Eulogy

by J.R. Godwin

Rating: M

Disclaimer: "Labyrinth" belongs to Jim Henson & Co. I'm making no money off of this.

FATHER MERRIN: Especially important is the warning to avoid conversations with the demon. We may ask what is relevant but anything beyond that is dangerous. He is a liar. The demon is a liar. He will lie to confuse us. But he will also mix lies with the truth to attack us. The attack is psychological, Damien, and powerful. So don't listen to him. Remember that - do not listen.

-The Exorcist (1973)

It was Aunt Millicent who really started all the trouble, by observing that Wendy was not a girl any more, and offering to take her into hand and make her a woman. This offer is vaguely alarming to Wendy, and what Peter offers her is the chance to drift in her pre-adolescent dream forever. What she offers him is a chance to grow up. "To grow up is such a barbarous business," Hook observes. "Think of the inconvenience - and the pimples!"

But to never grow up is unspeakably sad, and this is the first "Peter Pan" where Peter's final flight seems not like a victory but an escape.

-Roger Ebert's review of the 2003 film adaptation of Peter Pan

Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it.

-L.M. Montgomery

8.

Sarah's not talking to me.

I'm aware of the Goblin King's presence radiating at my back like a furnace. There's deep amusement in his voice, and something undefinable that makes my skin crawl, when he murmurs, "Well met, Beloved."

"How?" Sarah wails, scrambling to her feet. Gore soaks her empty hands. I've discovered the source of that awful odor: Sarah smells foul, like rotten eggs and burnt pork. I have to cover my mouth.

"Do you really think, Sarah, that I don't know every move you make, inside my kingdom and outside of it? Oh, I've brought a friend. I think you know him."

"No! Not Toby!"

"What are you doing?" I demand. I can't move. The sight of Sarah covered in so much blood, reminiscent of my nightmare, has stopped me harder than a concrete wall.

"Nothing that hasn't already happened before," the Goblin King says as he picks at his gloves, all business and no nonsense. "Sarah knows that very well, don't you, Precious?"

"Toby, I killed the monster," Sarah frantically tells me. "The one that got out of the Labyrinth."

"Lies," the Goblin King retorts. "Lies from a woman who traffics in them. She killed those children herself."

Sarah looks like a blade has gone through her. "No!"

"And even if she did kill a vicious child-eating nightmare, I wonder how it would have escaped my kingdom in the first place. Don't you?" As he approaches Sarah, he glances at me for a moment in feigned confusion. "I know how to restrain my monsters. Only someone who shared my power could let one go. Isn't that right, my beauty?"

Sarah smacks away the hand that's tried to touch her. The Goblin King responds by casually slapping her across the face.

"Isn't that right?" he hisses, gripping her chin. "Look at me. I know about your plans to assassinate me, and I know about the rebels you've organized to overthrow my kingdom. As we speak my army is eliminating them - not only the rebels themselves but every person who has ever spoken with them, unto the smallest child. Never did I dream when I let you live that you would turn against your master like this."

Sarah tries to hit him again. With frightening force, he pins her to the wall by her throat. In the most hateful voice I have ever heard in my life, my sister growls, "You're not my master."

"If I have to beat this lesson into you, so be it."

"I'll die before I let you touch me again!" Sarah screams.

The Goblin King tightens his grip. "As you wish."

I can't follow what happens next. The room explodes. My vision flares white. I'm catapulted ass over teacups into a wall. Something crashes past me with the roar of a missile, but now I feel it more in my body than actually hear it. I've gone deaf except for this weird tinny ringing in my left ear.

Holy shit. I think I'm dead.

After what feels like a million years, I realize something's tugging on my arm, and birds are chirping. But then the birdsong changes and becomes my name, and then it becomes my sister's frantic pleas. "Toby! Toby, wake up! We have to go!"

I groan.

Every part of my body feels like it's been pulled apart and put back together. I'm standing. When did I stand up? There's an arm around my back. Someone's stood me up and forcing me to walk.

Sarah. I can't believe her strength. No fifteen-year old girl is this strong. I've gotta have seventy pounds on her, easy, but she's marching me along like a doll.

When my vision clears, I gape at the room around us. It's literally exploded. Wallpaper hangs in strips from the walls and the furniture is shredded. The door hangs off its hinges as if a cannonball went through it. Of the Goblin King, there's no sign. "Sarah, what did you do?"

"Not now, Toby," she orders me, stopping before a floor-length wall mirror. "Close your eyes and take a deep breath, okay? Trust me."

So I do. And when Sarah steps us forward, I follow.

I'm having a heart attack. Only word for it. I've fallen into an icy lake. The cold pierces my heart and squeezes the air from my lungs. I think I'm gonna die, and then suddenly I've broken the surface and am back above water.

Struck senseless, I drop to my knees and throw up.

Instantly, a warm, comforting presence pets my back. "It's okay, Toby. It always feels weird, the first time."

"Sarah," I groan, "what's happening?"

Something slams into a hard surface behind us. The concussion is like a car hitting a brick wall. I flip onto my back and scramble away on all fours. I can barely see an outline of Sarah in the dark. The air here is stuffy and feels like it hasn't been aired out in months, like a closet. Sarah smells worse than ever.

WHAM! The ground vibrates beneath my hands again.

"Uh," Sarah says, "I took us through the mirror. It was the fastest way out."

"Where are we now? Is this the Labyrinth?"

"No. It's a between place. Not much here."

WHAM!

"... w-what the fuck is that?"

"... I couldn't kill him, but I give a good punch. He always underestimated me. I don't think he'll do that anymore."

Suddenly, something roars with a rage that turns my belly to ice and raises all the hair on my body. It's a primal, vicious sound that reminds me of a silverback challenging a rival. I once saw a Discovery Channel documentary about the Congo. A big male gorilla made a sound like that just before he charged a camerawoman and mauled her to death.

