit or phone call. As the days turned into weeks, hope became desperation.


    At the one-month mark, there was only resignation.


    Davis started to realize that he was going to go through this alone. There were going to be no visits, no reassurances. He longed to hug someone, anyone, from his life and not let go.


    His final shred of hope fell away one night about six weeks after he''d arrived. He laid in bed imagining grabbing his mother tightly. She was stroking his head and letting him know everything would be fine. He didn''t want to open his eyes, pressing them closed tighter and tighter. Eventually, he fell asleep still gripping his pillow, which had become noticeably damp. These represented his last tears for his family.


    There was juvenile detention and then a world of unknowns that no 13-year-old can fathom. The past was gone and the future was scary. He had no idea how he would navigate his sentence, much less what came after. He retreated inward. He focused on adapting to juvenile detention. He developed numbness and a feeling of forced inevitability.


    He stuck to himself as best he could. He avoided many of the defiant or hard case teens that populated the facility. Being a convicted killer offered the luxury of being able to stick to himself. As far as the other kids were concerned, he was a killer and not one to be trifled with.


    Davis had no attachments, nothing to miss, nothing to look forward to. The lack of these things left him empty. And, over time, a realization set in that he would have to start a completely new life from scratch.


    Hope started to creep in over time.


    At some point, Davis started to look at his future as an opportunity. The emptiness waned. He devoted himself to set himself up to succeed. He easily earned his GED at 16 years and then his college degree at 20. He was inspired to start writing after seeing an Indiana Jones movie. This led to a passion for history.


    His protagonist was initially based on Indiana Jones'' father. He was a focused archaeologist and historian that struggled with the basic needs of his son. He used the character as a writing prompt and the character evolved over a series of short stories. In Davis'' first manuscript, Dr. Nevada Kane had little in common with his inspiration.


    Kane did still have the Indiana Jones knock-off name. A learning counselor encouraged him to keep for the "kitsch" value. He thought it was in the "true spirit of the low-budget pulp serials in which the movie drew its inspiration."


    Or something like that.


    "Dr. Kane and the Treasure of King Tut" took Davis three weeks to write and he finished after his 19th birthday. It was a taut 250 pages and received positive responses from a couple of the teachers at the facility. He sent the book to about two dozen publishers. City Field Press showed interest and he formed a relationship with the company. When he was released, he''d built up a nest egg and had a steady job as a writer.


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Davis immediately left the Seattle area when he was able. He took the train to California and settled outside of Sacramento. He rented a small studio apartment and established a solitary life. He wrote most days and played video games most nights. He ran about five miles each night before picking up his gaming.


    He was also interested in sports. He held a soft spot for his hometown Seattle Seahawks for football. In soccer, he''d adopted Bayern Munich from Germany''s Bundesliga as his own. He like basketball but did not have a team that he rooted for. The Supersonics left town when he was young. He couldn''t bring himself to cheer for the Sacramento Kings.


    He couldn''t watch or follow baseball since he was arrested. When it was on TV while he was in juvie, he would have flashbacks to playing with Tim and end up having a panic attack.


    Davis did not own a TV and his legal streaming options were limited for sports. To watch football and soccer, he made rare trips to bars. He liked the times of day when the games were on and found it easy to saddle up to a bar for lunch to watch the Seahawks or breakfast for Bayern Munich. Germany games regularly kicked off in the wee hours of the morning on the west coast. This put him in the company of anonymous and enthusiastic die-hards of the club. He easily kept to himself. After the games, he quickly paid and left.


    Women often caught his eye at the bars, but he never made any overtures in their direction. "Inexperienced" did not begin to describe his dating history. He had no concept of hitting on women and also carried a debilitating secret.


    Leslie was a result of his first foray into internet dating. She seemed like the kind of girl he liked¡ªfun, outgoing, looking for a good time. The goal was someone who could coax him out of the house once and a while.


    They started out messaging and went on their first date a week later. She was rather shallow, with no discernible ambitions¡ªpartying and "enjoying life." On their second date, she mentioned that she was into true crime, which did make Davis nervous. On the third date, they slept together.


    This was his first sexual experience. He let her take the lead, which she was happy to do. Fortunately, he was able to bounce back from his premature orgasm during foreplay. Unfortunately, the intercourse was still not very good for either party. He wanted to apologize and explain that she had taken his virginity but was too mortified to speak. That, and it didn''t take long for her to start a conversation.


    They lay in bed naked and staring at the ceiling. They were only slightly out of breath. Leslie then started talking. This managed to make him even more uncomfortable. He had thought that feat would''ve been impossible.


    "Davis is not a very common first name. Did you know that?"


    "Yeah. I''ve never met anyone with that name before."


    "Did you say you were from Seattle?"


    Davis turned his head and shot Leslie a look. He saw her breasts rise and fall more rapidly as her breathing picked up in anticipation. He started getting nervous.


    "Yeah," he replied, while his mind was racing. "I moved down here a couple months ago."


    She rolled over and looked at him. He responded by sitting up on his elbows, scanning the room for his clothes.


    "What are you getting at?" he asked, continuing his search.


    "It shouldn''t come as a shock that I Googled you," she said. "And, well, you exist nowhere online."


    Davis got up and started getting dressed.


    "I know. I changed my name w-w-when I was 18 and..." he stuttered, "and, I, I''m, I write under a pen name. So..."


    "But you kept ''Davis''?" She asked, interrupting him.


    He was now starting to get irritated to go with his nerves. As he put his t-shirt back on, he got defensive.


    "Seriously, what the fuck is going on here?" he blurted out. "Why don''t you try asking me a question you don''t already know the answer to?"


    "Hey, I get it," she responded, putting her hands up as if to say, ''no offense.'' The sheet fell off her body, but she didn''t flinch. She was not known for her modesty. "I know why you wouldn''t say anything, but it''s cool. You were a kid. I don''t hold it against you."


    The look in Leslie''s eyes scared Davis. She was excited. He hadn''t considered how he would share his past with a woman, but he knew she shouldn''t be excited about it. He finished dressing and took a moment to decide his next move.


    Seizing the pause, Leslie tried to convince him to stay.


    "What''s wrong with you? Why are you acting this way? I just want to know about you. I''ve never met someone who''s killed someone before. I''m not going to ask you any creepy questions, but..."


    He put up his hand to cut her off. He had no intention of continuing the conversation. He also could not stand to listen to her talk about this one more second.


    She tried to talk again, but he turned to leave and paid no attention to anything else she had to say. Her voice filled the background like white noise as he exited her apartment.


    Leslie would text him several times over the next few days, but he did not respond. Instead, after the third day, he threw the phone away and bought a new one. He was uncomfortable with someone knowing his past. He couldn''t disassociate ''Davis Archer'' with the crimes of ''T. Davis Collins,'' at least with one person now. What hehe could do was drop off her radar.


    Davis changed his approach to women with each new relationship. He was self-conscious about his sexual inexperience so he tried one-night stands. The encounters were one-sided. He got experience and did not have to get into the details of his history. It was a different story for the women. He was leaving unsatisfied women in his wake, but less so with each new encounter.


    When he became sexually competent, he found a consistent partner. The arrangement was casual, lasting a few weeks and a handful of hook-ups. She was busy with work and not interested in a serious relationship. His guilt of not sharing more of his personal history weighed on him. He ended it, telling her he''d met someone he''d like to get serious with. She was understanding and wished him well.


    If only every relationship was that easy.


    The timing proved to be fortuitous, as he connected with a woman on a dating website the next week. Learning from his experience with Leslie, he took it slow and, when they met for the first time, he told her right away.


    "I would like to be honest with you before we go any further. There are some things about my past that you deserve to know," he started.


    Karen listened patiently as he explained, in a straightforward manner, his past. He told her he was convicted of involuntary manslaughter at 13. He spent eight years in juvie, and was released when he was 21.


    "Oh," she said when he completed. She took a deep, contemplative breath and processed the information for a few minutes. He distracted himself with a drinks menu. When she broke the silence, she offered simply, "that is a lot to take in and, uh, I''m glad you told me now."


    He smiled and she reciprocated with a courtesy grin. He wasn''t naive enough to think it was the end, though he was encouraged by her reaction. The rest of the night was understandably understated. They parted with a perfunctory goodnight kiss.


    That night, he felt it''d gone as well as could be expected. He followed up with a goodnight text to his date, "I had a good time tonight, it was nice to finally meet you. Thank you for your understanding. Good night. XO"


    She never responded.


    As the days of silence went on, he was not surprised, so he made no effort to re-engage contact. It turned out that the hint of hope she offered hurt more than the off-putting situation with Leslie. While this approach was fair and, relatively speaking, good for the woman, it hurt him pretty bad.


    After experiencing the full gamut of emotions, Davis had developed a detached stoicism. Not much could get him excited, which he would admit fucking sucked. He feared he''d start growing cynical. Each opportunity for disappointment was met with limited expectations. No highs, but no lows.


    When his book was accepted for publishing, he initially rejected the hope it offered. It was only when he received a printed copy from his publisher that the achievement sunk in. That night he cried for the first time in over six years. The tears represented the option of hope. There was reason to be optimistic. He could find happiness. With the growing optimism came despair at the isolation of having no one to share this with.


    He sought help for managing his emotions with a counselor at the detention center. Over time, he accepted that he needed to open himself to feelings, both the good and the bad. He approached opportunities skeptically and set reasonable expectations.


    In this case, Karen didn''t leave. That''s a plus.


    He told her his darkest secret and she stayed. That is a reason to be optimistic, right? That said, the quickly cut ties crushed any shred of hope he felt. He overthought the situation and let his imagination run wild.


    "Was she scared of me?"


    "Did she think I would hurt her if she left?"


    The pain, though welcome in a perverse sense of any feeling is a good thing, still hurt. That was when he decided to share this information before he met a woman in person for the first time.


    When Davis connected to Lucy, he was resolute in this plan. That also led to excuses to put this off the inevitable. In the end, it didn''t matter.

 Chapter 8

    Davis had closed his eyes once his head hit the window. It seemed instantaneous, but he awoke as the train was pulling out of Chemult, Oregon. It was the best night''s sleep he enjoyed in years. He slept without sleeping pills or anti-anxiety medication¡ªa rarity that was not lost on him.


    A "Welcome to" sign was among the first this he saw when he awoke. From that he learned that Chemult was home to about 300 people. On Wikipedia he saw it was also a great destination for "hiking, snowmobiling, cross-country skiing, dog sled racing, fishing, and hunting." With that, he put his phone away.


    He turned his focus to the morning views of the Pacific Northwest without a care in the world.


    An obtrusive song broke the silence of the car.


    Davis received an uncomfortable amount of attention as he fumbled for his phone. Passengers looked around in search of the random music. Davis silenced his phone and almost forgot it was signaling an incoming call. He waved apologetically to the other passengers and answered a call from his editor. He regretted trying out an audible ringtone and opted to return his device to silent mode as soon as he was able.


    "Hello?"


    "Davis! How''re you doing today?" said an enthusiastic voice on the other end. It was Jason Long, his editor, and pseudo agent.


    "Well, things are looking up," he said with a hint of satisfaction in his voice.


    "Good to hear. Good to hear. I''m calling with good news. A couple of projects have hit my desk that scream, ''Davis Archer."


    "Jason," Davis interrupted, "I just woke up, let''s dial back the ''wheeler and dealer'' schtick."


    "Sorry, man. I get a little too excited sometimes. I''m not too worried about your deadlines coming up¡ªyou always hit your deadlines. But, I have some new projects. They may be ''start sooner rather than later'' jobs if you know what I mean. What''s your capacity at the moment?"


    "Shit," he thought.


    "I did not write a word yesterday," he said. "I''m mean I''m good on my current deadlines, but I can''t take anything else on for at least a week. I''m moving to Portland and I need to get situated."


    "Portland? Like, Oregon?"


    "Yeah. I decided this morning and I''m on a train there now," Davis offered. He winced immediately at sharing this information. It''s not embarrassing to move to Portland. He was sure dozens of people had done it. Moving to another state on a whim is weird, though. Right? It has to be weird. Is it alarmingly weird?


    "That''s cool, man. Portland''s great. I''ve been there a couple times."


    It turned out to not be as weird as Davis thought.


    "The freedom of remote work, Davis, I bet it''s like nothing else," Jason continued. "When you get situated with an address and whatnot, let me know. I''d like to send a house-warming gift."


    "Thanks, Jason. That''s really nice and unexpected."


    "Hey, you make my job easy. You work hard, you ask for little and you never complain. I like to think I have a bit to do with that last part, though."


    Davis pictured Jason pantomiming a jocular elbowing motion to emphasize that last point. He chuckled to himself.


    "I appreciate everything you guys do for me. So, these jobs, can any of them wait a week or two to get started?"


    "One, uhhh, hmph. The one person wants to meet end of this week, but I can pass that one to someone else. The person is high maintenance. It pays well, but you don''t need the aggravation while moving and working on a couple other things."


    "Thanks. The other?"


    "Movie script. No rush to start, I guess, but you''d have about a few weeks to turn around a draft. Pays decent, not as much as the others, but it looks like it could get made, which will be cool. It''s not horrible. The producer just wants to take it in another direction. He''s trying to cultivate this screenwriter. I dunno, it''s a whole ''situation'' over there. They appreciate your discretion and your expertise."


    "Sounds good. I''ve got about five more hours on the train. You can send it my way and I''ll take a look. I''ll have an answer for you by lunchtime."


    "Great. This one came through our office''s official channels, so I''ll be taken care of." Jason would often field calls or find jobs for Davis that were "outside official channels." In these cases, Davis usually offered Jason an unofficial commission.


    Jason finished, "I''ll send it when we get off the phone. I have to get going. Safe travels, man. We''ll be in touch!"


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    "Thanks again. Have a good one."


    Davis hung up the phone and immediately changed his phone to silent mode. He liked the challenge of script work, so he was looking forward to taking a look at the script from Jason. He decided to grab something to eat from the dining car before checking his email.


    He grabbed his backpack and set off in search of the dining car. He''d been in such a hurry when he boarded, he had no idea where he was on the train and no idea where he needed to go. He was standing in the aisle weighing his options. He noticed a middle-aged couple sitting across from each other. They had coffee and some crumbs from a pastry of some sort on the tray in front of them.


    "Pardon me," Davis said to the couple, rather than one of them in particular. "Do you know where the dining car is?"


    "You want to head that way," the man said, gesturing to the back of the train. "It''s two cars down."


