There's an old writer's adage that advises one to chase your characters up a tree and throw rocks at them. Should I be concerned that I'm apt to set the tree on fire, place it over a lake teeming with hungry piranhas, and to replace those rocks with cannonballs?...
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She raced past him. That's the one thing she would long remember about their reunion, and the one thing her brother would likely never forget.
She raced past him and threw her arms around Reggie, stopping short at the boy hunched on the ground.
Only then did she turn around.
Only then did she know.
"Let him go," she said to Frankie, who unwittingly had his brother-in-law's arm in a vise grip. "He won't –"
And she stopped short again, because she couldn't make that promise.
Not anymore.
Reggie signaled to the fallen boy. "I think he could use your help, Frankie." He took ownership of their brother's unwilling arm. "We'll take care of him."
"The hell you will."
Randi sent a silent plea to Frankie, her one constant. His gaze softened before he nodded, kneeling to the stranger.
Taking in every ounce of her husband's calm reserve, she approached her baby brother, no longer a baby. She could only hope he would still accept the second distinction.
She didn't expect the hugs or smiles that had been a cornerstone of her reunion with Reggie. She didn't expect, and Tyrone didn't disappoint.
When he stalked away a few feet and leaned against the brick wall, she searched for any sign of the little boy who used to sneak a snack from the fridge every night….for any trace of her brother.
The smirking boy in his place stared straight ahead, his gaze an unyielding line...a laser.
Reggie placed himself in that line, his own gaze unflinching.
"Who is that kid?" he asked.
Tyrone was no longer slouching, and far from indifferent. "You think you get to show up outta nowhere, get the drop on me, and act like -"
"Yes, I do." Reggie's voice was mature, deep, and steady. Her brother's courtroom voice, no doubt. "Despite what you may think, we're family."
The snort was dismissive, and anything but.
"Naw, man, that worthless little punk over there -" Tyrone's finger stabbed at the boy, who was now balanced on his knees. "—'he''s the only family I got. Even got the threads to prove it."
A lip curled upward at Reggie's realization. "Yeah, figured I'd let the foster runt have it. Him or the trash…it woulda fit either way."
Reggie grew quiet, and Randi grew angrier. "You could have killed that kid." Of all the first words she envisioned uttering to her brother, those were at the bottom of the list.
Tyrone did look at her this time, and she would have given anything if he hadn't. "Yeah, family's got that way, you know," he said, minus all the bravado.
At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to turn away, get in the car, and spend the car ride home recrafting her dream. Rebuilding the illusion.
Instead, Randi stepped beside Reggie. "We know you must have a lot of questions, a lot you want to say -"
"Actually, I just got one thing to say." When he lunged forward, she took a step back. Stumbled.
His smirk was victorious.
Resigned.
"Get the hell outta my life."
####
"I…worked for them."
The ropes binding them together chafed. Burned.
She'd long since given up trying to negotiate the knots. Now, the only thing keeping her tethered to him…to this world increasingly defined by alternating, relentless bands of light and dark – was his voice.
"Did you know?..." She swallowed more dryness in her throat. It was a convenient excuse to not finish the question, and to not hear the answer.
"I would come down when they sent a message…when someone got hurt. Usually, there would be a meeting point so I wouldn't have to -"
Amanda wondered briefly what desperate diversions robbed Jake of his words. But she could not look him in the eyes, squeeze his hands, offer the right encouragement. All she could do was stare at the sun beating endlessly against the rock in front of her and wait.
"Most of the time, it was manageable without having to go there. Most of the time." The rush to fill in the silence came quicker this time. "In return, they'd give me a cut, no questions asked."
The remnants of the small bowl of rice - her last meal - morphed into a sour metallic ball and pushed its way up her throat. She fought it, battled it back with one word. "Why?"
A distant, strangled cry seemed to answer her.
Then the shouting – and the chaos – began again.
####
His knowledge of this place extended to Memorial Stadium, which had now truly earned the distinction, and a shuttered-up little bed and breakfast on the outskirts of the outskirts. He'd haunted that place for three days, waiting out both the local cops on his tail and the bruiser who'd wanted to break said tail. Not one of his more winning cons, and definitely not enough time to get even a tourist's lay of the land.
Baltimore and Leo duPres didn't part on the best of terms.
The fact that he was now grinning at another pretty face in another strange corridor didn't exactly boost his confidence, especially considering he'd been out of the game long enough to develop a hell of a lot of rust. He'd have to work with what he had.
Leo adjusted his arm and winced at just the right time, painted that pained grin back on at just the right moment.