"He's pissed," Sarah says lamely. I can hear the fear in her voice, half hidden behind bravado.

"Can he get in?"

"I don't think so. I blocked the mirror after we went through it. He'd have to find another doorway, and then he'd have to find us. This place is millions of square miles. It'd be hard."

"How long can we stay here?"

"Not long," Sarah whispers. "There are worse things in the dark than Goblin Kings, you know."

The wind here is hot and stings my face. That's right, I'd forgotten: sand always stings. The sandstorms were the worst place about Iraq. They'll kill you if you're caught out in the open. Panicked, I cover my face and breathe into the fabric of my coat. Seaver? Rodriguez? Where are you? We've gotta get indoors. Fuck this shit.

I'm standing at the center of a giant compound, the walls tan brick. FOB Iron Horse. Before American forces took over, it was Saddam Hussein's palace - really a group of palaces occupied by Hussein and his sons and their families. We turned one of those buildings into our chow hall.

The FOB was re-designated a bunch of times during Operation Iraqi Freedom and given different names. Danger. Patriot. Loyalty. Bunch of meaningless shit. OIF didn't change anything. We killed one monster and others moved right in.

In 2014, government forces withdrew from Tikrit and fled in the onslaught of ISIS, whose soldiers came in and massacred everybody. I remember when the New York Times reported about the mass graves. Everybody shook their heads and sounded horrified, but I wasn't surprised. There'll always be another monster to fight, I guess.

Wait, 2014?

Where am I? And when?

I'm a ... I'm a cop. I live in Manhattan. Rodriguez and Seaver are dead. They've been dead a long time.

Sarah?

"I'm here, Toby."

I've curled up against a pillar near the main door of Saddam's palace, anything to get out of the wind. I feel her hand on my head, ruffling my hair. Sarah looks very tall and unflinching. I can barely see her. The sand is choking me. "We n-need to get inside. S-Sandstorm's coming."

She nods once. "Okay."

We stumble through the doors. Or rather, I stumble. Sarah doesn't look shaken at all. She walks like a deer, all grace and leg. I shove the doors shut behind us, cutting off the awful howl of the encroaching wind. The place hasn't changed at all. It's just as I remembered it. "Where are we?"

"Your memories," Sarah says. The blood and gore have vanished. Her face looks neatly scrubbed, her cheeks pink, her eyes sparkling green. Human, almost. Her eyes are still a little too vacuous, like a doll's.

I whirl on her, suddenly vicious. I have a feverish desire to destroy the world. "I didn't ask you to drop my ass back here!"

She flinches. "We needed to get out of the between place, Toby. We needed a door. I used you."

"You could have asked me first. Jesus Christ."

Sarah pauses. "I could have."

"I mean, this place, do you know? Do you?" I sound hysterical to my own ears. My voice carries in this vast, empty place. It's like a tomb. "This is a violation. I don't suppose you know what that feels like."

"I know what that feels like real well, actually." Sarah sounds angry. She's joined me at my side now, but we won't look at each other. We're standing in the doorway to one of Saddam's massive ballrooms.

"We used to play basketball in here," I murmur, the memories flooding back. "Our boots would slip on the marble, but we didn't care. We had fun. The place was looted pretty bad by the time we moved in, so there wasn't much left, except for some furniture that the local people couldn't carry off. I took a picture of Seaver seated on one of those opulent chairs with this stern look on his face, holding his M4 like a scepter. King Jason al Tikriti."

I chuckle without any humor.

"We thought we were fucking hilarious. We were just kids. It was ridiculous, if you think about it. It'd be like if we invaded France and the army set up shop at Versailles."

Sarah's watching me very carefully. She looks tired. "This place must have been beautiful, once."

"Yeah. Hard to believe Uday Hussein tortured people in the living room. If these are my memories, where is everybody?"

"Whatever your mind thinks, it makes so," Sarah says lamely.

"But my memories are always full of people." Mostly the people I failed, the people I lost, but that's another story.

"Your memories are constantly changing," Sarah explains. "That's why you can't trust them."

"Then how do I know what the truth is, or what happened in the past?"

"You don't."

I stare at her for a long time. "... you're freaking me out, you know that?"

"What is the past, Toby? Really?" She gestures at the empty ballroom. "In reality, this place could be dust right now. Yet here we are. Things can exist in many places at once, none of them any less real than the others."

I touch her shoulder. "You're real."

"I don't know anymore, baby brother," she says wearily. "I don't know what I am. Toby, why didn't you kill him?" Her face contorts, becomes a horrible mask.

I don't have to ask who she's talking about. "Sarah ..."

"I only asked you to do one thing! Just one! I know you've killed people. He deserves it way more than anyone you've ever killed. Why couldn't you kill him?"

"You reappeared out of nowhere and asked me to execute a stranger when I was already neck-deep in another mess. He's also a lot stronger than he looks. It's complicated."

"You're scared."

"You're damn right I'm scared!" I bark. "I'm fucking terrified! Are you kidding me? My wife dies, my sister comes back from the dead, a psychopath's killing kids on my watch, I'm a single father - I'm scared out of my goddamn mind! Okay? Are you happy?"

Sarah bursts into tears. I make a frustrated sound and try to turn away, but she buries her face in my arm and won't let go. After a minute, I can't take the crying anymore and slink my arm around her. She's trembling.

"I'm sorry," my sister finally sniffs, her voice very small. "I just want to go home."

I sigh into her hair. Cassie smelled like soap and skin and sweat and perfume. Sarah doesn't smell like anything at all. "You and me both."

We don't spend much time at the FOB. I spent a year in that place. Why would I want to spend another minute there? When the sandstorm finally comes, it blacks out the light outside and turns everything to total night. The giant windows in the ballroom fade out. Outside, the sun burns red.