    Davis thanked the couple and headed to the back of the train. Each car was sparsely populated. There was a handful of passengers in the next car and about a half dozen more in the dining car. He picked out a poppy seed muffin, a bottled coffee drink and an orange. After paying, he headed in the general direction of his seat. He kept a lookout for a better spot, but eventually settled back into his previous seat. It was already on the west side of the train, and he liked the views of that side, so far anyway.


    He was a lot less reliant on his phone than other people his age. He was content looking out the window as he ate or went from place to place on trains and buses and in cabs. Extremely limited social media and minimal contacts did not hurt either. It was 15 minutes after he''d eaten his muffin and orange that Davis remembered to check his email.


    There were four emails waiting for him, including the screenplay and notes from Jason. Another was Jason''s first attempt to send, which had no attachment. The other messages were a confirmation from his vacation rental and appointment to view an apartment. He was able to shore up lodgings for the next week over the phone. He then locked in an apartment viewing for 6 p.m. that night.


    When he turned his attention to Jason''s email, the one with the attachments, he looked over the notes first. It turns out that the producer wanted to adapt a science-fiction script into a 1920''s period piece. The writer had no concept of the period. Davis had a degree in history and specialized in Egyptian and early 20th century America. That laid the foundation for his fiction writing. This job was right in his wheelhouse and that thought brought a smile to his face.


    Before he moved on to the script, he realized the notes had a second page. He looked it over and was surprised to see that the producer asked for him by name and offered a co-writer credit. It would be his first. He sat in awe of the attention and slowly realized that his name would be attached. This lent credibility to his novel series and excited him about the project.


    He imagined Jason saying something like, "James Carrick is moving into movies." It was with his usual over-enthusiasm. Davis smiled and dug into the script.


    Davis was excited. To have been sought out on the strength of his work was cool. There was a bit of ego-stroking involved, but also a potential into a more mainstream audience. The writer of the movie is heard, but does not have to be seen. He didn''t daydream about walking the red carpet at award shows. That would''ve scared the shit out of him. He wanted the opportunity to have his work seen by millions of people.


    Movies felt like a safe space for him. He often binged movies at home and in the theatre, escaping into a different world for a couple of hours. Some movies were not so much "good," but "familiar." He often rewatched the same movies and slipped into the world on screen. These were often forgotten movies that had received middling reviews. For him, it was not about the quality of the picture. He liked how he felt watching it. He wanted to feel the characters'' connections, share in their emotions. It was helpful. It reminded him that he could feel that way despite years of emptiness and evidence to the contrary.


    These feelings also made him a better writer. He was able to pour the thoughts and feelings he wasn''t able to express into his writing. Dr. Kane was a loner but had trusted allies in almost every city and village. Women were available and interested, but he didn''t let them get attached. There were father figures and sidekicks. Kane felt loss when someone close to him died and fought like hell to save everyone the bad guys targeted to get to him.


    Every world he created was influenced by Davis'' own experience and desires. They still offered the same escape and glimpse of hope that movies afforded him. Kane escaped his own isolation into adventures that were filled with what he was missing. Writing about these adventures allowed Davis to escape from his isolation, as well.


    As the train approached the Portland city limits, he finished his second read of the script. The first was casually on his phone. He took a break for a lunch of a tuna salad sandwich, Cool Ranch Doritos, and a Kit Kat. He then pulled out his computer and made notes as he reread the document. It was a strong story. He had some initial ideas to translate to the desired setting and made some notes for added research. Once he got started, the deadline would be a breeze. He actually lamented a bit that he would not be able to start right away.


    Davis put away his computer and turned his focus out of the window to get a good look at Portland as it came to view. He was excited about a fresh start and looked forward to beginning a new life. He was much more optimistic than when he''d left Seattle five years earlier. That was running away, and this was moving towards a new adventure. He was chasing the hope that had presented itself to him. He had spent too much time expecting it to find him.


    To make the most of his new chance, he resolved to change his lifestyle, as well. It was depressing he was able to move to a new state on a whim. No one was going to miss him in California. No friends or family left behind wondering where he''d gone.


    Davis couldn''t do much about the family, but he could make an effort to make friends. He was not a forward or outgoing person, so it was going to be difficult. But, if he could make a few connections¡ªeven just some acquaintances to start¡ªit could make a big difference. Not eating alone every night, he thought, would be a nice change of pace.


    It wouldn''t be easy. He''d spent a lot of energy to be forgettable to most people and at times worked to not make connections. He was going to be himself and, if that opened opportunities to connect, he''d stop running from them.


    When the train came to a stop, he grabbed his bags and joined the small queue of passengers in his car to disembark. He followed the crowd through the terminal and, eventually out of the front doors. He brought his belongings to the side of the entrance and pulled out his phone to get a car. After plugging in his destination details, he found a six-minute wait for his ride.

 Chapter 9

    Davis exited the train station and found an alcove where he would have a cigarette. It was his first cigarette since Sacramento. The nicotine from the first drag brought with it a buzz. Whenever he quit smoking or had to abstain, that first cigarette back was satisfying. He leaned against the side of the building, tilted his head back and savored the sensation.


    A slow-moving green Nissan Altima reminded him that he was waiting for a car. To be exact, he was waiting for a... he checked his phone... a green Nissan Altima. He dropped his cigarette, quickly stamped it out, and waved to the driver. He raced to throw the butt in a nearby garbage can and collect his belongings. He dropped his suitcases in the trunk and remembered to compare his license plate with the car app. He then tossed his backpack into the back seat and slid in beside it.


    The driver wound through downtown Portland on his way to the vacation rental. After 20 minutes, the Altima pulled up in front of a two-story craftsman house. He would be staying in a guest house in the back, which was barely visible from the driveway.


    With his bags in tow, Davis headed to the front door for the agreed-upon check-in process. He was greeted by a man he suspected was the husband of the woman he spoke with on the phone.


    "You must be Davis."


    The man was Black with short hair, gold-wire glasses and a friendly demeanor. He was 5-foot-7 with a stocky build. He extended his hand and identified himself as Kevin, Andie''s partner, and then led Davis around back.


    "It''s always a treat getting a last-minute booking for this place," Kevin said, casually. "It''s always clean and ready to go. A great little place. Seems a shame when it''s empty."


    "You have a nice house," Davis offered back. "Looks like a great area too."


    "It is," Kevin said, unlocking the front door to the guest house. "As you saw in the description, very walkable," he added while standing aside to allow Davis to enter first.


    "As you can see here, not much of a tour is necessary for a studio," Kevin said, following him in. "It''s small, but a nice place to unwind at the end of a day. The bed is comfortable. You everything you need to work on the desk there. The TV is connected to our streaming apps."


    "Thanks. I really appreciate it."


    "So, what brings you to Portland?"


    "Moving here, actually. I''m looking at some apartments in the area."


    "Ah, right. Andie mentioned something about that. We''ve lived here for 12 years, so if you have any questions, let us know. Our cell phone numbers are on the desk over there next to the WIFI password. Andie works from home and is a good first call. Feel free to text me during the day and I can help out when time allows. Otherwise..."


    He trailed off and dropped the keys in Davis'' hands.


    "Nice meeting you, thanks," Davis replied.


    The two men exchanged one last smile and Kevin returned to the main house.


    When the door closed, Davis put his bags down and collapsed on the sofa. He surveyed the room, which was true to the pictures online. There was a TV to the left of the door with a coffee table and sofa. Behind him was the bed and kitchenette. A small bathroom with a nicely tiled shower stall was on the other side of the bed.


    Small, but nice.


    The clock said 5:25 p.m. when Davis considered plans for getting to his apartment appointment. He figured it may be harder to get a car in a residential neighborhood, so he decided to walk. He pulled out his phone to see how far of a walk it would be. When he plugged in the address he was pleasantly surprised to see it was only an eight-minute walk. He then zoomed in on the map to look at the surrounding neighborhood. There was a nice variety of food options¡ªChinese, Pizza, Indian. There was also a diner that touted great hamburgers and an all-day breakfast on its website. He also saw some stores and a coffee shop that would meet his lifestyle needs.


    "Fuuuuck," Davis said aloud in a drawn-out, approving manner when he was done looking at the area. He was surprised with how lucky he was, as he was getting excited about his new city. He just hoped the apartment was not a dump. The apartment was a bit of a risk. The only pictures on the ad were of the view, which was a nice picture of the city over some adjacent buildings. On the map''s street view, he was able to see the exterior of the building and that it was above the Chinese restaurant.


    He set out from the guesthouse with 20 minutes allotted for the eight-minute walk. He wanted to make a good first impression, but there was also a fear of falling asleep that motivated him.


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    He stepped out into the sweet-smelling spring air and took a deep breath at the end of the driveway. He turned left and traversed a rather steep hill downwards to the main street. The route took him past many of the places he''d seen on the map. The mixture of food smells complemented each other in a way that seemingly defied reason. He also noted the amount of foot traffic on an early Wednesday evening and found a greater appeal.


    After a convenience store and bike shop, he saw a narrow road that was his next turn. Once there, he saw the Chinese restaurant. Its neon red sign spelling out "The Mandarin" illuminated the road.


    He pulled up the email from the landlord for reference and entered the restaurant. The interior was reminiscent of most Chinese restaurants he had frequented. Conversation and clanging silverware at the few occupied tables created a murmur. At the hostess stand, he looked around but did not see anyone that worked there. After a couple of minutes, a slightly harried man approached the stand. He was Asian with a lined stern face that looked to be in his mid-70''s. He was slightly taller than Davis, which he attributed to great posture for a man of his age.


    "Hi. I''m looking for," Davis started, looking at his phone again, "Paul Lee?"


    "You must be Davis," the man said with a deep, authoritative voice, but also with a hint of a west coast accent. "I''m Paul. It''s nice to meet you."


    Davis was taken aback. He felt sheepish about it, but he really expected an Asian accent. He wanted to attribute it to his knowledge of immigration patterns of the west coast, as well as the man''s age. He feared it was an attitude that may not fit with his new, more progressive and inviting city. He hoped his face did not register any surprise that would offend the man. Paul was unphased. When the two men shook hands the man''s stern expression turned to genuine warmth.


    Davis smiled back and offered, "You too."


    "Let me show you the apartment," he said. He looked back in the kitchen area and shouted, "Cassie, I''m taking someone to see the apartment. Keep an eye on the front."


    "Will do!" came from the back.


    "Right this way," Paul offered, letting Davis lead the way.


    The two men exited the building through the front and entered a door just to the left of The Mandarin''s storefront. Paul unlocked the door and led Davis up the stairs. At the landing, Paul explained the layout of the building.


    "This is the office for the restaurant. The studio is the only apartment on this level. There are two more apartments upstairs."


    Davis nodded and Paul continued on to the studio. He unlocked the door and let Davis enter ahead of him. The lights were off, but the room was well lit. There were two banks of large windows on the front facade of the building, opposite the entry. To the left was a kitchen area, whose window led to a fire escape, and was opposite a bathroom. That was the lone identifiable space, as the rest of the empty studio was bare. A light smile came over Davis'' face as he took in the interesting features of the space. The walls were all dark brick, the floor a well-worn wood. From the doorway, he could see he envisioned the open space to the right as the living room area. That led to an alcove that opened around the corner next to the door. This looked like a natural bedroom space and faced the big windows, which he liked.


    He could see why it was available. The price was a little high and the smell of the restaurant wafted in easily. He could tell it would be pretty drafty. It was bigger than he expected and looked pretty cool.


    Davis did his due diligence and surveyed the entire studio, checking out the bathroom. He ran the faucets, he turned on the lights. It would definitely work for him, and he was hoping to get it.


    "So, is there a lot of interest in the place?" he said, attempting to hide his interest in case there was bargaining to be done.


    "Some people now and then. It''s been empty for about two months."


    "What was the cost, again?"


    "Well, we list it at $1,000 a month, but it''s actually $750 with no utilities and a 25% discount at the restaurant downstairs."


    Davis smiled and Paul smiled back.


    "Our biggest concern is people being able to pay for the place. If you can pay $1,000, $750 is a breeze. I also don''t like lookey-loos. If you''re interested, I have the time. If not, I am a busy guy."


    "Makes sense," Davis responded, nodding. "I''m going to be honest, I really like the place. What do you need from me for an application?"


    "I will run a credit check. As you saw, our office is right outside your door. If you have plans for any shady dealings or dangerous activities, you''ll be out on your ass."


    "Fair," Davis offered. "I assure you; I have no plans to do anything ''shady or dangerous,''" he added with a smile, but resisted the urge for air quotes.


    "What do you do for a living?"


    "I write," he replied, recognizing a concerned look in relation to a steady income. "I''ve had a handful of books published and I also get steady work writing for other people," he quickly added. "I write about six days a week and keep to myself, mostly."


    "Sounds good. If you move in, we''ll have to chat more about that," Paul said approvingly. "But, for now," he looked at his watch, "I need to get back downstairs. We should be picking up in the dining room."


    The manager allowed Davis to pass first, flicked off the lights, and locked up. Davis waited at the top of the stairs and allowed Paul to lead the way. When they got to the bottom of the stairs, he saw that business at the restaurant had indeed picked up.


    Paul told Davis what information he needed and payment details. Davis agreed to email the manager later that night. Paul would then follow up in the next few days.


    Before parting ways, Paul offered him a complimentary dinner. Davis could not refuse, even if it meant a second-straight night of Chinese food for dinner. The two men re-entered the restaurant and Davis was greeted by a young Asian woman at the hostess stand. Paul waved goodbye as their paths diverged. Paul entered the kitchen area and Davis found a small table in the corner of the dining room.


    Davis enjoyed orange chicken, fried rice, and a couple of egg rolls on the house before heading out. He kept an eye out for Paul as he left. He hoped to thank him for the meal, but settled for a ''thanks'' and a wave extended to the young hostess.


    On the way back to Kevin and Andie''s guest house he explored


    the neighborhood further. He arrived before 10 p.m. and fired off a quick email to Paul with the requested information. He then kicked off his shoes and laid on the bed to think about a whirlwind couple of days.


    With the walking and fresh air, he had little trouble falling asleep. Kevin was right, it was a really comfortable bed.

 Chapter 10

    "Hundreds of Seattle residents have turned out today at fire station 47 for a ''Be the Match'' drive to benefit Derrick Collins, a firefighter whose injuries on the job has left him with acute renal failure," said a news anchor, an Asian woman in her mid-30''s with a blue dress. She continued, "Jonathan Taylor is on the scene."