"Please, Miss…" And his gaze lingered on a bare finger for just the right number of seconds. With practiced effort, he drew his attention back to the nurse, whose professional stance was betrayed by the slightest crinkle around her eyes.
"Fulton," she supplied, the crinkle deepening just a bit.
Just enough.
"Miss Fulton, if I could see even the assistant, I would be much obliged." Good thing he hadn't lost the drawl completely: it was a weapon unto itself.
Her now-uncrossed arms and small smile told him that maybe he hadn't completely lost other capabilities, either.
"I believe she is in the office today, but honestly, I don't know how much help she would be to you." The nurse leaned forward, as if ready to share a state secret. Dipping a toe into personal space. "She's not certified yet."
"Don't worry, darling." He, in turn, dipped in a whole foot. Amped up his own smile. "I think you'll help me find exactly what I'm looking for."
A few more Southern gentleman concessions and a well-placed wink later, and he was on his way down the corridor. He didn't have time for guilt about using the nurse, or about promising a phone call that would never come. More importantly, Greenlee didn't have the time.
And besides, he was hopefully telling nothing but the truth about finding what he sought. The woman in the office at the end of this hall could give him exactly what he needed.
The door was ajar, and he took a quick but careful appraisal before entering. Her brown hair, woven with streaks of gray, was pulled up into a bun. Dressed in the requisite white coat, she was bent over a pile of notes, leisurely scribbling.
No give-aways.
Like so many times in his life, he was winging it on a little logic, a few big hunches, and a whole lot of luck.
He'd started this journey with a name, one common name that screamed alias. She could've changed it a dozen times over since then, but this is where the luck, the hope, came in.
The fact that no less than two dozen women in Baltimore shared that particular name did not exactly ease the journey to this mystery patient of David's.
Based on age, he was able to narrow it down to five.
And now was where the hunch came in. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open.
The woman looked up, removed her glasses, and gave him a crooked smile.
A smile that was one of the few features David remembered.
"May I help you?" she asked.
Leo nodded and tapped his arm. "A nurse suggested that you might assist me with getting this back into fighting form, ma'am."
God, the ma'am just might have been a bit too much.
The physical therapy assistant rose. "May I ask what happened, Mr?..."
"Daniels," he offered. "Leonard Daniels."
He held out his hand, but since she remained standing behind the desk, he dropped it and stepped further into the room. "Pleased to meet you."
"Likewise." She nodded to the oak chair in front of her desk, and suddenly he felt like a kid in the principal's office again.
He sat down and shrugged with his good arm. "Just my usual klutzy self, I'm afraid. See, I was on a business trip, from this little burg in Pennsylvania called Pine Valley..."
He was testing her, he could admit that. Waiting for a reaction.
And he got one.
Thing was, she was testing him, too.
And the object she removed from the drawer, now pointed straight at his head, suggested that he had failed.
With flying colors.
"Telll me who you really are." The meek little woman cocked her not-so-meek gun.
"Right now."
####
He had a shoe missing. The blood, the wheezing trying for a syllable, and the eyes. Those nothing eyes, and all Amanda wanted to do was put a sock on his foot.
Jake already had a wrap around the hole. The white was already blooming. He didn't offer any words of reassurance, and he didn't touch the boy's head or move that one stubborn sweat-slicked strand tucked under his eyelid. His hands focused on the task, steady, and his eyes settled on her for the first time since their captor had given them temporary freedom.
"Help me move this."
Once they had pushed the heavy stone away, inch by impossible inch, she did the only thing that she could - she took the boy's hand in hers and squeezed.
She squeezed, while Jake worked with contraptions she'd only seen on the stray episode of Untold Stories of the ER.
"Do not let him die, Doctor," the man hovering over them demanded. Not for the boy's sake, but for the sake of his merchandise alone.
Amanda pushed him away in her mind and the darkness focused, made a pinpoint. Just her and the boy and those contraptions. It was the time when everything was supposed to make sense. The boy would tell her a sweet story about his little brother, maybe ask her to give his mom a message. She'd tell him everything was gonna be all right, just before that moment when his eyes would fill with a shining light that would slice through the darkness: that moment when everything would finally, finally make sense and he'd peacefully close his eyes with a smile's hint on his face.
It was the script.
But somewhere along the way, one of those scab hacks had stolen the pen away. Replaced flowery poetic epitaphs with rough, half-baked syllables: "I….cold."
Shining eyes full of heaven replaced with emptiness staring at bare toes that wouldn't wiggle.
The pinpoint grew, both washing away the dark and intensifying it.
The small hand in her grip went slack.
Finally, Jake looked up, his eyes haunted and his voice never further away. "Why?"
And never closer.
"That's why."