"How long do we have to stay here?" I ask Sarah.

"We can leave any time," she says.

"Let's leave now."

She squirms, uncomfortable. "We have to follow the rest of your memories to get out. Once you enter a door, you have to continue down the hall until you reach the exit. You won't like it."

"What's our other option?"

Sarah doesn't answer.

I sigh. "Great. Do it."

She weaves a firm arm through mine. "Whatever happens, don't let go of me. And no matter how awful it gets, remember it's not real unless you let your mind tell you it is."

My sister looks so fierce. A wet napkin of a girl protecting a veteran. It's ludicrous. I have to bite back a laugh, but the look on her face stops me cold. That glare could decimate armies. "Yes, ma'am."

We step into the void. It's hot here, too. Suddenly I'm crouched in the doorway of an abandoned Baghdad supermarket with Rodriguez and Seaver, hiding from the gunfire over our heads. My hands, numb, fumbling with my M4. Around us, men and boys scramble behind parked cars, and a desperate medic tries to patch together a platoon mate who's spurting blood all over the sidewalk.

OH MY GOD! OH JESUS!

YOU'RE OKAY, LET ME SEE IT.

I'M GONNA DIE!

YOU'RE NOT GONNA DIE! DON'T LOOK AT IT!

The explosion comes hard and unexpected, and the wall above our heads collapses. Seaver and I miss the brunt of it, but it buries Rodriguez to his waist in rubble. "Shit!" I yell as I start digging him out. "Hang on, man, don't move."

"Not goin' anywhere," he grunts.

"We're sitting ducks here!" Seaver says. I always wondered if he consciously knew what he was doing, and I think he did. Jason was a brave guy. As I watch, uncomprehending, he brandishes his M16 and moves up to return fire.

And then I understand. "Jay, no!"

Crack of a sniper's bullet. It passes through his left cheek and the back of his head blows out.

I wake up screaming on the lawn of Central Park. Sarah pins me to the ground before I run shrieking into the crowd and trample people.

"Toby, it's okay! We're through! Breathe!"

Frantically, I feel myself all over. No holes. I'm dressed in jeans and a muscle shirt soaked in sweat. No army fatigues. I'm back in New York. I cover my face and breathe into the shallow basin of my hands. Hands work in a pinch if you don't have a paper bag. Oh God, don't cry. Not in public, not like this. Be a man, for fuck's sake.

"Toby, how old are you?"

I whimper and shake my head.

"Toby!"

Shaking and puzzled, I sit up. Sarah's disappeared, but her voice is clear as a bell. "Where are you?"

"I'm here and I'm not here, Toby. I'm just a passenger for the moment. These are your memories, remember? What is this place?"

My throat is swollen and it's hard to swallow. "Central Park. We're in the city."

"Oh!" Sarah sounds delighted. "I think I went once, during a field trip in 8th grade. I forgot what the place looks like."

"Sarah, what do you remember?"

"Not now, Toby. How old are you?"

The grass under my hands is lush and damp. The foliage around us is bright green. Kids play baseball on the diamond. Early spring, from the look and smell of things. "Late 20s. I haven't worn a muscle shirt in years. I wore them to impress-"

"Toby!"

Cassie. My wife jogs up the hill, past some picnickers lolling in the grass, and the bottom drops out of my soul. She wears jeans and a cute sweater that shows off her curves. I want to peel it off her with my teeth.

Cassie frowns as she gets closer and drops to her knees. "God, Toby, are you okay? You're shivering." I respond by burying my face in her breasts. Cassie recoils with embarrassed laughter, but I don't release my grip on her. "Toby, you're scaring me."

Now I remember. This was only the third date. Not my wife. Not my wife. Not yet. Just a beautiful, wonderful woman who's hyper alert for any signs that her new beau might be a serial killer.

Don't fuck this up, you idiot. I fumble my hands away. "Sorry, I ... I fell asleep. Had a nightmare. Talking nonsense. You're gorgeous. Fuck, I'm sorry."

Cassie laughs in my face, but she relaxes enough that I might be out of the danger zone. "What kind've nightmare was this? Like Freddy Krueger?"

You have no idea. I settle for what I hope is a chagrined smile but I'm sure looks moronic. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Ready for stargazing?"

"Yes." She snuggles in next to me. That's right. That's what I loved about this date in particular. The first date was coffee, and the second date was the museum, but this was the first time I could put my hands all over Cassie within reason. I learned early on that she was big on cuddling.

This was also the first night we slept together.

Every hair on my body stands up, and my pants suddenly feel tight. How far does this memory progress before we leave again? I don't think I could keep it up knowing my kid sister's watching. That'd just be weird.

As if sensing my uncertainty, Sarah whispers in my ear, "Toby, we have to go."

I move my hand like I'm flicking a mosquito.

"Do you think we're alone in the universe?" Cassie murmurs. She's leaning back against my chest, my arms wrapped around her. It's getting dark out.

"I think the universe is a lot bigger than we think," I whisper back.

"So you believe in aliens?" she teases.

"And other things."

"Hey, Doctor Jones, no time for love!" Sarah hisses. "I know you can hear me! Don't pretend you can't!"

I can't reply to Sarah, not without Cassie hearing me, but maybe my sister can see my back stiffen. She's right. I don't know if there's a time limit to this place, but we have to keep going. I have to get home. Lucia's waiting for me.

Our daughter's waiting for me.

"Hey, uh-" I shift away from Cassie, and she turns to me in surprise and concern. "-listen, I want you to know I've really enjoyed our time together. This has been great."

Cassie looks puzzled. "Are you leaving?"

"I ... no. I'll always be here for you. But I wanted to tell you, in case I never got another chance, that you've been the nicest, sweetest person and I ..." Don't cry, asshole. "... if we never had tomorrow, tonight would be enough. Five minutes with you is a lifetime of happiness."