    "Thank you, Jeannette," he responded, "Derrick Collins and his fellow firefighters on Truck 47 were responding to a call at a warehouse last February. The crew was able to clear the building of people as the fire advanced quickly. Thirteen employees were rushed from the burning building and Collins was making a final sweep."


    "Derrick was the first one in the building," said a tall white man with a shaved head and navy t-shirt. He was identified on screen as Lieutenant Jeff Winston and continued, "We got through the building quickly, getting everyone out. No one could provide an exact count inside the building, so as the last people were being pulled out, Derrick and Tommy went in for one last sweep of the premises."


    "It was a routine call, and the crew was just finishing up," said Taylor in a voice-over juxtaposed with new footage of the night. "Unfortunately, what happened to Firefighter Collins was anything but routine."


    A taller man with short brown hair and dark sunglasses appeared on screen next. He was identified on the screen as "A.J. Collins, Hero Firefighter''s Brother."


    "As Derrick was coming out of the building, a heavy wooden beam fell on his back, pinning him to the floor," A.J. said, solemnly. "His partner Tommy was able to lift the beam to free him, but some exposed hardware punctured his gear and damaged his kidneys."


    The reporter now appeared on screen with a microphone, walking along a line of people as he talked.


    "That injury has brought these people to Station 47 to see if they can help their hero firefighter," he stopped walking and continued. "The trauma to his back caused irreversible damage to his kidneys, requiring the removal of one and decreased function in the other. In need of a transplant, the community has been spurred to action."


    "He has risked his life for this city, this seems like the least we can do. If any of us can help," said a Black woman in her mid-20s that was standing in line.


    Another person from the queue followed, a middle-aged white man with a graying beard and a Seattle Mariners hat, "My son is a firefighter, and looking at him, knowing this could be him, I knew I had to come down and bring along some neighbors."


    "Today''s ''Be the Match'' drive goes until 3 p.m. For KXNM news, I''m Jonathan Taylor."


    After talking with the reporter, A.J. headed into the fire station to find his brother. He eventually found him in the common area upstairs, watching television.


    A group photo on the nearby wall showed "Peak Derrick," he liked to joke. In the photo, his messy hair style was not covered by a baseball cap in a rare occurrence. His square-jaw face was its typical clean-shaven and his smile demonstrated a confidence that looked borderline arrogant but matched his personality well.


    Derrick had been on leave from the station since the accident 10 weeks earlier. In that time, his light brown hair had gotten a little long and he''d grown an unimpressive patchy beard. Through his medical treatments and a different kind of exercise, his 5-foot-9 frame appeared more lean and less sturdy than when he was healthy. The standard issue blue t-shirt, which was fairly taut on his athletic physique and tucked in tight, in the photograph was now loose on his frame. The uniform precision was also gone, as it now hung untucked.


    These days, his smile lacked any confidence and illustrated a sadness that was felt within. Being off the job caused a depression and when he struggled to cope, he was almost embarrassed that he was hurt on the job. Despite constant reassurance that this was a freak accident that could have happened to anyone, he replayed the moment in his mind repeatedly, wondering if just a bit more urgency and speed would have saved him.


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    Normally, Derrick would have relished in the attention and the ease with which "hero" was attached to him. In fact, after saving a pair of teenagers from a car wreck on the I-5 on his day off, he tested everyone''s limits by retelling the story ad nauseum with a few more embellishments each time. However, his occasional hubris was just a small part of his personality which most people offered a pass on. Typically, he was gregarious and social, which people responded positively to, even if his relationships with most were rather shallow.


    "Reporter''s gone," A.J. said to his brother, sitting on the couch beside him.


    Derrick sighed as his channel surfing had stopped on Mariners highlights.


    "How much longer do we need to stay?"


    "These people are trying to help, I think we can stay until the last person is done," A.J. responded with his disapproving tone.


    Derrick tossed the remote control on the coffee table and shifted in his seat to face his brother.


    "I appreciate this all, I really do," he started defensively. "But I''m not sure how much this is going to help."


    After just a big enough pause for effect, he continued quickly, pivoting back to his original position in the process, "Just like the one before it, and the one before that, and the family event."


    As he finished his thought, he turned his attention back to the television to see the Mariners'' manager previewing the next opponent, the Toronto Blue Jays.


    A.J. leaned back and exhaled deeply. The brothers sat together in silence, watching the television for 15 minutes. In that time, they did nothing to acknowledge the other''s presence, and no one bothered them. Eventually, the elder brother started to talk.


    "Look, the best thing we can do is try. As long as we are trying there is hope."


    He was now looking deeply at Derrick, who reluctantly met his gaze.


    "If you want to give up, fine" he continued, "I''ll send everyone home and you can help me plan the funeral. That''s a lot of work and not fun, so, if you''re going to make me take care of this on top of our sister''s wedding, the least you can do is help."


    A.J. pulled out his phone for effect, offering the numbers of some funeral homes he''s called in the past.


    "Fine," Derrick eventually said loudly, signaling his brother''s point was received and that he was kind of irritated by how far A.J.''s bit had gone on.


    A.J. smiled and leaned into his brother.


    "We love you and a lot of people want you to live. That has to make you feel good, right?"


    Derrick smiled but was unable to speak because he was becoming choked up. In truth, he appreciated everything, but his guilt of so much "wasted" effort was chipping away at him. He''d been working on these feelings with a counselor, but it was difficult.


    A.J. slapped his knees dramatically signaling his intention to stand, and rose to face his brother.


    "I think you can probably get out of here," he said. "We''ll give a rain check for the autograph and photo session later."


    Derrick smiled and stood up. He stretched with the first real movement in over an hour, wincing at a tinge of pain from his lower back.


    "Go out the back door," A.J. offered. "Your man bun and teenage boy beard are a stark contrast to the photo everyone has seen of you, but someone may still recognize you."


    Derrick laughed and stroked his beard pensively, considering a shave after the universal bad reception to its presence. He shook his head out of it, having grown fond of the look. He smiled again and gave his brother a hug before leaving the room. He headed down the back stairs and out the back door. He crossed to his nearby car and headed home.


    After watching his brother leave, A.J. exhaled and his body went limp as he stood. He collapsed back onto the couch. As his eyes drifted around the room, they became affixed on the group photo of Truck 47 with a smiling Derrick front and center. As he studied the brother that he had known, his eyes welled with tears. A moment later, his head fell into his hands, and he leaned forward in his seat sobbing uncontrollably for several minutes.


    Breakdowns were becoming more frequent for A.J. and, aside from Roland, they were never witnessed by anyone. But the weight of being a rock for his siblings was starting to weigh on him. He found these releases, succumbing to the emotion¡ªwhen alone, of course¡ªto be a helpful respite from his typically stoic demeanor.


    When he exhausted himself, he went to the nearby bathroom to splash water on his face and collect himself. When he was comfortable in his appearance, he put on a pair of sunglasses to hide his red eyes and headed downstairs. Once outside, he talked with firefighters and thanked the people in line for coming out.

 Chapter 11

    Davis felt at ease and was hopeful following his tour of the apartment above The Mandarin. He''d been a planner, taking every precaution, but he allowed himself to get his hopes up with the apartment. So much so, that he pushed other apartment viewings off for a few days. He told the managers it was due to some work commitments. He took this opportunity to work and explore his new city.


    The rare influx of optimism suited him well. He fell into a nice routine with shorter, but more productive writing sessions. The ghost-written thriller seemed to write itself. The 3-4 dedicated days he anticipated needing to finish turned out to be two. His editor, Jason, was happy to get the draft and Davis was happy to turn his sights to his own manuscript.


    Outside of writing, he spent his days exploring the area on foot. The walking replaced his usual running routine as he covered 5-6 miles per day. The first two days were dedicated to the walking area around his potential new apartment. He investigated every storefront and every eatery with window shopping and menu collecting. He needed to furnish an apartment for the first time, so he carved out time for a decent amount of online shopping.


    It was a spree he''d never experienced before and he kind of liked it.


    Davis had never cared much for buying furniture and other home items. He generally lacked the motivation to do so. He also dreaded the thought of having to drag all kinds of unnecessary shit to a new apartment. This approach made this last move refreshingly easy. Scanning shops online, he found well-reviewed and functional furnishings. He had a couch, bed, recliner, desk and desk chair all set to order as soon as he had an address to send them to. He even purchased his first television and found a reclaimed kitchen set on a tip from Kevin and Andie.


    The issue of a new address was resolved on day three. Paul Lee called Davis in the early morning with the good news. He got the apartment. His credit check cleared. His lone reference, Jason, also vouched that Davis was hardworking and steadily employed. He''d be able to move into the space in seven days. Meanwhile, his hosts were more than happy to extend his stay with them until he could move in.


    Davis channeled his excitement once again into his writing. He opted to forgo his daily exploration for several marathon sessions. After all, he had almost completely explored the surrounding area. This allowed him to plow through the last six chapters of his new book with a day to spare before move-in.


    As usual, Dr. Kane had no trouble fending off grave robbers and human traffickers. He once again saved the treasure and a young local woman. In a but of atypical whimsy, Davis had his protagonist save the life of his loyal camel. Dr. Kane utilized several ancient techniques to perform an early form of CPR on the animal. He then nursed him back to full health.


    Davis emailed the draft to Jason. He hit ''send'' on the message performatively and with a self-satisfied smile. He then set a calendar reminder for two days after move-in to start the script and closed his laptop. He stowed the computer in his bag with the intention of not reopening it for three days. This was his longest planned hiatus from writing, as well as the first vacation of his adult life.


    His last days in Kevin and Andie''s guesthouse meandered at a pleasant pace. He finally accepted his hosts'' offer to join them for dinner. This led to an enjoyable evening cooking out in the backyard. It was more vegan than Davis had anticipated, but it was surprisingly good. Andie even offered to email a few recipes.


    The dinner was Davis'' first real encounter with Kevin''s partner. He''d spoken to Kevin several times, but his communication with her came via text and notes on his door. Her appearance was a sharp contrast to Kevin in her style. Kevin was business casual most days. Andie, meanwhile, fit his stereotype of someone who''d say "Keep Portland weird" unironically. She had mocha skin she had explained came from Dominican, Black and white ancestry. Her lithe figure was betrayed by a loose-fitting flannel and baggy capri jeans. There was a noticeable collarbone tattoo, which he could not fully make out, and a pierced septum. Her hairstyle was shaved on one side and parted on the other.


    Andie and Kevin could not look any different. Their personalities were a perfect complement, though. Both were warm, easy-going and interesting people. He was assured if he''d met Kevin during his "bike messenger" phase, the style difference would make more sense.


    They were a joy to spend the evening with and he was happy that they offered to be his first "Portland friends."


    The dinner came ahead of his final full day in the guesthouse. That day passed by in a blur of activity and he returned to the house exhausted with more than he''d anticipated.


    After breakfast, Davis followed up Kevin''s suggestion of getting a bike. Kevin had referred him to the shop near his new apartment. The trip was fruitful. He got a reasonably priced cycle with a wealth of tips, tricks and insider knowledge of the city. The owner, Erich, also pointed him to the "best fish tacos in Portland," which happened to be nearby. He took his new bike for a test ride and got lunch.


    Locking up the bike outside, he entered a hole-in-the-wall cantina and saddled up to the bar. He then proceeded to eat his first fish tacos ever. They were good enough that he doubted he could dispute their title as "Best in Portland." It was a slow time, so he had nearly undivided attention from Trevor and Lyle-the bartender and server. Each was tattooed and pierced. They noticed Davis'' sleeve of tattoos sticking out from Davis'' t-shirt. During his time in Portland his tattoos didn''t seem to stick out. He was less self-conscious about sticking out and forgot about them. Trevor asked him about the sleeve and Lyle recommended "a wicked tattoo shop with some top up-and-coming artists."


    After he left the restaurant, he almost felt dizzy. Bouncing from one recommendation to another felt almost like a local business hustle. Feeling an uncharacteristic adventurous streak, he leaned into it, continuing on the journey. It helped that, at the insistence that Lyle-an aspiring tattoo artist himself-would tag along. The next stop paid off again. He got a small train tucked into an open area of skin near his armpit to represent the journey to Portland. He also made an appointment to get some touch-up work done.


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    The day seem to fly by. When he walked out of the tattoo shop, Davis saw it was nearing 6 p.m. and he had no idea where exactly he was. Pulling out his phone, he entered Kevin and Andie''s address and realized he''d gone four miles in a new direction.


    He gave a quick stretch and turned his attention to the direction he''d be heading. After a deep breath, he boarded his bike and started back.


    It was a quick ride back to familiar surroundings. During the ride, he came to the realization he could get used to the speed that biking offered over walking. He slowed down as he approached Arturo''s Diner. He''d walked by several times and was intrigued, but it was never at the right time to stop in for a meal.


    Now was the time.


    He locked up his bike and entered tentatively. The interior was that of a typical diner but seemed "nicer" in a way he could not put his finger on. There was a long horse-shoe-shaped counter and booths lining the exterior walls. He slid into an empty booth along the front window and grabbed a menu from the condiment station.


    Before opening the menu, he examined the interior once more. He saw the restaurant was moderately busy with a Sunday night dinner crowd. He then started to piece together what stuck out. The tables and counter appeared to be reclaimed wood. They weren''t cheap laminate that he''d been accustomed to seeing.


    The menu was also similar, but a little more trendy. The staples of every diner he''d visited in the past were there. He noticed, though, many vegan alternatives and a special section for dietary restrictions. He smiled to think that greasy spoons were "evolving."


    After his recent foray into vegan food, he considered one of the vegan options. Last night''s dinner opened his eyes to new possibilities, but, in the end, he just wanted a hamburger and fries. He closed the menu and looked out the window. He became entranced by pedestrians on the street. He''d found himself staring at some birds in a tree visible over an adjacent storefront when he heard a voice.


    "Hello?" came the voice again.


    Davis flinched and turned to the speaker, apologizing.


    The man was shorter with dark hair covered by a black baseball cap. He was Hispanic and in his mid-to-late 40''s and had black glasses and a light goatee on his vertical rectangle face. He didn''t look like a server. He was wearing a chef''s jacket under a black and white striped apron. His name tag said "Arturo."


    "Sorry for the wait," Arturo offered. "We''re down a server and I just noticed you''d walked in," the man offered.


    "No problem, I''m in no rush," Davis countered politely with a smile.