Cassie ducks her head, embarrassed and pleased. "Oh. Wow. Toby, I ... I ..."

Sarah chirps in my ear again. "Time's up."

The world fades to black like a television screen.

We're standing barefoot on a beach at sunset, our pants rolled up from the water, our hands in our pockets. Looks like Cape Cod. In the distance, a little boy dashes into the surf after a barking sheep dog. I don't have to squint to know it's me and Merlin. Technically he was Sarah's dog. He was old by the time I was in grade school, and he didn't run so fast anymore.

"Cassie's beautiful," Sarah says softly. Neither of us take our eyes off the horizon. The sun slowly sinks into the ocean with sparks of vermillion and gold.

"Yeah, she is," I say wistfully. "Have we talked about her before?"

"I don't think so, but I saw her a bunch of times."

"How often did you spy on my family?"

"Oh, Toby. I already told you. I've been watching over you your whole life."

"Could you have stopped that car from hitting her?"

"I'm not God, Toby."

"Sorry. It was a stupid question."

"Not stupid. I'd ask the same thing."

"He said he'd give her back to me, if I betrayed you to him." I look at the surf foaming around my ankles and kick at a shell. Sarah stiffens at my side.

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him to get fucked."

She relaxes. "You asked me before about my own memories."

"Yeah," I tell her. "I did."

"You have enough nightmares, Toby," she says softly. "You don't need mine."

There's something dark and foreboding there that I don't want to know. In any case, the tone in her voice forbids I dig any deeper. So I drop it for now.

"What do your tattoos say?" she asks, very curious.

I roll up my sleeves further. One arm has an American flag that starts at my shoulder and marches down to the elbow. An eagle stands poised before the flag, wings flared to attack. Below that are inked army tags with my wife's and daughter's names and birthdates.

In big block letters on my other bicep: Operation Enduring Freedom. Below that, in smaller script near my wrist: All gave some, some gave all. And below that: May God have mercy on my enemies, because I won't.

There's something else I need to ask, something else I need to know, but I'm afraid of what I'll find. "Sarah, did you kill those kids?"

"No! Geez. God, no."

I'm tapping impatiently on the door of the woman's restroom at my favorite bar on 62nd Street.

Abimana's visiting New York on the heels of getting her nursing degree. She's a wreck. Oh, she doesn't say so, but I can read it in her face. Her hands tremble when she talks, and she doesn't do well with beer. I know this because one drink wiped her out. She's been in the ladies' room for twenty minutes. I think she's puking.

I knock again. "Celine, if you don't come out, I'm coming in."

The door opens. Abimana's mascara is smeared and her eyes are swollen.

She doesn't shrink away when I put an arm around her. "C'mon, honey. I'll get you a cab."

"I tried killing myself yesterday," she blurts.

That stops me cold. I think fast and squeeze her shoulder. "Okay, change of plans, we're going to the hospital."

"I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. I'm really glad you told me."

She's openly crying now. People around us are starting to stare. "I just ... I tried but the gun jammed and ... I'm sorry ..."

"Celine, it's okay. We'll take care of this together. Everything's gonna be okay, I promise."

Abimana takes a long, shuddering breath. "Okay."

"I like Celine," Sarah says. We're standing on the sidewalk outside New York Presbyterian. "She was always loyal to you and knew how to keep a secret."

Wish I had cigarettes. I'm itching for nicotine, but my clothes keep changing and I didn't bring smokes with me into this memory-dream place. "I think Celine had to be good at secrets. Look at what she had to survive."

"Is she still alive?"

"Yeah. Spent a few weeks in the mental health unit before they released her. They diagnosed her with PTSD. In hindsight, it's amazing she didn't get the diagnosis before she left the army, but it happens more often than you think. We want to keep a stiff upper lip, you know? Shake it off. Not burden other people. We're good at taking on other people's burdens. That stupid phrase, Army Strong, it gets you on a deep level whether you acknowledge it or not. Anyway, yeah, Celine's good now. Started working with a therapist, got a good job in Seattle, married and had a kid. I saw her last year. She's happy. Doing well."

"You saved her life."

"Yup. Wish I could've done the same for the rest of my squad."

Sarah makes a disparaging noise. "They were weak," she says simply, and I'm left too stunned to respond.

Unless you live in the Tristate area, you won't understand diners. This is a recurring pattern I've noticed in outsiders. They're like, "Why would you want to eat pancakes at 3 o'clock in the morning?"

I mean, what kind of stupid question is that? Why wouldn't you? If New York is the city that never sleeps, we also wanna be able to eat at any time. There aren't too many old school diners in Manhattan anymore, to be honest. Skyrocketing land prices have driven out much of the working class, but you still see some greasy spoons hanging on. Odessa on Avenue A is one of them.

The owners are Ukrainian, which means they've got the perfect pierogi to wash down that final call shot of vodka at your favorite bar. If you want typical American fare, never fear: they also have greasy omelets and slightly-charred French toast to satisfy your late night cholesterol cravings. The burgers are decent, too.

It's coming on 5am, and Harry and I sit in a corner booth hunched over the remnants of our pancakes and eggs. Don't think we're good boy scouts who happen to enjoy getting up early. We haven't even been to bed yet. We've spent the last 48 hours working a case that took us all the way to Hell's Kitchen and the East Village. Vicious double murder. No leads. We agreed that once we were done, we had to eat something before trekking back uptown.

Harry lights up a cigarette. "Well, kid, how you likin' the job?" He blows out a lungful of smoke and chuckles to himself as if he's told a funny joke. "Wanna quit yet?"

"It's good," I tell him. "I'm learning a lot."

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

"Cover your ass."