    "What can we get you?" Arturo asked, holding up a notepad with a short pencil.


    "Just a hamburger and an order of fries."


    "Anything to drink?"


    "Water is good, thanks."


    "No problem," he said, putting his pencil in the band of his hat. "I''ll get started on that."


    Davis nodded "thank you" and he watched Arturo return to the kitchen. He stopped to pass off the table to a female server. She was wearing a modernized version of a classic diner waitress uniform in sky blue. The conversation was inaudible but finished with a smile and pat on the arm from Arturo. The chef then disappeared into the kitchen. He re-emerged in a window that exposed the inner workings of the cooking area to the customers.


    Davis turned his attention back out the window. He basked in how ordinary this felt. It was rare that he had a day that seemed normal by other peoples'' standards. He''d started feeling like this a few days earlier. He''d made friends, engaged with strangers and lived a life that he figured other adults had. It gave him quiet contentment. The accompanying look gave a server pause as she approached the table with his food. She was reluctant to interrupt. Rather, she allowed him a few more moments of his trance before politely interjecting.


    "Hamburger and fries?" asked the young woman with a smile. She looked to be in her late teens with dark brown hair styled up and a small stud in her nose.


    "Oh, yes, sorry. I''m miles away today," he said, clearing a pace for the plate. It was then that he realized he''d been brought a glass of water at some point. The ice was almost gone.


    "Looks like a good place for you," she countered, lowering the plate in front of him, holding a grin. "If you need anything else, let me know. I''m Sara."


    "Thanks. I should be all set," he said, and she left.


    The meal hit the spot. As he cleaned the last bit of ketchup from his plat with the last of his fries, he saw a case of pies for the first time. On the counter sat a glass case with two rows of about six pies total in various stages of completeness. When Sara returned to check on Davis, he inquired about the pies.


    "We have apple, blueberry, banana cream, cinnamon, cherry and lemon meringue. I''ve tried them all and you can''t go wrong with any of them," she said.


    "I''m intrigued by cinnamon, but I''ll stick with the apple."


    "Good choice. I''m not sure when we''ll have cinnamon again, though. That was a new one today."


    "Really?" Davis asked, intrigued.


    Sara paused with expectation.


    "I think I''ll get the cinnamon, after all," he said.


    "I had a piece at lunch, and it was great. I''ll get that for you"


    The pie lived up to its billing. He''d never had a cinnamon pie before and had no idea what to expect. He enjoyed every bite, savoring the bursting cinnamon flavor and rich texture. As he finished his last forkful Sara reappeared. By this time, the diner had emptied out a bit. He''d noticed he was likely her final table. He asked for his bill ruefully, thinking he''d overstayed his welcome.


    The server completed the transaction without losing a hint of pleasantness. She settled his bill at the register, Davis saw her remove her apron. She then exited through the door near the kitchen. She walked right past Arturo, who was looking over some paperwork while leaning on the end of the counter.


    Davis approached him, getting his attention with a polite, "excuse me."


    "How was everything?" Arturo asked.


    "Great. Thanks," he replied.


    "I see you got the last slice of cinnamon. I was hoping it would last to the end of the day," the chef offered playfully.


    "It was great, and I regret nothing," Davis replied with mock defiance.


    The two men smiled.


    "I''ll be sure to let my niece know," he offered. "She''s the baker and likes to try out new recipes. Selling the pies is one thing, but she appreciates the feedback. Thanks."


    Arturo started to turn back to his paperwork. He noticed that Davis was still standing there awkwardly. "Is there something else I can help you with?"


    Davis shifted in his feet and asked if Arturo was the manager.


    "Owner," he offered in a terse, but still polite, manner.


    "Even better," Davis countered. "I, uh, how do you feel about people who work from your diner? Like setting up with a laptop."


    Arturo sat up and considered the question.


    "I don''t have a problem with it," he started. "If a paying customer," he paused and looked at Davis over his glass and continued. "If a paying customer were to work on a laptop at a booth for a few hours, I don''t see the harm. That''s what you''re asking about, right? I don''t want any ''transactions'' happening in my diner."


    "Oh, no no no," Davis sputtered. "I work from home. A lot of writing on my computer. I like to mix things up where I work. I just moved to the area and didn''t want to presume anything. I imagine I''ll be coming back often and I might bring my laptop."


    "I don''t think that will be an issue," Arturo responded, softening with a half-smile. "I''ll let you know if it becomes one."


    "Great. Thanks," Davis said, backing away. "I guess I''ll see you later then."


    He turned and left the diner. After unlocking his bike, he was off. He returned to the guesthouse a short while later for his final night away from home.

 Chapter 12

    The sound of the garage door opening came just after 10 p.m. It prompted both A.J. and J.D. to leap off the couch and go to the kitchen. When the kitchen door opened, Deuce walked in first. He did not acknowledge his brothers. He brushed back with his head down and arms crossed over his blood-tinged undershirt.


    "Is everything okay?" A.J. asked his parents as soon as they appeared in the doorway.


    His father was taken aback by the reception. He looked at his oldest son at a loss for words. He opened his mouth to talk, but nothing came out.


    "There was an accident," offered his mother, interjecting. She looked at her husband for corroboration.


    "Yes, Timmy Watkins passed away today," he said tentatively. "Look, boys, it''s been a long night. We can talk more about this in the morning. For now, J.D., you''re going to sleep in A.J.''s room. I''ll be up with the cot in a few minutes."


    "Head upstairs and get ready for bed," added mom, motioning with her right hand to the stairs.


    The boys complied, but barely, moving slowly to the stairway. A.J. led the way and, once they turned the corner, he made a beeline up the stairs for his bedroom. J.D. lingered at the bottom of the stairs and listened intently. A moment passed and he peeked around the corner. His mother broke down crying and buried her head in her husband''s chest. Don held his wife tight and had a look of consternation as he stared over her head at nothing in particular.


    Derrick could see 13-year-old J.D. watching his parents in the kitchen. He watched his younger self wrap his arms around his knees and gently rock on the bottom stair. He was visibly scared, and the sight of his parents once again brought those feelings back in a wave.


    Suddenly there was an ascending chime. The same four notes over and over again.


    Derrick''s eyes remained closed as he rolled over and reached for his phone without looking. It was always in the same spot, so he had little trouble instinctively finding it to end the ringing. He opened his eyes and looked at the screen. It was a familiar number, but he could not place it. His mind was in a fog at the moment. He answered the phone and closed his eyes once more.


    "Hello?" he asked groggily.


    "Derrick? It''s Dr. Caldwell. How are you feeling this morning?"


    Derrick perked up at the sound of his doctor''s voice. He''d been anticipating a call and was hopeful of what it could mean.


    "Good morning. I just woke up, but I''ve been feeling pretty good lately," he replied. "All things considered."


    "That''s good to hear," the doctor replied. "I know we have an appointment later this week, but I have some news on the donor front."


    Derrick rolled to the edge of the bed. He swung his feet onto the floor, readying himself for whatever news there was. They had just held a second "Be the Match" donor drive. He wondered how it went and if a match could come this fast. He wanted to be prepared in case it turned out to be as fruitless as the first.


    "I''m guessing the donor drive didn''t find anyone."


    "No, you''re right, I''m sorry," the doctor offered. "But, fortunately, that''s not what I''m calling about."


    "Fortunately?" Derrick blurted out.


    "Yes, we''ve found a match another way," Dr. Caldwell said, his tone denoting a smile on his face.


    Derrick sat in stunned silence as tears started to trickle down his face.


    "Still there, Derrick?" he asked after a moment.


    "Mm-hmm," he grunted back.


    "We found a match in Tacoma. They got tested for a friend of theirs, but it was not a match. Meanwhile, someone from the match drive matched their friend. The donor agreed to go through with the donation since it was your drive that yielded their friend''s match."


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Derrick was only half paying attention to the details and was a little lost in the explanation.


    "Long story short, Derrick, we have a donor and a surgery scheduled for six weeks from Sunday. We did it!"


    Derrick was now openly sobbing. A weight had been lifted from his shoulders and he finally had real hope. He''d attempted an optimistic facade for A.J. and Jenna''s benefit, but was losing faith rather quickly. They were not fooled.


    "I know this is a lot to take in," the doctor said, realizing he was carrying the conversation. "My office will follow up with more details."


    With that, the doctor hung up. Derrick dropped his phone and rested his face in his hands. He''d slept horribly, but the news had certainly invigorated him. It took about 45 minutes for everything to sink it. In that time, he got dressed and utilized a newfound appetite to eat a good breakfast for the first time in weeks. He was cleaning his dishes when he remembered he needed to spread the news.


    A.J. was his first call. He had a feeling his older brother would cry, but it would be a lot less than Jenna. He wanted to ease himself into that.


    "You''ve reached the voicemail of A.J. Collins. Leave a message and I will give you a call back."


    "Dammit," Derrick said to himself, waiting for the beep. He then left a short message, "A.J. call me back."


    He looked at his phone again and decided he needed to talk to someone about this and called Jenna.


    "Morning," his little sister said brightly after two rings.


    After some short pleasantries, he told her the news.


    "Dr. Caldwell called, and we have a donor," he said quickly.


    Jenna let out a shriek of excitement and started crying tears of joy into the phone. It was infectious and he was more emotional now than when he''d first heard the news. Derrick told her everything he knew, twice, taking a break when she told Trent everything as he walked by.


    "Six weeks? That''s right after the wedding," she said. "That''s great! What did A.J. say?"


    "I got his voicemail," Derrick said, slightly irritated.


    They wrapped up the call shortly after that, reaffirming plans for dinner in a couple of days. The call ended after one final shriek of joy.


    After hanging up, Derrick slouched into the couch with a smile on his face. He received a boost of excitement from talking with his sister. This had been the happiest he''d been since the accident, even trumping an hour earlier when he first heard the news. He was still smiling when he drifted off to sleep.


    Derrick walked into the bathroom, hardly noticing anything around him. He went straight to the sink and splashed some cold water on his face. He then grabbed blindly for a hand towel and dried his face.


    He then let out a deep breath and looked up into the mirror.


    The face looking back at him didn''t seem to match his own, but he did not seem to notice. He began looking at his face, running his hand across his smooth chin. It was when he felt his unkempt beard and not the clean-shaven face, he also saw that something seemed not right.


    He studied the face in the mirror. He was missing the scar above his left eye from a basketball injury. The hair was just a bit darker and short. Longer than before he started growing it out, but short and parted to the side.


    The expression of confusion matched his own until it didn''t. The confusion shifted into a stern look of disapproval. Derrick splashed more water on his face. He was nervous about facing his reflection in the mirror again. He slowly dried his face again before raising his head to meet his reflected gaze. His eyes met his eyes and were then drawn to a scar above his left eye. His attention darted around the face in the mirror and when he saw an unkempt beard, he exhaled in relief.


    There was a knock at his apartment door and he turned to face the sound.


    There was another knock, and he was startled awake. It took a moment to become aware of his surroundings and there came a third knock. He rose and crossed the room to answer the door. When he opened the door, A.J. stood there with a big smile on his face and his arms spread wide. He gave his little brother a quick hug and entered the apartment.


    "You didn''t answer your phone," A.J. started, settling in the middle of the room. "I was already close by, so I figured I''d come over."


    Derrick was surprised to see his brother and remained in a stunned silence.


    "Sorry I missed your call. Jenna texted, ''Call JD'' with, like, six happy emojis. I got your voicemail three times, so I called her. You okay?"


    "Yeah, I''m great," Derrick offered, shaking out a fog from his head. "I dozed off on the couch and, uh, I''m not sure where my phone is exactly," he said looking around the room.


    The two sat down in the living room on the couch and an adjacent chair. Derrick filled in A.J. on all the details. Much of the information was already relayed from Jenna. There were some details lost in translation.


    Derrick''s expression did not match the moment and that was not lost on A.J.


    "You okay?" he asked.


    "Yeah," he replied, putting on a smile. "It''s just been a lot to take in and I slept like garbage last night."


    A.J. looked at his brother skeptically but could see no reason to doubt his brother.


    "The news has given me a crazy appetite today," Derrick said in a more familiar tone, "You want to get lunch?"


    "Sounds good."


    Derrick put on some clean clothes and the two left the apartment. He blocked out the disconcerting dreams. He allowed the good news to drive his mood and enjoyed a celebratory lunch with his brother.

 Chapter 13

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 Chapter 14

    CHAPTER 14


    Jenna wandered around the office. She stared intently at various degrees and family photos on the wall. She didn¡¯t really care about their contents. She was only trying to keep her mind off why she might be there in the first place.


    ¡°So, is Derrick meeting us here?¡± she asked without turning her attention from the items on the wall.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so, the doctor just called this morning and I haven¡¯t talked to him.¡±


    A.J. was seated in front of a desk, leaning to the side with his legs crossed. He had been devoting his attention to looking out the window of the doctor¡¯s office. They were in their brother¡¯s transplant doctor¡¯s private office, which had an unimpeded view of Mt. Rainier off in the distance. He couldn¡¯t help but assume the doctor was hot shit to have this view. That gave him comfort. After he responded to his sister, he resumed his entranced look at the mountain.


    Moments later, the door opened.


    ¡°Sorry for the wait,¡± offered Dr. Caldwell. He looked harried and offered repeated apologies for getting behind schedule.


    Jenna took the seat next to her brother. Meanwhile, the doctor sat behind the desk and opened a file folder. His attention was affixed to the file and the siblings looked at each other awkwardly.


    ¡°Dr. Caldwell?¡± asked A.J., hoping to get the ball rolling.


    ¡°Yes, sorry. You are probably wondering why I asked you here. I just spoke to Derrick on my way in here. He is going to be admitted to the hospital this afternoon.¡±


    The siblings exchanged looks of concern.


    ¡°Did the timeline for the transplant get moved up? I thought the surgery wasn¡¯t for another three weeks,¡± asked Jenna, who looked to A.J. for confirmation. For his part, her brother remained focused on the doctor with a skeptical look in his eyes.


    Dr. Caldwell took a deep breath.


    ¡°Unfortunately, no,¡± he said. ¡°We have had a couple setbacks today and that¡¯s why I asked you here without your brother. We received a call today that the donor kidney has fallen through. The person that had been lined up got cold feet and pulled out.¡±


    A.J. slammed his hand on the arm of the chair and started to mutter curse words under his breath. He then leaned forward and settled with his head in his hands.


    Jenna looked from the doctor to her brother and back, hoping for a ¡°but¡± that never came.


    ¡°Well, we¡¯ll wait for another one,¡± she offered, grasping for something. ¡°I know it¡¯s not been easy, but we have to remain hopeful. We can talk to the media again, get another story on the need.


    ¡°He¡¯s a fucking hero for Christ¡¯s sake,¡± she continued, getting flustered. ¡°He wouldn¡¯t be in this mess...¡±


    Her voice broke and A.J. grabbed her hand and he leaned over to put another on her back to console her.


    ¡°Time is running out, unfortunately,¡± Dr. Caldwell said, bleakly. ¡°His condition is worsening and that¡¯s why I had him admitted. We have seen the timeline shrink from months to weeks. If we can¡¯t find a new donor soon, we¡¯ll be,¡± he paused. ¡°We¡¯ll be out of time.¡±


    Jenna began crying into her hands, while A.J. shifted in his seat to get closer to her.


    ¡°I don¡¯t see anything more your brother can do, but wait,¡± Dr. Caldwell said. ¡°We¡¯ll need to lean on the two of you, as the next week or two will be critical.¡±


    ¡°What can we do, Mike?¡± A.J. said, forgoing formality. ¡°We¡¯ve tested every willing person in Seattle.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. We need to expand our reach, I guess. Are there any family members we haven¡¯t reached out to? They would be our best bet. Anywhere else in the country? Second or third cousins? Your brother can¡¯t be the only O-negative person in the family, can he?¡±


    Jenna looked at A.J., who refused to meet her gaze. The doctor picked up on the interaction and quickly jumped on it.


    ¡°What is it? An asshole uncle¡¯s kidney is just as good as any,¡± he said, shifting his gaze between the siblings.


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    A.J. let out a deep sigh and stood up to pace the office.


    ¡°Why do I feel like there is something you¡¯re not telling me?¡± asked Dr. Caldwell.


    ¡°Deuce. Derrick¡¯s twin brother,¡± Jenna blurted out.


    The doctor looked at A.J. incredulously.


    ¡°A twin? For fuck¡¯s sake, guys. How was that not your first call?¡±


    ¡°We haven¡¯t talked to him in almost 15 years. I, I wouldn¡¯t even know where to find him,¡± A.J. offered.


    ¡°Derrick is only 26. You haven¡¯t talked to his twin in almost 15 years?¡± the doctor asked.


    A.J. looked daggers at the doctor and Jenna buried her face in her hands. Dr. Caldwell thought better of continuing this line of questioning.


    ¡°Estranged or not, I¡¯d suggest you start looking for this twin if you want to save your brother¡¯s life.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right. We¡¯ll take care of it,¡± A.J. said, conceding defeat. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about this. We appreciate everything you¡¯re doing for Derrick.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re all fighting for him. We just need to keep our eyes on what¡¯s really important here,¡± Dr. Caldwell offered, standing to leave.


    ¡°We have a nationwide network,¡± he added. ¡°If you find this twin, he can get checked for viability anywhere he is.¡±


    ¡°Thanks again, doc.¡±


    The doctor patted Jenna on the shoulder as he passed, shook A.J.¡¯s hand and left the room.


    A.J. looked as if the wind was taken from him. He slouched into the seat next to his sister.


    ¡°I have no fucking idea where to start,¡± he said, exasperated.


    A full minute of silence passed when Jenna spoke.


    ¡°I¡¯ll do it,¡± she said, matter-of-factly. ¡°I¡¯ll find him.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You and Roland have Trent¡¯s bachelor party this weekend. Go. You guys need to relax. I¡¯ll find Davis and, y¡¯know, talk to him.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    She thought for a second and nodded her head.


    ¡°Plus, do you really think he¡¯d talk to you?¡± she asked. ¡°I think my odds of getting him to come home are better than anyone else¡¯s.¡±


    She had a point. A.J. hadn¡¯t had the best relationship with his brother when they¡¯d lived under the same roof. He could only assume the amount of added resentment Deuce would feel for the last 13 years of radio silence. He could not stomach the thought of talking to or seeing his brother again. He was relieved to know at least he wouldn¡¯t have to call him.


    ¡°You¡¯re right. Thanks,¡± he said, giving his sister a look of concern.


    ¡°Don¡¯t thank me yet,¡± she said. He interpreted it as playful at first until he realized the subtext.


    ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll support you,¡± he relented, reading her mind.


    ¡°He needs to come to town around the wedding anyway,¡± she said eagerly. ¡°You want him to donate a kidney, it¡¯d be pretty shitty to have a wedding and exclude him.¡±


    ¡°Whatever gets him back here, you can give him the house, for all I care,¡± A.J. said. He muttered an added, ¡°I think he still owns part of it anyway,¡± under his breath.


    Jenna looked at her brother confused at that last bit. She softened her demeanor when she realized she was going to get to invite her brother to the wedding. Then it struck her.


    ¡°The wedding,¡± she said, defeated.


    ¡°Yeah, you can invite Deuce. I¡¯ll support you.¡±


    ¡°No, Derrick,¡± she said, slipping to the verge of tears. ¡°He¡¯s going to be in the hospital. He¡¯s¡­¡±


    ¡°One thing at a time, kiddo. If he makes it to your first anniversary, you¡¯ll completely forget he wasn¡¯t at the wedding.¡±


    She smiled at her brother through glistening eyes and the two stood and embraced.


    They made the decision to check in on Derrick and made their way to the nearby hospital. They traversed the medical offices building in silence and did not feel the need to talk much in the car either.


    When they arrived at the hospital it was near lunch. They would be unable to see their brother until a little later as he¡¯d only recently checked in. They went to the cafeteria for lunch. A.J. picked at a chicken salad and Jenna devoured a grilled cheese sandwich and some french fries. She sometimes developed a voracious appetite when she was nervous. Their continued silence was almost forced. Jenna did not want to sound too enthusiastic about her quest to find Deuce. For his part, A.J. was reluctant to accept the pursuit as actually necessary.


    They were very open in their relationship. This made the silence uncharacteristic and more uncomfortable.


    At the prescribed time, they revisited the front desk. They were given directions to visit Derrick. A.J. entered the room first, ducking in his head to confirm he was in the right place, and he was followed by a nervous Jenna.


    ¡°You found me,¡± Derrick offered in an upbeat manner. He was sitting up in no visible pain and thumbing through his phone.


    ¡°Well, you only go to three places these days,¡± A.J. shot back, forcing a smile onto his face.


    Jenna was not able to manage a smile, as the gravity of the situation was overpowering. The brothers saw her discomfort and quickly shifted the tenor of the conversation.


    ¡°We just came from Dr. Caldwell¡¯s office,¡± offered A.J. ¡°He got us up to speed.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, this fucking sucks,¡± conceded Derrick, trying to make the best of it. ¡°I, uh, yeah, I don¡¯t know what¡¯s next.¡±


    ¡°Well, we have a few plans in the works. You just relax, do what the doctors say, and we¡¯ll do whatever we can to take care of this,¡± A.J. said.


    Derrick seemingly knew what A.J. was tiptoeing around and cut to the chase.


    ¡°Do you think he¡¯d do it?¡± he asked flatly.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, but we have to try, right?¡± A.J. countered.


    ¡°I¡¯ll find him,¡± Jenna chimed in. ¡°It can¡¯t hurt to ask.¡±


    ¡°Well, you have to know you have my support,¡± Derrick said. ¡°Not that I have much of a choice, really.¡±


    He turned to his brother and continued, ¡°I appreciate you considering this. I know this is a sticky situation and I know how protective you have been with us since mom and dad died.¡±


    A.J. sighed and responded, ¡°Whatever it takes. Maybe he¡¯s changed. Mom and dad were more concerned than anything, I think. If he¡¯s changed and has been able to get his act together, I think this could be a good thing?¡±


    He lacked confidence in his last statement. He was nervous about anyone reaching out to Deuce. He never fully understood their parents¡¯ decision to distance the family from him. But, he did his best to respect it. After they passed, it seemed like a point of no return. This only galvanized his decision to keep their brother removed from the family.


    The siblings shifted the topic to a happier one, the wedding. They discussed updates and the impending bachelor party trip.


    David had arranged for about 12 of Trent¡¯s friends and closer family to spend three days at a cabin. The Pacific Northwest was great for these types of trips. Spending time outdoors was one of the few interests Derrick shared with Trent. As it was, he would miss out on the hiking, fishing and boating that David had planned.


    The trio was laughing when the nurse returned to evict the guests. Some family gossip had emerged during some recent wedding planning. Jenna was filling in her brother. A.J. and Jenna gave Derrick delicate hugs and said their goodbyes. They left the room and Derrick settled in for a nap.

 Chapter 15

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    Davis did not set an alarm. Years of institutional living programmed him to rise at almost the same time every day. There was a grace period of about 30 minutes, but, even five years later, he still hit that 7-7:30 a.m. window.


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    He did not mind the early mornings.


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    It was 7:18 when his eyes started to flicker with the sunlight and his contorted, sleeping body began to stir. Like memory foam, his positioning rebounded to its normal angles and he rolled to his back. His eyes remained closed. He refused to acknowledge the morning until his body was in a more defensible position.


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    There was a new feeling that started to creep into his mind over the last few weeks, bits and pieces at a time. Physically


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    This morning, the feeling was at its most recognizable. As he stared at his ceiling, he acknowledged it for the first time, ¡°This must be what normal people feel like.¡±


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    For the first time, he did not feel weighed down by his past. It just


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    In fact, he¡¯d had dinner with Kevin and Andie a couple days ago and they offered soccer tickets to him for that night. They had season tickets for the Portland Timbers and tonight was a big game against the Seattle Sounders


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    politelybeen invitedcertainly


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    Even without a clear guest to take to the game, he was excited


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    That morning, a feeling of normal wasn''t the only new sensation. He was also happy. He couldn''t remember the last time he felt like that. He didn''t try to figure it out, as the exercise would be depressing and ruin everything.


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    The last few weeks, with the gradual release of his usual anxieties, were great for his writing, too. He¡¯d put the finishing touches on the script rewrite earlier that week, firing it off to Jason. He''d also sketched out two strong plots for Dr. Kane stories, with a third that seemed on the tip of his brain.


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    Davis laid in bed for a little while longer before he decided to get up. He ambled to the bathroom to brush his teeth and take a shower. Then, he stood in front of his closet looking for a good outfit for a soccer game. He settled on some jeans and a plain gray t-shirt with plans to find a Timbers shirt at some point that day. He then grabbed his cigarettes from the counter and instinctively made his way to the diner.


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    He was now a bonafide regular at Arturo¡¯s. The servers all knew him, his narrow selection of ¡°usuals,¡± and that he was not chatty but personable. He¡¯d gotten to know, superficially


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    When he walked in, he was surprisedironically


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    She asked about his arm sleeve.


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    ¡°It is actually three different tattoos¡± and ¡°It¡¯s not that painful, but the longer sessions are tough.¡±


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    He was able to ask if she had any.


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    "A pie on my hip¡± and ¡°No, I¡¯m not showing you.¡±


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    Kathryn was also the most curious about what he was typing. She caught a glimpse of his computer screen early on and recognized the script format. He said what he could about his most recent project. He also offered vague and unexciting details about his writing career. He was reluctant to share his pen name or the titles of the books he''d written and she didn''t seem to mind.


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    After the sat down, they exchanged pleasantries. She confirmed his usual and put in his order of a waffle, bacon¡ªextra crispy, and fruit in. Then, she came with his coffee and water.


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    ¡°Do you go to many soccer games here?¡± he asked as she turned to leave.


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    ¡°The Timbers?¡± she responded, turning back. ¡°Yeah, a few. It¡¯s a great time.¡±


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    ¡°I¡¯m going for the first time. Do you know where I can get a shirt?¡±


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    Kathryn set the coffee pot down on the table. She then looked out the window as if surveying the whole of Portland. Her lips adorably


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    ¡°Basic? Or do you want to look like a diehard?¡± she asked after a minute.


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    Davis had not expected the question but responded, ¡°I just


    <div>


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    ¡°Okay, well there¡¯s nothing around here, then. If you want a basic shirt, you could hit the Dick¡¯s Sporting Goods off 213. There is also a Big 5 or something like that up the road from there.¡±


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    <div>


    ¡°Thanks,¡± he responded, though she recognized a look as if he had more questions.


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    ¡°Let me check in on my other tables and I can answer any other questions you have.¡±


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    This took a little longer than anticipated. Ronnie from the kitchen had brought Davis¡¯ food to the table. He¡¯d eaten most of it before Kathryn sidled into the booth across from him.


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    <div>


    ¡°Sorry about that. I have a few minutes,¡± she said. ¡°What do you want to know?¡± After a pause, she hedged on her knowledge. ¡°I¡¯ve only been to a few games with some friends, so I don¡¯t know everything, but I can get you there and back in one piece.¡±


    <div>


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    She smiled and he reciprocated.


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    After swallowing the last bite of waffle, he wiped his mouth and asked his questions.


    <div>


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    ¡°What¡¯s the best way to get there? I assume getting a Lyft or Uber after the game would probably


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    ¡°Well, you could take a couple different buses there, but they do have bike parking if you want to do that. Where are you meeting your friends?¡±


    <div>


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    ¡°I¡¯m going on my own. Most of the people I know in Portland have a funeral to go to. I don¡¯t know the guy, so¡­¡± he trailed off, but felt it adequatelyreally


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    Kathryn sat back in the seat. A look of intrigue crossed her face as she contemplated taking the ticket for herself. She knew how big this game was and that the atmosphere was going to be amazing. Yet, she reallycertainly


    <div>


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    ¡°Let me think. I may know someone,¡± she replied.


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    Davis noticed a slight mischievous look cross her face. She had bit the lower right part of her lip as her eyes darted to the side in thought. She¡¯d then quickly


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    Davis did not think much of it. He assumed she was either talking to someone back there or reaching out to someone who may want the ticket. He slumped easily


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    Moments later, her return startled him from his trance. He watched as she sat back down, a little tense but trying to appear loose.


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    ¡°I¡¯ll go,¡± she said matter-of-factly


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    Davis thought there was a little, "since you twisted my arm," in her expression, but he didn''t mind.


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    ¡°Great,¡± Davis responded with a smile, sitting up in his seat.


    <div>


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    ¡°Just


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    He figured that seemed like a reasonable thing to say. This being framedreally


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    ¡°Okay,¡± he said. ¡°I can drop the ticket off later this morning.¡±


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    Kathryn looked confused and gave him a cockeyed look.