Now he laughs for real. "Office politics. You'd find that bullshit everywhere, even if you were working corporate. Those high living sons of bitches don't know what we deal with for their sake, God bless their ignorant asses."

This reminds me of something I've been meaning to run by my new partner. "So what's this stuff going on in the news? About those Spanish Lord guys."

Harry turns uncharacteristically solemn. "Don't be so eager. If you work Harlem long enough, trust me, you'll deal with them. We got a lot of open cases right now that we can trace to the Spanish Lords. Smuggling, arms trafficking, kidnappings, extortion, you name it. They're dangerous people. Don't ever fuck with them, not without backup."

"The New York Times was saying the Lords are struggling after last year's bust."

"The Times doesn't know shit. The Lords are regrouping. We'll have bigger problems with them down the road. You'll see I'm right."

"We didn't have gangs back home in Nanuet."

"None?"

"Nope."

"Well, there's not much to do out in the country. You're in the city now, cowboy." Harry grew up in Brownsville. For years, that Brooklyn district has held the official title as the murder capital of New York City. Harry still has the scars from a Glasgow smile given to him when he was a kid and some punk jumped him outside a bar. Harry doesn't fuck around. "You know where these gangs come from, right? And don't give me no smartass response like LA or Harlem, okay?"

"Okay. Where?"

"Your living room." He smiles and exhales another cloud of smoke.

"What?"

"I saw the look on your face, when you asked me about the Lords. You think you're better than them." His grin widens. "That line of thinking will get you killed, kid. Erase it from your mind. The truth is, the Lords were you, once upon a time. Maybe not as privileged. It's true, the majority of the Lords come from a low-income Hispanic background. But many of 'em join for reasons that seem reasonable at the time. They want a family. They wanna be able to buy groceries for their granny. But more than that, they want the money and the prestige. They wanna be feared instead of being afraid. Who doesn't want those things?"

Harry gestures at me. "But then you sign that deal with the devil, and you start to realize what you got yourself into, there's no getting out. Ever. Kinda like the NYPD," he jokes at the end.

"You didn't strike me as a religious kind of guy."

"Me? Nope. I don't believe in God or the devil. Though if the devil exists, New York is certainly his town."

"What about our guys on trial right now?" I don't have to elaborate, because Harry knows what I'm talking about. Several NYPD officers were caught in last year's bust. The Lords infiltrated our own ranks and paid off a number of our people. "What's in it for them? They were supposed to fight these guys, not join them."

"Evil is sneaky," Harry says, "but more than that, it's charming. If evil came up to you in broad daylight and said, hey, give me your soul, you'd tell evil to fuck off, right? So evil doesn't do that. Evil's too smart. It seduces you slow, like you would a woman. You find out what she likes, and what keeps her up at night. You deeply understand her desires and fears, and you become her new best friend. No, her savior. You don't come right out and ask for a pay day right away. You'll get shot down. So you start off asking for yeses on little things. And then once you get your mark compromising herself on little things, you progress to big things. How can she say no? She's already said yes so many times, and you're her new trusted advisor, right? And then at one point she wakes up and realizes she's in danger. You're not who you said you were. She's in over her head. But she can't get out because she's already ceded so much of her power to you."

Harry takes another drag. "That's a classic example of how murderers and rapists court their victims, by the way. I'm preparing you now, because you'll hear this story a lot when you interview witnesses. But you see this psychological breakdown among many people who come in contact with evil, whether they're victims or willing participants. There's always a seduction process."

"And then people die?"

"Not always, no. Sometimes the evil is so powerful, the mark chooses to join evil's team. You never heard that Nietzsche quote? I memorized that shit. Nietzche said that whoever fights monsters should see to it he doesn't become a monster himself."

"Like Darth Vader?" Even I can telling I'm smirking.

Harry scowls. "I'm serious, smartass. You don't know the depths to which humanity can sink, and I promise you, they didn't teach you this at the Academy. I'm giving you a crash course in the nature of good and evil, okay? You need to know the face of your enemy, and it is us."

"Coffee?" a young voice chirps at my elbow.

I look up at the waitress and blink. It's Sarah in a starched uniform. She winks at me, and the world goes dark.

I'm carrying Rodriguez through Kabul. Abimana, huffing behind me. Blood, a river of it, on my face and in my mouth. Oh God, not this memory. Anything, anything, but this.

"Toby." Sarah, the wandering ghost, whispering in my ear. "Take us someplace else."

"How?" I bark, hysterical. Abimana utters a question about my sanity.

My sister is relentless. "What's your happiest memory?"

And then we're gone.

I sit behind Cassie in the hospital bed for hours, rubbing her shoulders and cradling her belly, and I walk her up and down the corridor outside while she groans and cries. I can't believe women have been giving birth for millions of years. How do they do it and not die? Seriously. I'm a nervous wreck, and I'm not even the one in labor.

Once she's finally dilated, the end comes fast. The doctors shout encouragement as Cassie bears down, and inch by inch our daughter slides into the world in a purple, slippery mess.

We've done a lot of research and prepared ourselves for the delivery room, so I know it can take a minute for a baby to start breathing on its own. But our daughter makes a choking noise that makes me jump ten feet into the air, and then she starts to wail.

"At least she's got strong lungs," I say to cover my nervousness. Cassie laughs too, anxious and exhausted.

"Looks good!" The doctor cuts the cord, swaddles our baby, places her on Cassie's breast.

My wife is laughing and crying. "Look at her! She's awake! Hi, baby." Our girl blinks at us with bleary eyes, stunned from the lights. "Take her, Toby."

Cassie hands me the baby, who whimpers before she catches my eyes, and then she stares at me in fascination. She's so little. I'm afraid I'll crush her. "Hi, little bird," I tell her. My voice chokes up. "Welcome to the world. I'm your daddy."