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    ¡°We can go together if you want,¡± she said, slowly realizing he had not considered that an option, ¡°like... as friends.¡±


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    ¡°Great,¡± Davis blurted out, excited that it was an option.


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    He thought Kathryn was nice and seemed cool, so this was a great outcome. He was only a customer, so he did not consider that she''d be interested


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    ¡°Well then,¡± he continued without giving much consideration to the end of his sentence.


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    ¡°Do you want to drive?¡± she asked. ¡°We can meet here.¡±


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    ¡°I don¡¯t drive,¡± he said.


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    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s right. You ride and do public transit. That¡¯s cool¡±


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    ¡°Yeah, well that, and I never learned.¡±


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    <div>


    Kathryn¡¯s attention perked up and Davis regretted saying it as the words left his mouth. He knew it sounded weird.


    <div>


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    For her part, Kathryn didn¡¯t know how old he was. She assumed mid-20s, so the idea that he never learned how to drive seemed odd.


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    ¡°I just...¡± he started, ¡°I had the chance to learn, but I never needed to and didn¡¯t care to. Now, it¡¯s, well, unnecessary,¡± he finished.


    <div>


    <div>


    This was true. He was given


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    ¡°That¡¯s cool,¡± she reassured him. ¡°I can drive. Do you want to meet here around 5:30?¡±


    <div>


    <div>


    He agreed and she grabbed his phone from the table. When the screen came alive, she held it in front of Davis. His face was not recognized right away, so he punched in his six-digit passcode. He wasn¡¯t completely sure what she was doing, but he really


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    ¡°So,¡± she said, hammering away on the screen. ¡°I just


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    She finished and handed him back his phone with a smile.


    <div>


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    ¡°Sounds good,¡± he said, taking the phone and returning a smile of his own.


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    Kathryn started to rise. ¡°Did you need anything else,¡± she asked, motioning to his empty plate, glass and mug.


    <div>


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    ¡°Nope. All set.¡±


    <div>


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    ¡°Cool,¡± she replied, stacking the dishes to take them away. ¡°I¡¯ll be right back with the check then.¡±


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    She returned moments later, and the transaction was quickly


    <div>


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    ¡°See you tonight,¡± he offered as he left the diner.


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    She responded with a smile and ¡°See you then¡± as she completed the sale at the register.


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    Davis was equal parts nervous and excited. It was a nice energy that lifted him as he walked home. He opted to capitalize on it with a bike ride. The whole time he was buzzing about going to ¡°the game¡± with a friend. This made him a little more outgoing on his ride. He smiled at other riders a little more. He even uncharacteristicallynon-chalantly


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    It was about 4:30 that afternoon when he started to get nervous about the game.


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    "What are they going to talk about? I''m going to be alone with a borderline stranger for, like, FOUR HOURS."


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    He¡¯s a weirdo with no past before five years ago. He also had very little to talk about his current life¡ªno family, no real friends. Every fact about his life, in the wrong light, just


    <div>


    <div>


    Davis was nauseous with anxiety as he approached the diner. He was a few minutes early because he could not sit in his apartment staring at the ceiling in dread anymore. He spent the walk making a mental list of current events and interests to discuss. When the diner was in view, he looked down and eyed at his brand-new Timbers shirt. It was gray and looked distressed with the logo worn to look retro. Not only did he like it, it was also the first shirt he saw at the store.


    <div>


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    For the love of God, he just really


    <div>


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    As he considered whether to wait inside or not, the diner door opened, and Kathryn emerged. She was pulling on her light hoodie over a plain gray t-shirt. She smiled when she saw Davis.


    <div>


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    ¡°I¡¯m parked just


    <div>


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    ¡°Fuck it, I¡¯m going to make a friend,¡± he said to himself in an inaudible pep talk.


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    He smiled and decided to let it all go.


    <div>


    <div>


    Davis asked her how her shift ended as they walked to her car, and they went to the game.

 Chapter 16

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    <div>


    She stared at the number again. It seemed like she¡¯d had it for ages and stared at it hundreds of times. In truth, this was just the third time.


    Jenna was initially scared by the number¡¯s mere presence in her possession. It was late yesterday afternoon when she had managed to track it down.


    Then, she thought she might use the number for the first time that night. It was getting late. As if she didn¡¯t have enough stress with a wedding and sick brother, she stared at the number for a long time before bed.


    After finally dozing off around 2 a.m., she managed to sleep until half-past eight. She felt she''d barely slept. She had dreams of fractured memories from childhood. These were interspersed with dreams of talking to Derrick only for him to reveal he¡¯s really Davis.


    She poured herself a cup of coffee and was now back at it: staring at the phone number.


    The number was scribbled on the back of a receipt in blue ink in harried, frenetic handwriting. It was the product of a good amount of detective work on her part to track down. She had been alone for the last few days when she started on the quest. She spent the time at her future home, the apartment she would share with Trent after the wedding. He was away for his bachelor party, which A.J. and Roland were also attending.


    She was glad to be alone for her phone call with Davis but underestimated the time and effort it would take to find it.


    The process began, naively, with searches on Facebook and Google. She tried ¡°Davis Collins,¡± ¡°T. Davis Collins,¡± ¡°T. Collins,¡± and ¡°Deuce Collins.¡± She was disappointed when she found no current digital footprint. The only traces she found. were articles related to the death of Timmy Watkins and Davis'' impending trial. Her superficial detective work spanned a few more social networks. There was Twitter and Instagram. She tried LinkedIn and then something called "MySpace."


    Outside of his birthday and a vague idea of what he could look like, she had very little else to go on.


    Had he even been released from juvie? He could¡¯ve done something to get sent to prison. She decided that would be where she would start. She contacted the King County Youth Detention Center with her first call.


    Being a former resident¡¯s sister moved the needle very little with the staff. But, after some finagling, she was able to find out that Davis was released on his 21st birthday.


    Since it was public record, a clerk was willing to share one bit of information. On his 18th birthday, "T. Davis Collins" legally changed his name to Davis Archer. No middle name.


    When she hung up the phone, Jenna stared at her notes stunned. She¡¯d always assumed that Davis would love an opportunity to be a part of the family again in some way. For the first time she considered that she may not be able to find him or, if she does, her call won¡¯t be welcome.


    She lost an entire day under the weight of this thought. A pep talk from Trent about doing it for Derrick gave her the proper motivation to resume her search. She returned to the internet to find next to no records for Davis Archer.


    With no digital footprint, Davis would be very hard to find without professional help. Her next course of action was to reach out to the local police. Detective Adam Tinsley was very compassionate to the Collins family during Davis¡¯ trial. He had brought Jenna candy and a coloring book during a particularly sensitive day in court.


    Detective Tinsley was easier to find. He was now Lieutenant Tinsley and quite accessible through the Seattle Police Department.


    ¡°Tinsley,¡± he answered when she finally connected with him. His voice was gravelly, but as friendly as she remembered.


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    ¡°Hello Detective Tinsley, my name is Jenna Collins. My brother was T. Davis Collins.¡±


    ¡°Ah, yes, Jenna,¡± he responded after a moment. ¡°I remember. How are you?¡±


    She was taken aback, but the case had always lingered in the back of Tinsley¡¯s mind. There was the uncertainty of what really happened. Also, it was one of two cases he worked with a juvenile murder suspect.


    ¡°I¡¯m pretty good,¡± she responded.


    ¡°That¡¯s good to hear. You should be, what, 20 by now?¡±


    ¡°Good memory,¡± she responded, with a smile that could be felt through the phone. ¡°Close. 21. I¡¯m a junior at Seattle U, studying digital design. I¡¯m actually getting married next weekend.¡±


    ¡°That sounds great. Congratulations,¡± he said and, after a moment, added, ¡°What can I do for you?¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m actually trying to find my brother, Davis. It¡¯s a long story, but our brother Derrick, his twin brother, is sick and needs a new kidney. None of us have seen or spoken to Davis in 13 years and I¡¯m trying to track him down. I have no idea where else to turn.¡±


    ¡°Christ, that¡¯s horrible. I¡¯m sorry to hear about Derrick. Well, uhh, I¡¯m not sure what all I can do for you. Hold on.¡±


    There was a momentary silence as Tinsley typed away on his computer. After a minute, he started again.


    ¡°He changed his name,¡± Jenna offered. ¡°I¡¯m not sure if that would show up or slow things down. He goes by Davis Archer now. He got out of juvie on time. That¡¯s all I know.¡±


    ¡°That does help,¡± he said before another pause. ¡°Well, it looks like he¡¯s stayed out of trouble since he got out of juvie, which is good. You like to think he was able to reform inside.¡±


    After some more light key tapping, he continued. ¡°So, he was living in California, near Sacramento in Roseville. It looks like,¡± he paused as he followed the information on his screen, ¡°he may have just moved to Portland. It shows he recently registered for a state ID there. Never had a driver¡¯s license.¡±


    This thought struck Jenna as sad. It made sense that he never learned how to drive. He was essentially in prison from 13 years old until he was 21. They are probably not giving those kids driving lessons. He missed out on a lot of teenage things: Proms, graduation, being taken out for his 21st birthday.


    She was lost in thought when Tinsley had to bring her back to the conversation.


    ¡°Jenna?¡±


    This was obviously not the first time he¡¯d said her name trying to break her trance.


    ¡°Sorry! What were you saying?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I can give you an address, but, unless you want to drive to Portland, it may not be helpful.¡±


    ¡°Well, if it comes to that,¡± she threw out with a cavalier tone. ¡°Whatever information keeps me moving forward.¡±


    Tinsley gave Jenna the address. After a little more small talk, he congratulated her once again on the wedding and the call was over.


    ¡°I can work with this,¡± she thought as she pulled her laptop back in front of her.


    A search of the address didn¡¯t help too much, at first. She looked at the address¡¯s street view and saw the Chinese restaurant and figured out her next step.


    ¡°Thank you for calling The Mandarin, how can I help you?¡± a young woman¡¯s voice said.


    ¡°Hi, yes, can I possibly speak with a manager?¡±


    ¡°Certainly, please hold.¡±


    Several moments passed when an older man picked up the phone.


    ¡°Hello, this is Paul. I am the manager. How can I help you?¡±


    ¡°Hello Paul. I have a couple random questions I was hoping you would be able to help me with.¡±


    He did not respond, so she continued.


    ¡°My brother lives in the same building as your restaurant. I was wondering if you would be able to connect me with whatever company rents the apartment to him. I¡¯m hoping to get a phone number.¡±


    ¡°If he is your brother, why wouldn¡¯t you have a phone number for him?¡±


    She thought this question may come up and she was prepared with just the right amount of truth. She¡¯d hate to give too much of his past away.


    ¡°Well, we¡¯re estranged, you see. I haven¡¯t seen Davis in over 10 years, and he may not actually want to talk to me.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re Davis¡¯ sister?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Jenna responded hopefully. ¡°Has he mentioned me?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Paul responded bluntly.


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    ¡°I like Davis, but I respect his privacy. So, unfortunately, I cannot give you his phone number. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Jenna let out an audible sigh.


    ¡°I understand,¡± she responded with an audible dejection.


    ¡°The best I can do is forward you to his phone,¡± he offered. ¡°You can talk or leave a message. He keeps his privacy if he wants it. If he wants to talk to you, he¡¯ll call you back.¡±


    She perked up with the offer and quickly agreed to it. As he said goodbye, she became filled with dread. Was she ready to talk to him? What was she going to say? This is going way too fast.


    Before she could think of what to do, the phone was ringing. After three rings, it went to voicemail. Jenna exhaled with the prospect of being able to leave a voicemail. She would be able to regroup and be prepared for, hopefully, a callback.


    ¡°Hi, you¡¯ve reached 279-510-8610. If you didn¡¯t dial the wrong number, leave a message.¡±

 Chapter 17

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    <div>


    Davis and Kathryn clicked at the soccer game. They shared some mutual interests and sensibilities, and enjoyed each other¡¯s company.


    The game was also great.


    Despite their Seattle roots, his unknown to her, they cheered on the Timbers loyally. The home side rallied from 2-0 down for a 3-2 win on a goal two minutes into stoppage time.


    Bill Tuiloma, a New Zealand defender Kathryn is convinced has come into the diner a few times, scored the game-winning goal. Davis was not convinced he was at the diner and Tuiloma sightings became a running joke. They would exchange text messages on possible sightings. Davis thought he was an avid bike rider, while Kathryn was all over the map on who she thought was Bill Tuiloma. As the texts became more frequent, Kathryn''s reports started to become physically impossible. At least once, a text came through about Tuiloma being at Chipotle while Davis was watching him play on TV.


    Between dubious sightings of their new favorite professional athlete, the pair became closer. Davis frequented the diner a little less. This coincided with more time spent together away from Arturo''s. He was worried about blurring those lines. She was unspoken in her appreciation of that for the same reason.


    A couple weeks after the game, Arturo hosted an annual cookout for friends, family and staff. Kathryn had been attending the event since before she moved to Portland. She knew almost everyone there. She decided to invite Davis as a plus-1 for the event. He mingled with a few other people he knew¡ªArturo, Ronnie, Edwin and one other server to which he was familiar. He was also introduced around, including to Arturo¡¯s wife.


    ¡°This is the one that bought you pie?¡± she said with a smile and a hug. ¡°That was the first thing Artie told me walking through the door that night.¡±


    ¡°You certainly made an impression,¡± she added. ¡°I think you may have set unrealistic expectations for his other regulars.¡±


    Davis felt surprisingly comfortable amidst the throng of strangers. What reputation preceded him was positive. Everyone was also so welcoming that he did not have to step outside his comfort zone to fit in. Being friends with Kathryn seemed to have earned credibility. He was starting to put together that she was a tough nut to crack.


    Towards the end of the night, he was sitting alone, just back from a group around a campfire, when Kathryn found him.


    ¡°Enjoying yourself?¡± she asked, pulling up a chair near his. They¡¯d spoken very little outside of eating dinner together since they arrived at the party.


    ¡°Yeah, this has been great,¡± he replied, giving her a smile.


    Kathryn didn''t really feel sorry for Davis. He seemed content and excited by his life, but she suspected he was lonely. She chalked it up to recently moving to Portland. It was a fact that reconciled nicely with the type of friends he''d made. It was a small group of people met by circumstance consistent with a couple of months in a new city.


    Davis knew that his recent move offered a reasonable explanation for his solitude. He didn''t feel the need to discuss. It was an unnecessary point that there was no life left behind in California.


    There was one lie that stood between them and it weighed on one more than the other.


    ¡°I need to confess something,¡± Kathryn began quietly. She picked at the label on her beer bottle as she looked for the words.


    ¡°Oh, I know,¡± Davis said, casually. He didn''t take his eyes off the clear night sky, at which his full attention seemed to be focused.


    He took a sip of his beer as she shot a look of disbelief his way.


    ¡°You do?!?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ve known for some time. It was obvious, really,¡± he replied.


    ¡°And you¡¯re not mad?¡±


    ¡°Nope,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m glad you did it.¡±


    His eyes remained trained on the sky.


    Kathryn sat there stunned, but not surprised.


    ¡°See, kiddo," he said in a voice that dripped with intentional condescension. "I have this animal magnetism that just attracts the ladies. It¡¯s been explained to me by a sociologist, but I don¡¯t remember the details.¡±


    She stared at him confused.


    He continued, his voice as plain as if he was explaining the constellations to a middle schooler.


    ¡°Yeah, women, and some men, cannot control themselves around me, y¡¯know, sexually. So, they create whatever fiction they need to be able to maintain that control when around me. I respect it. Shit, I appreciate it.¡±


    It was at this point she punched his shoulder as hard as she could. He finally cracked, laughing uncontrollably.


    ¡°Fucker,¡± she shouted, holding back the urge to laugh and give him satisfaction.


    It was short-lived as she cracked moments later. She was chuckling as she gave him one last backhanded swipe into the shoulder and took a drink of her beer.


    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    Davis giggled mischievously to himself while monitoring her reaction. She squinted and really looked at his face in the dim light of the nearby fire.


    ¡°Are you drunk?¡±


    ¡°Eh¡­ maybe?¡± he replied, still giggling.


    ¡°I felt bad having lied to you, y¡¯know,¡± she said.


    ¡°I know,¡± he said, sobering his demeanor a bit. ¡°It made sense and, really did take some of the pressure off me.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I believed you at first, so I knew you didn¡¯t expect it to be a date. That relieves a lot of pressure.¡±


    Kathryn sighed in relief and took another drink of her beer.


    ¡°How did you know I wasn¡¯t really dating anyone?¡±


    Davis looked at her dismissively.


    ¡°What?¡± she said defensively.


    ¡°I watched you give your phone number to a guy at the game!¡±


    They both laughed and let the conversation die. The state of their relationship did not change with this information being in the open. They did not address it again. It also removed the specter of trying to date from hanging over their relationship.


    Shortly thereafter, they agreed to share an Uber to get home. Kathryn was dropped first. After they pulled away from her apartment, Davis slouched in his seat and beamed to no one on the night he¡¯d enjoyed. Despite the late night and the amount of alcohol he¡¯d consumed, he was full of energy. When he arrived home, he bid adieu to his driver rather gregariously. He also wished a friendly ¡®good night¡¯ to some neighbors walking to their door down the street. He then shuffled in an almost dance to his front door.


    Once inside, he laughed at his own behavior while traversing the stairs. Once inside his apartment, he slumped onto the couch.


    ¡°Fucking A, man,¡± he said in his empty apartment. ¡°That was fucking fun.¡±


    He passed out.


    The truth was it was likely one of the best nights of his life. He had no baggage, forgetting about all his bullshit and the stress he carried with himself all too often. The only way the night could have gotten any better is if he¡¯d met Bill Tuiloma.


    ***


    A week later, Davis was putting the finishing touches on script revisions from his editor, Jason. It was late on a Tuesday night and his phone buzzed on the table next to his laptop. Confused, he checked the caller ID and also saw that it was 10:21 p.m.


    ¡°Kat Gallardo¡±


    He pulled off his glasses and answered the phone.


    ¡°Hello?¡±


    ¡°Come down here now,¡± Kathryn whispered harshly.


    ¡°What? Is everything okay?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Come. To. The. Diner. Now,¡± she said firmly at a volume barely above a whisper. She added, ¡°You are not going to regret it.¡±


    The line went dead, and Davis stared at his phone for a moment. He then looked out of the window and saw a steady rain falling. He sighed, put his glasses back on, and looked around for some shoes.


    ¡°This better be good, otherwise I expect some free pie,¡± he said to himself. He fished his second running shoe out from under the couch and threw on a jacket.


    Four minutes after the call ended, Davis pushed through the diner¡¯s front door and got in out of the rain. He took a moment to catch his breath and threw back the wet hood of his rain jacket. While unzipping the coat he looked around. He saw one occupied table in the diner with three men around it. He then spotted Kathryn in Arturo¡¯s usual place at the end of the counter near the kitchen. She gestured wildly for him to come to her and as he approached, she led him into a small hallway off the kitchen.


    Her visible excitement rendered her speechless. She had to take several deep breaths to collect herself. Davis eyed her skeptically with an unamused look on his face. It was hard to hold as her giddiness was infectious.


    ¡°Bill,¡± she said, pausing to stifle her glee. ¡°Here,¡± she spit out.


    Not getting the reaction she hoped for, her expression soured. She was unable to comprehend how Davis was not matching her excitement.


    ¡°Bill,¡± she started again, excitement creeping back into her voice as she tried to finish. ¡°BillTuilomaishere.¡±


    Davis failed to comprehend again, and she tried a different tact.


    ¡°He¡¯s here,¡± she said, nodding slowly as if Davis was on the verge of understanding.


    ¡°Who¡¯s here?¡± he asked quietly with a continually confused expression.


    It came to him suddenly, as if his mind was completing a word jumble puzzle. His excitement was ramping up and they spoke in unison, each at a pitch above a whisper.


    ¡°Bill Tuiloma!¡±


    They were now on the same page and at a loss for how to proceed.


    There is nothing inherently funny about seeing Bill Tuiloma around Portland. The man lives there. Davis and Kathryn would both admit as much. Sometimes, though, people become attached to a player. Often it''s less for their athletic prowess and more for their role in a special moment. Bill Tuiloma scored the dramatic goal to beat Seattle. He might frequent Arturo''s diner. He possibly even bike. the trails of Forest Park on the regular. You add on three dozen possible sightings of dubious veracity, it¡¯s not hard to see why these two would be so excited.


    After a few minutes, the initial excitement wore off. Now the two of them were left with what to do next. This was the pinnacle of the inside joke they shared. Only disappointment greeted them on the other side.


    Davis pointed this out and Kathryn reluctantly agreed. She came up with the idea that they decided was the proper way to send this joke off into the sunset.


    For professional reasons, it was Davis that approached the table. If Bill Tuiloma did not appreciate this encounter, it shouldn''t be a diner employee harassing him.


    Davis looked at the three men finishing up their meals. One of the two men on the left bench of the booth did not look at all familiar. The other looked very much like the player on the cover of the game program that night he attended the match. His name escaped Davis at that moment. On the other side, facing the two men was, definitely, and for real this time, Bill Tuiloma. He was drinking some water when Davis started talking.


    ¡°Excuse me, gentlemen,¡± he said to the table in general. He then turned to Bill. ¡°Do you mind if I ask, are you Bill Tuiloma?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± he said with a courteous smile and a thick New Zealand accent.


    ¡°Do you mind if I ask you two questions?¡±


    Bill was confused at this and looked at his meal companions. They both shrugged before nodding affirmatively. They were obviously intrigued and happy to not be the one fielding odd requests.


    Bill turned back to him and, with a skeptical reply said, ¡°Sure?¡±


    ¡°One, have you eaten at this diner before? And two, do you bike in Forest Park often?¡± Davis asked. He was obviously nervous and trying hard not to seem weird.


    It was weird, but Bill was relieved at the lower level of weirdness. It could, in his estimation, be so much weirder.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± he said, wiping his mouth.


    ¡°Tony here,¡± he continued, motioning to the non-soccer player across from him. ¡°He lives nearby and loves the pie, so he likes to come here. The pies are good, so we come with him sometimes.¡±


    As he was answering, Kathryn was slowly creeping around the counter to listen in. She came into sight and caught the attention of all four men. The three customers shrugged it off, figuring this was all connected.


    ¡°As for Forest Park, I mean, I have ridden there, yeah, but I wouldn¡¯t say ¡®frequently.¡¯¡±


    He looked at Davis, hoping that he was helpful. He also hoped this would be the end of, not only the weird questions but the weird interaction as a whole.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Davis said, offering a thankful hand gesture to Bill¡¯s dining mates and then to Bill himself.


    He turned on the spot and retreated to the back. Kathryn retreated ahead of him. By now, the giddiness had worn off and he and Kathryn reveled at the end of a good joke. She felt vindicated that he did, in fact, come into the diner sometimes. Davis felt like maybe he has Bill Tuiloma mixed up with someone else, a fact they both laughed about.


    ¡°Up close, I don¡¯t think he¡¯s the guy I see riding in Forest Park.¡±


    Kathryn collected herself and returned to her actual job of waiting on tables. After settling the table¡¯s bill, she offered an apology.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry about my friend,¡± she told the table, focusing on Bill. ¡°We were at the Seattle game and saw your goal. I was also convinced I¡¯d seen you in here before and he was convinced he¡¯d seen you at Forest Park. It became a running joke that we see you everywhere.¡±


    The three men laughed, and Bill was relieved. It made a lot of sense now¡­ fucking weird, but, again, a reasonable amount of weird. He also offered to take a photo with them.


    ¡°That would be great!¡± she said excitedly.


    Davis met the group at the door and Kathryn handed her phone to the other man that was not Tony.


    ¡°Actually,¡± Tony said, taking the phone away from the man. ¡°I think he should be in the picture.¡±


    Kathryn and Davis stood next to the omnipresent Bill Tuiloma and his friend Diego.


    Tony took three pictures for good measure. Then, he gave the phone back to Kathryn with a slip of paper and the three men left.


    ¡°What¡¯s on the paper?¡± Davis asked after they¡¯d cleared the doorway into the night.


    ¡°That Tony guy gave me his phone number,¡± she said with a laugh, slipping the paper into her pocket.


    Davis helped Kathryn wind down her shift, wiping down the counter and chatting. Then, as he walked her to her car shortly after midnight, her phone dinged. She looked at it and chuckled.


    ¡°Apparently, the other player with Bill was Diego Valeri,¡± she said. ¡°According to my friend, ¡®only the best player in team history.¡¯ He tweeted about it, too.¡±


    She turned her phone to Davis and saw a screenshot of Diego Valeri¡¯s Twitter account:


    ¡°Esta noche conoc¨ª a los mayores fan¨¢ticos de Bill Tuiloma.


    Amo Portland.¡±


    ¡°What does that mean?¡± asked Davis.


    ¡°Something about meeting the biggest Bill Tuiloma fans and that he loves Portland,¡± she replied.


    They had one last laugh and said good night. Once Kathryn pulled away in her car, Davis turned to walk home. He realized it had stopped raining and laughed to himself.


    ¡°You are not going to regret it,¡± she had said. The words bounced around in his head the whole walk home. That, with the fact that she was right about Bill eating at the diner, convinced him Kathryn may never be wrong.

 Chapter 18

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 Chapter 19

    Davis was filled with frenetic energy when he hung up the phone. He¡¯d just talked to his eight-year-old sister. Well, 21-year-old sister, but he struggled with the fact that she¡¯d aged since he last saw her.


    ¡°Holy shit, Jenna just called me,¡± he thought, taking a mental inventory of the conversation.


    ¡°J.D. needs a kidney.¡±


    ¡°Jenna invited me to her wedding.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s been 13 years! It makes sense that Jenna was the one to call me. It sure as shit wasn¡¯t going to be A.J. or J.D.¡±


    ¡°J.D. needs MY kidney.¡±


    ¡°Jenna¡¯s wedding is this weekend.¡±


    ¡°Wow, Jenna is an adult. She¡¯s 21 and getting married?!?¡±


    ¡°What do I need to do to donate a kidney?¡±


    ¡°Wait, am I donating a kidney?¡±


    ¡°I hope I didn¡¯t say I was donating a kidney.¡±


    ¡°Does Jenna want me at the wedding? Or was I invited to get my kidney.¡±


    ¡°Do I care if I¡¯m invited to the wedding so that I will give J.D. a kidney?¡±


    ¡°Does that asshole deserve my kidney?¡±


    ¡°Is J.D. an asshole? I mean, apparently, he¡¯s some kind of firefighter hero.¡±


    ¡°J.D. is my twin brother, and he has not contacted me in 13 years. He¡¯s an asshole.¡±


    Davis decided to see if there was a way to organize his thoughts. He pulled out his idea notebook and flipped to the last page. He grabbed a pen from the counter and went through his process. This much he knew: If I give J.D. my kidney, I need to get the process rolling. I don¡¯t imagine I can roll up to the hospital one day and offer a kidney.


    He began writing.


    Actions and deadline:


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    <li>Call hospital about kidney donation (ASAP)</li>


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    Jenna is 21 now, an adult, and is getting married. That¡¯s crazy. She said she wants me there. She hinted that she wanted to invite me, but this kidney thing makes it more palatable for everyone else. Going to this wedding would be like walking into the lion¡¯s den regardless. If I¡¯m not donating a kidney, this would be suicide.


    He continued writing.


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    <li>Unless I am 100% sure I am donating a kidney, RSVP ¡°I¡¯ll try¡± to Jenna. (Today)</li>


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    He tapped the pen on his head looking for No. 3. The more he thought about it, the more he realized boiled down to two things. J.D. needs a kidney and Jenna invited me to her wedding. It was still helpful to write down, even if it was just the two things. Seeing it in print made it easier to process.


    He figured he would add more notes throughout the day as his research offered. He Googled being a living kidney donor and wrote down the important stuff. He also looked into getting to Seattle. Trains up there were fairly regular. He also found several hotels with availability around the train station.


    His next call was to the hospital to schedule the necessary tests. The scheduler appreciated the urgency and was able to get him in around lunchtime. He was just doing his due diligence, he thought. He was scared to tell the man on the phone that he wasn''t convinced he would donate. The stranger¡¯s general appreciation also would have made it awkward.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    Davis had a few more hours until his appointment and the anxiety made him forget about breakfast. He figured it was for the best as he recalled many hospital tests usually prefer some sort of fasting.