Now I remember why I wanted to live, even after Sarah disappeared, after Mom and Dad fell apart, after the countless wars, after everything. I found Sarah's dolls in our sad empty house, and I raised them. Swore I'd protect them and keep them safe and love them to pieces. That was my earliest memory. I wanted to be a father.

"Lucia," Cassie suggests.

I nod without taking my eyes off the infant in my arms. I can't stop weeping. "Lucia."

We're running down a street in Baghdad, Sarah and me. I'm in army fatigues and kevlar, but Sarah's only wearing jeans and a blouse. She'll be helpless against shrapnel. "We can't keep doing this!" I gasp. The tears are wet on my face from reliving Lucia's birth. "I can't take it! Why do we keep going back into a battle zone?"

"They're your strongest memories," Sarah gasps. "War was traumatizing."

I drop to my knees. Sarah is instantly at my side, trying to pull me up, but I only groan, "Can I die in a memory?"

"Well, you can't live without the mind."

"Hard ... to breathe."

"Stress. Damn." She straightens up at the sound of approaching gunfire. "Toby, we're near the end. I'll take over from here, okay? Close your eyes and don't open them until I tell you to. Okay? Promise me. Promise!"

"Promise," I mutter. My vision's hazy and I'm going down again.

Sarah's already spirited us away.

Pitter patter of little feet. It sounds like cats running around a room. I hear things opening and slamming shut. Doors? Drawers? My eyes are shut. All I hear are the noises. Something small scurries over my foot. One of those cats. When I try to kick it, it hisses and laughs like a child as it darts away.

A window bangs open and a gust of wind ruffles my hair. I'm curled up on a floor. I can feel the carpet beneath my cheek.

Sarah, high-pitched and frightened. "You're him, aren't you? You're the Goblin King. I want my brother back, if it's all the same."

And a familiar menacing voice purrs, "What's said is said."

The carpet is gone. I'm lying on stone. I hear a girl shrieking nearby.

"Sarah?"

"Eyes closed, Toby."

"What's going on?"

"Don't worry. We're going through my memories the rest of the way. I'm trying to make it fast."

"Is that you screaming?"

"I was just frustrated. I'm okay."

I hear a rapid, hushed conversation. Sarah of the past, speaking with someone very small. I swear I hear the other party say he's just a worm, but maybe I'm imagining things. I'm worn out and woozy. It's hard to focus on anything.

"Sleep, Toby," Sarah says gently.

I relax against the stone with a weary sigh ... but then we're off again.

We flit in and out of a dozen memories, some of them only lasting seconds. I open my eyes once when I hear a beast howling in pain. We're in a dark forest. What the fuck. This doesn't look like Jersey. I can smell the earth and rot under my fingernails.

I open my eyes again at the sound of unearthly music. It's like a horror movie version of Amadeus. I haul myself into a sitting position with a groan. I'm sitting in a ballroom, but nobody sees me. How could they? They're dressed in courtly clothes and freaky masks, waltzing in time to some horrible music.

The sight of the Goblin King dancing with Sarah makes me flinch. Full body recoil. I want to vomit. Run, Sarah, run. Don't let him touch you.

I feel Sarah at my side before I see her, and when I look up, she's furious - like flesh about to fall off her face furious. "I told you not to look!" she hisses. Then she snaps her fingers and before I can say anything I'm falling asleep ...

Sarah, beware. I have been generous up until now, but I can be cruel.

Generous? What have you done that's generous?

Lucia. Where's Lucia? Am I still sleeping? Shit, shit, shit, I'll be late for work.

I ask for so little. Just let me rule you, and you can have everything that you want.

Kingdom is great ... damn! I can never remember that line.

"Toby! Toby we have to go! Get up!"

Oh God. Groggy. Was I drooling? Suddenly Sarah is pulling me up by my arms and pushing me forward. We take off at a run. Just like being back on deployment, right? There's no light here. It's like that between place we started at, only less musty. Animals scurry around in the shadows in the furthest corner of my eye and vanish when I look at them straight again. Not animals. I don't know what they are, but they make terrible faces like a horde of awful children, and they giggle and snarl as we pass them.

Sarah! they shriek like a klaxon alarm. King! King, king, king!

I kick one as we pass. It vanishes yelping into the dark.

The ground trembles beneath us. Behind us, a terrible noise approaches like a train in a wind tunnel.

"Don't look back!" Sarah screams. "Run! Run!"

There's enough light to see the door. It's an old door with an ornate handle, and Sarah and I hit it so hard that the wood spits up dust. We pull it open and slam it shut behind us.

We gasp for breath and tremble in the light of the throne room. At least, I think that's what it is. A round throne sits in a corner. It's all sharp edges and made of an ugly material, maybe stone or horn. A pit in the center of the room boasts little else but bones and feathers. It's Saddam Hussein's old palace, if old Vic killed animals in his living room. The place has a pungent odor to it, like a wolf's den.

"Not here!" Sarah cries. She pulls me to another door.

A ballroom.

A kitchen.

A scullery.

An armory.

A torture chamber. Only word for it. I spy a rack, a table with restraints, and a long row of whips and knives before Sarah's rushed me to a new door.

She isn't even trying to shut my eyes anymore. My sister's in a full-blown panic, as if the devil's on our heels. Maybe he is.

We trip our way through a door with a brass animal head. Judging from the teeth, it might be a wolf. Then we're through the door and slamming it shut.

This room is dark like the others, but it has a quiet ambiance that everywhere else lacked. This place feels stuffy and smells like pine resin and musk. The only sources of light are a fireplace and a few candles, but I manage to see bookshelves, an ornate curtained bed, and a writing desk. Embers from the fire pop and hiss in the silence of the room, broken only by the faint but hard, rhythmic slap of flesh on flesh, and a moan, and a soft voice whispering in the dark: Tell me again I have no power over you.