    There was nothing to do, but he needed to find something. Writing was not an option with this weight on his shoulders. With nothing else, he was left to run through his conversation with Jenna on a loop. Talking to Jenna after 13 years was a lot to take in. Pair that with the news about J.D. and a wedding invitation seemed like almost too much to comprehend. He¡¯d actually talked to his sister. And she was getting married! That¡¯s crazy. He¡¯d last seen her as an eight-year-old and now she was about to graduate from college.


    Davis wasn¡¯t surprised by the updates on A.J.''s life. He''d looked up his family on Facebook once. He elected not to sign up, so he was limited in what he could see. It was long enough ago that Jenna was not on there. A.J. was looked very happy in what few pictures he had on there. He wasn''t proud of the fact, but the happiness bothered him a bit. Their life went on without him. That was a driving force of his avoidance of Facebook. It was one of the more petty and irrational decisions he made.


    Jenna had danced delicately around just how happy A.J. was. Rather, she said his husband was an ¡°amazing guy¡± named Roland and moved on.


    She seemed to instinctively understand that there was an extra apprehension when discussing J.D. She treaded lightly with him. It was limited to ¡°became a firefighter out of high school,¡± ¡°no steady relationship,¡± and ¡°is pretty happy.¡± She also offered a cliff¡¯s notes version of the accident.


    Davis tried to draw on the latest positive developments in his life. He embellished a little bit when talking about the new friends made in Portland. If you asked Jenna, he was a little closer to Arturo, Paul, Kevin and Andie than he actually was. After all, that group represents one friend''s uncle, his landlord and a couple who rented him an Airbnb. He knew it looked bleak on paper and he didn¡¯t want his sister¡¯s sympathy.


    After a while, Davis realized he was smiling thinking about the conversation. He did have a nice life and he knew it. That''s something he''s glad his family would know. He didn¡¯t need to cynically assess their dynamics to be happy.


    Kathryn was as close of a friend as he¡¯d had. They were still new friends. There was enough that they did not know about each other that he didn¡¯t feel guilty about keeping his past a secret. They were having fun and had kept much of their interactions "surface level."


    As for his other "friends," they weren''t transactional in nature. Their relationships were transcending the circumstances of their origins.


    Arturo seemed to like his presence in the diner. They¡¯d engaged well outside the normal diner owner and customer dynamic. Paul was the same way, protective of his tenant in a way that went past the business setup. They had genuine, substantive conversations. The rent is coming on the first of the month even if they don¡¯t watch a soccer game together¡ªwhich they¡¯d done.


    Kevin and Andie were even less invested in the relationship as they knew he had an apartment less than a mile away. They did not let him leave their guesthouse without promising to come back for dinner. They also insisted he text with any questions. He took them up on the offer a couple of times and even reached out for some recipes.


    There was one caveat to these relationships in that they did not know about his past. The know "Davis." He''s a nice, laid-back guy that is conscientious to a fault and has interesting ideas and opinions. He knew that was who he was, or is, really. He was comfortable with this dynamic. His past would only make them question everything they thought they knew about him.


    Then, it hit him: What if he doesn''t donate a kidney? That is a reflection of who he is now. He may not tell them, but that is a pretty shitty thing regardless of the circumstances. If he doesn''t go through with it, is this another secret?


    If he was honest, would these friends or acquaintances be able to reconcile that with who they think he is? Does this make what happened when he was 13 years old more relevant?


    Davis ran to the bathroom and threw up. Three heaves and he was confident he''d expelled all yesterday¡¯s food from his body. He turned from the toilet, sitting on the floor leaning against the bathtub. He allowed the cool porcelain of the tub to cool the sweaty base of his neck as he leaned his head back.


    ¡°If I do not do this, am I better than the person people thought I was,¡± he said out loud. He closed his eyes and pondered the answer. ¡°Am I the nice guy that these people like? Or does this seem consistent with someone who killed his friend when he was 13? Has he really changed?"


    He let the words scroll through his head on repeat for an hour. He stretched some stationary muscles every so often or readjusted his position. Yet, he remained seated on his bathroom floor. The midday light eventually reached the bathroom through the open door. He knew he had to leave soon.


    He splashed cold water on his face and composed himself in the mirror. He took a couple of deep breaths and stared into his eyes in the mirror. He then ordered a car from his phone and got dressed with the seven minutes he had.


    At the hospital, Davis went through the motions, numb to the outside world. He could not tell you exactly what had been tested or what preparation advice was offered. He did what he was told, held gauze over a puncture site or took off his shirt. There was a general appreciation from each staff member he encountered. They had a reverence for this noble donation. There were different last names between he and his brother, so the act appeared that much more heroic.


    He smiled and nodded where appropriate and accepted the paperwork he was given. Before he knew it, he was outside waiting for a ride home. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Then, a reminder chimed in the back of his head that someone had told him not to smoke anymore ahead of the procedure. He looked down at the paperwork he held and, there it was, he couldn''t smoke or drink alcohol between now and then.


    Davis found a trash can and discarded the half pack of cigarettes and thumbed through the stack of paper. He saw the surgery was set for 8 a.m. on Sunday morning in Seattle. He could check in the night before or before 6 a.m. that day. He¡¯d have to make sure not to eat or drink anything after midnight.


    The reality hit him that he may really be going through with this. He accepted the realization like news of his impending execution. He was a million miles away from the entrance to the hospital. He was only stirred awake at the impatient honk of the car he¡¯d requested. He made an apologetic hand gesture and slid into the back seat. As the car pulled away, he pulled out his phone.


    ¡°I¡¯ll try,¡± he texted.


    As he lowered his hand to his side and turned to look out of the window, there was a vibration. He checked his watch to see the notification.


    ¡°Thank you thank you thank you ????,¡± was Jenna¡¯s response.


    Davis dropped his arm to his side and slumped down further in his seat. He leaned his head back to steel his nerves. After a deep breath, his body slackened and he turned his head to look out the window.


    "No turning back," he thought. He should feel good about this, but he felt anything but. He''d done things he didn''t want to do before. In fact, he lived eight years with very little agency in juvenile detention. He had hoped he was past that.


    He pulled out his phone and looked at his sister''s text message again. It helped a little, but not much. He dropped his arm once again. He watched the city scroll by desperately hoping for something to grab his attention.


    He was left disappointed.

 Chapter 20

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 Chapter 21

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    I wanted to sit there to study?"


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 Chapter 22

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    ¡°Hi, you¡¯ve reached 279-510-8610. If you didn¡¯t dial the wrong number, leave a message.¡±


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    ¡°Hi, you¡¯ve reached 279-510-8610. If you didn¡¯t dial the wrong number, leave a message.¡±


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    ¡°Hi, you¡¯ve rea¡ª¡±


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 Chapter 23

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 Chapter 24

    *Ding*


    Davis rolled over to look at his phone. He checked the time, 12:34 p.m., and then to see what the notification was.


    ¡°Flying to Seattle tonight. Spending a few days with my parents before the wedding. Forgot to mention.¡±


    He smiled.


    ¡°Sounds good. Tired?¡± he responded.


    She sent back a GIF of a zombie followed by, ¡°You could say that,¡± and punctuated with a winking emoji.


    ¡°Sorry.¡±


    ¡°No worries. When I get off, I¡¯m getting a nap in before my flight. Talk tomorrow?¡±


    ¡°Definitely. Safe travels! ??¡±


    ¡°Thanks. XO¡±


    He flopped onto his back again, wiped the sleep from his eyes, and thought about the day. He had only a few more hours of work on his script left. He could afford himself some time off to relax before traveling to Seattle at the end of the week. Writing-wise, though. the day was wasted, so he finished up his work the next day.


    Outside of that, he spent his time hiking and trying not to think about the trip ahead. He failed miserably. Having so much time to himself did not help. He was extremely anxious when Friday came. The prospect of returning to Seattle for the first time in almost six years weighed on him.


    He had spoken with Kathryn a couple times in the preceding days. He looked forward to connecting with her at the ceremony because he would not have to face that alone. Davis did not tell her he did not plan on attending the reception. He wanted to leave his options open in case he changed his mind. He knew he wouldn¡¯t.


    Friday came soon enough. Seattle was a three-and-a-half-hour train ride from Portland. He liked the downtime of train travel. Listening to music as the horizon flies by was great for coming up with story ideas. This trip, he wanted to clear his mind as the Pacific Northwest flew by outside of the train¡¯s window. He didn¡¯t bother having his idea notepad at the ready. His mind cycled through scenarios and conversations with various relatives at the ceremony.


    The plan for that night was simple. Davis would arrive in the mid-afternoon. He then wanted to see his old neighborhood again, hoping he would find some closure there. Outside of that, he would do his best to manage nervous energy and anxiety. It had underscored every waking moment of the last few days and would likely build until the wedding.


    When he arrived in Seattle, he got a car to take him to his hotel. After checking in, he dropped his bag in his room. He¡¯d packed light, with a pair of black pants, white dress shirt, black tie and black shoes for the wedding. There were also toiletries, a handful of t-shirts, a pair of jeans, his laptop, and a couple of puzzle books. He wasn¡¯t sure exactly how long he¡¯d be in the hospital but planned on returning to Portland as soon as he was discharged.


    Plans for that evening had been bouncing around in his head for much of the week. There was no one he intended to visit, but he was fighting the temptation to visit his parents¡¯ ¡°new¡± home. Whether intentional or not, he inherited a share of the house. He was curious to get an idea about the life that he was never intended to live.


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Davis left the hotel and grabbed a sandwich from a nearby deli. He was able to eat half of it while waiting for another car before his nerves stole his remaining appetite. The trip to the suburbs was nostalgic, as little had changed over the years. The sites played out as they had in his youth when he took trips to and from the city with his family. Even after all this time, he could¡¯ve offered directions to the driver in landmarks.


    He was lost in thought when the car pulled up at the corner down the street from his childhood home. He decided to approach his childhood home on foot. The sight of a car dropping him directly in front would reveal too much of his true intentions. This way, if he saw someone familiar, or there was a family home, he could keep walking.


    The concerns were for naught. The street looked deserted, which was likely the norm for a Friday afternoon. He was able to stop occasionally at locations of notable events of his childhood. There was the field for his neighborhood football games. Then his best friend¡¯s house, with the yard they¡¯d camped out in. He also saw the tree where he¡¯d had his first kiss. It was a dare when he was 12. He did kiss the girl again, because they wanted to, a couple of weeks before Tim Watkins died. The feelings inside surprised Davis as a whimsical smile crept across his face. This block, these houses, were mostly good memories. He was even nostalgic at the spot where he fell off his bike and broke his hand when he was nine.


    He thought he¡¯d been moving at a relaxed and unremarkable pace. An old man approached and dispelled that notion. It turns out, he¡¯d lingered too much for a casual pedestrian. The man recognized someone looking for something, or at least trying to remember.


    ¡°Can I help you find something, son?¡± the old man said, following Davis¡¯ look of surprise with, ¡°You look like you¡¯re looking for something.¡±


    Davis was caught off guard by the sight of his old neighbor, Mr. Duvall. Mr. Duvall was old when he was a kid. The fact that he was still alive was impressive and put him at ease for some reason.


    ¡°Oh. I¡¯m sorry, sure,¡± Davis sputtered. ¡°I used to have some friends that lived around here. I¡¯m in Seattle for an, ummm, a conference,¡± he lied.


    ¡°The Collins? Were you one of J.D.¡¯s friends?¡±


    ¡°You could say that. I spent a lot of time around here with them.¡±


    The old man looked closely at the visitor, attempting to place his face. Davis looked away, revisiting his attention to the house.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name? You look kind of familiar.¡±


    ¡°Dav¡­¡± he caught himself, ¡°Dave Archer. Like I said, I was around a lot. My mom worked with their mom, Gwen. I remember a lot of kids in this neighborhood. I¡¯d be surprised if you could place me.¡±


    Mr. Duvall¡¯s side-eye glare softened.


    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s a shame what happened to the Collins. Did you hear?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Davis said, curious where this was going. ¡°I remember they moved, and I never went over to their house again.¡±


    He did not lie often, but he was very comfortable doing so in this instance. He was actually surprised at the ease with which he was able to dance near the truth without revealing who he was.


    ¡°Oh, terrible incident, actually,¡± the old man started. ¡°One of their other boys, everyone called him ¡®Deuce,¡¯ well, he got into a fight and killed another boy. No one knows what they were fighting over. So, the boy got arrested and during the trial didn¡¯t even look sorry. Well, he went to jail and the family moved. Can¡¯t blame them, really. It¡¯s tough facing your neighbors after that.¡±


    Davis was nodding along. He was numb to this simplistic re-telling of the most traumatic incident in his life. His attention never wavered, and his old neighbor continued.


    ¡°Once your boy kills someone else¡¯s kid, you can¡¯t blame others for thinking their son is next. No, the Collins moved. I think they bought a house in the city. I can give you their address, but I read your old friend J.D. is in the hospital. Some accident he had on the job as a firefighter. Saving someone¡¯s life, I think. Real hero. In the newspapers, says he needs a kidney. So, he might not live there anymore. Parents could, though.¡±


    ¡°They died,¡± Davis offered somberly, turning his gaze back to the house. He added, ¡°Thanks, I¡¯d like that address. It would be nice to check in while I¡¯m in town and see if there is anything I can do for J.D.¡±


    ¡°No problem. It¡¯s a shame about the parents. Tough decisions to make, but they did what they had to do. Get away from this place to make other parents feel safe. I heard they also cut off the troubled boy. You can¡¯t have a killer in your house, especially after he gets out of prison. By that point, who knows what he¡¯d do to their other children.¡±


    Davis nodded absent-mindedly, looking around the neighborhood while Mr. Duvall talked.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t I get you that address. Wait here.¡±


    A few minutes later, the old man ambled back to where Davis was standing. He gave him an index card tanned with age, which had a Seattle address written on it in neat handwriting.


    ¡°If Don and Gwen passed, I probably don¡¯t need this anymore. My wife adored Gwen. She passed a few years back and I was sure to send Christmas cards on her behalf. Never got anything in return. But, I figured Maddy¡ªMatilda, my wife¡ªwould want them to know someone back here was thinking of them.¡±


    Davis smiled and took the card. He thanked the old man for his time. He continued ahead down the street away from the old man¡¯s house to avoid walking alongside him. He took out his phone and requested another car. From here, to get to the new address would take about 30 minutes and he¡¯d be able to get a car in about 20.


    ¡°Son of a bitch,¡± he said aloud at the wait time.


    He scanned his surroundings for a bench or something to sit on. He remembered there was a small playground a couple of blocks over. He went there and requested the car.

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 Chapter 31

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