For just a second, I'm so shocked at the sight of the Goblin King that I stop running. He doesn't see me, because his back's to us. The fireplace illuminates the harsh fury of him, and then I see the source of his excitement. I'd recognize her hair anywhere. He's got Sarah bent over the desk, and he's ... he's ...

My sister's tugging me by the hand again. No time for questions. Numb and wordless, I follow.

The next door has the same wolf's head worked in brass. It leads us back into the exact same room, with one key difference:

Sarah and the Goblin King lie crumpled on the floor, separated by several feet as if they just tumbled off the desk in different directions. Sarah sports a bloody nose, but whatever happened, the Goblin King got the worse end of the deal. His clothes are disheveled, and a wound slashed from his mouth to his ear has soaked through his shirt and glued the fabric to his skin. Where I'm from, it's the sort of injury that means a visit to the coroner, but I guess the Goblin King's a little sturdier than us mere mortals.

Sarah holds a letter opener in one hand. The coldness in her eyes could stop a heart.

For his part, the Goblin King just laughs and laughs and laughs. He's laughing his sick fucking ass off, to be honest. Then he reclines on one elbow without a care that he's bleeding out on the rug and casually remarks, "Well played. I'll be sure to bind your hands next time."

It's the last door, but I don't know it until we collide with it. I struggle with the doorknob for a second until I realize it's locked, and then I recognize the numbers on the plate. It's my apartment. Home.

I whip out my keys and wrench the door open, pushing Sarah in before me. As soon as we're inside, I slam the door shut and slide the bolt home. We collapse against each other on the floor of my living room.

"Safe?" I ask.

"Yeah. We're out."

"Out out? Out of the memories?"

"Yes." Sarah sounds tired on a soul level, like a dish towel that's been wrung too tight.

Not a little scared, I crack the door and half expect to peer in on another torture chamber. Instead, frigid air filters in, and with it the rattle and hum of the elevator creaking past our floor. Good ol' New York. Thank God.

"What now?" Sarah wonders aloud.

"Now we kill him." I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking forward to it.

Sarah has gone very still. "A bullet might do it. Faeries don't like iron, in the stories."

"You don't know?"

"You think he'd tell me his weaknesses? I've only been able to observe and guess. I couldn't try anything myself. As long as I belong to him, I can't hurt him." She sees my look. "Undermine him, sabotage him, wound him, sure. But kill him? He'll always be stronger than me, and he'll hold my leash as long as he lives, Toby. I can't be the one who pulls the trigger. His magic would never allow it."

"You won't have to."

Sarah is happier than I've ever seen her. "I'll check on Lucia," she says, bounding to her feet.

No!

"No." I move with an alacrity I thought I lost in my twenties, jumping up and already moving down the hall. "I'm her father, and Kimmy doesn't know you. Let me handle this." Sarah doesn't argue, but she follows close on my heels.

The door to Lucia's bedrooms groans open ... and then I stop. I can't pick up Lucia, because the Goblin King's holding her.

He sits comfortably in the rocking chair next to the crib, my baby snuggled in his arms. The GQ poster boy is gone: the pinstriped suit, the long overcoat, the polished shoes, the coiffed haircut. Now he looks like a villain in a fairytale, all black armor with spikes on the shoulders and tangled blond hair, like something out of a Dracula movie. His head is bent over Lucia, murmuring softly, as if he's just lulled my baby to sleep.

I've gone completely still on the threshold of the room, as if turned to stone. I don't even breathe.

Sarah walks straight into my back with a grunt. "Toby, what-no!"

Only then does the Goblin King sternly look up. "Shhh, you two. You'll wake the baby."

There's movement in the corner of my eye. Sarah darts under my shoulder with the speed of a jackrabbit and unholsters my Sig Sauer. I catch the movement too late and grab her wrist, throwing her into the wall. We lose precious seconds wrestling for the pistol. I'm far taller than she is, and I try to pop her in the diaphragm ... but then Sarah breaks my hand.

I honestly don't know how she does it. There's no way she's stronger than me. Yet I hear the pop in my thumb, and my mouth yells, "Fuck!" and I hit the floor.

Sarah stands over me, looking taller in the last few seconds. She points the gun at the Goblin King ... and Lucia.

His Majesty quirks a little smile at the corner of his mouth. "I know for a fact you've never fired a gun before, my dear. I'm disinclined to trust your aim to finish me off. You'll hit your niece."

"You bastard!" Sarah spits, and then she pulls the safety. Experienced or not, she knows enough.

I expect Sarah to pull the trigger. And I wait and I wait and I wait. And after a second (or has it been an hour?), I realize Sarah hasn't moved and the watch on my wrist stopped ticking. I can't move at all. It's not that I don't want to, but it's as if the synapses between my mind and my muscles have disconnected.

"Well!" the Goblin King exclaims. "That was all rather exciting and pointless." He gets up and walks across the room, rocking Lucia as he goes. As he cradles my daughter in the crook of one arm, he casually pulls the pistol out of Sarah's frozen hands and pops it back into my holster. I catch a glimpse of his crooked smile as he turns away and resettles himself.

"So, now that we've moved beyond that silly display of hysterics," His Majesty says, "I'd like to continue, if you don't mind. Any objections?"

Of course, we say nothing.

"Wonderful." He cradles his chin in one hand and winks. "Continue."

Time unwinds again. Our bodies return to life, and I pick myself up off the floor with a wince. Sarah trembles with rage, but she doesn't move. If it were possible, her gaze would incinerate the Goblin King on the spot.

"What have you learned tonight, Detective?"

My shoulders are heaving. Adrenaline courses through my veins, but I don't know what to do with it. "What do you mean?"

"The ingratitude must be a family trait. I've been teaching you from the moment we met, but you continue to observe and refuse to see. What have you learned about Sarah?"

"Don't listen to him!" Sarah cries.

"Here is what I see, Detective." The Goblin King almost sounds sincere. "I see a shade of a human being who died long ago and who's since lost whatever empathy she once held for others - in common parlance, a psychopath. I see a woman who's jealous of the life you have and who has stalked you for as long as you've been alive, trying to regain that life she could have once had before she flushed it down the toilet. And I see a man with so many doubts about this sister of his that he refused to leave her alone with his daughter, even as he offered to kill me for her. How am I doing so far? Am I on the right track?"

"Toby, he's the villain!" Sarah cries. "Of course he lies!"

"I am a villain, and I am a liar," the Goblin King says smoothly. "I will never disown that. But what's more dangerous: the villain who admits he's a liar, or the villain who denies her nature? Who do you trust more, or distrust least? It's all the same, in the end. Where's the baby, Detective? The little cherub named Toby who vanished tonight? Sarah claims to have killed the Boogeyman responsible, yet we haven't seen an infant, have we?"

Sarah's voice has gone raspy. "I killed the nightmare in the between place. He could be anywhere between here and the Labyrinth. I don't know what he did with the baby."

"How convenient," the Goblin King sneers. "An unnatural girl with an unnatural talent for the blade just happened to kill a nightmare, yet we can't find the body."

"You make it sound all wrong when it isn't!" Sarah yells. "Yes, I'm strange and I'm awful and nobody would ever mistake me for human anymore, and it's all because of you!"

"Yes, me. And who was it that invited me in, Precious?"

Sarah's face slams shut like a door.

"Ah, cat got our tongue? Let us ask the world's greatest detective. Tobias, how do you feel about what Sarah did to you?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" I demand. "And Jesus Christ, give me my daughter."

The Goblin King's face lights up with feigned delight. "He doesn't know. You never told him. Sarah, you sly devil! Why don't you share with your brother how I entered your happy little family unit, hmm?"

"You kidnapped Toby! I rescued him!"

"You could set up your own PR firm, Sarah, considering how well you believe your own lies. Yes, I took your brother, but who was it that wished him away to me in the first place?"

"What's he talking about?" I ask. To my shock, Sarah's become very small. Her shoulders are hunched like she's trying to disappear.

"Toby ... you have to understand. I was fifteen. Dad remarried. I hated your mom. I hated taking care of a baby. I was really angry and ... I messed up. I wished ..." She's crying now. "I wished you away to the Goblin King."

I feel like I've been punched. "What? You gave me away to this asshole?"

"I got you back!" she cries. "I went underground and fought for you. I tried, Toby. I tried so hard and in the end it wasn't enough. I saved you but I couldn't come home. Don't hate me for one stupid mistake. I lost the last forty years. I lost my family, I lost the chance for a normal life. Haven't I paid enough?"

"Do you know what's truly sad, Detective?" the Goblin King murmurs. "She got all the way through to the end and was set to leave me forever. And then she still accepted my gift." At my questioning glance, he holds out one hand. A crystal ball appears and floats down, popping away like a bubble at the first press of his finger. "She defeated me, and I was falling away, and at the last moment she still reached out for her dreams as they fell into her hand. So I gave them to her, and in exchange, I got her soul. I took her home with me and became her slave. Or she became mine. It's all the same."

"What were the dreams?"

He shrugs. "The usual things. Eternal pleasure. I don't think she's come to enjoy it as much as she thought she would. Wouldn't you agree, Beloved?"

Sarah looks regretful, ashamed, and enraged all at once. "I never would have done it if I'd known what it meant."

"Few would," the Goblin King muses. "That's why they call it hell. Detective! Do you remember my offer? Have you made a final decision? Choose carefully. And before you do, you might want to consider the ramifications. As long as Sarah is connected to your world, it will suffer, and so will your family."

My hackles go up. "Is that a threat?"

"I don't need to threaten you. On some level, you already understand, but denial feels safer. Let us speak plainly: almost everyone you've ever loved has died. Sarah has inherited many things from me including, I'm sad to say, my possessiveness. If she can't have your life, or you, she'll settle for taking it out on those you care about."

This statement has a poor reaction on Sarah. If it were possible, I think her head would spin straight off her neck. "Liar! Liar! You son of a bitch! For all Toby knows, you killed everybody and are trying to pin it on me!"

"Possible," the Goblin King admits, "but as we've already covered, I own up to being a liar and a fiend. The question isn't which of us is the villain, my dear, since it's clear we both are. The question is, which of us has the most to gain from wrecking havoc in your brother's life? It's obviously you."

"You're so manipulative! You twist everything around no matter how hard I try! It's not fair!"

His Majesty barks a laugh, as if he's in on a terrible joke. There's little humor in that laugh. "Detective, what's your decision? I grow tired, and I wish to tie up loose ends so I can go home. I'm sure you do, too."

Sarah frantically shakes her head at me.

The Goblin King is quiet and thoughtful, almost sad. "You're an officer of the law, Tobias. You deal in theory and evidence. You'll never know the truth for certain, and you're working with two unreliable witnesses. Given all this, who do you believe?"

I don't move an inch. "Give me my daughter, Goblin King."

"I will, once you renounce your claim on your sister. Do it, and I'll give you both a daughter and a wife." He smiles, devious and charming all at once. That there is a very wicked man. "Now, do you give up all ties to your dead sister and leave her to my world?"

"Yes," I whisper without hesitation, and Sarah screams so loud the electricity in the apartment flickers. I barely notice. Was it this easy for Judas Iscariot? Like breathing?

Sarah won't stop screaming. As if in a dream, I go to the Goblin King and he smiles and gently hands me Lucia, who hasn't stirred once despite all the chaos. I can't use my broken thumb, so I cradle her to my chest with one arm and feel our hearts beat in unison.

Little bird, I will always keep you safe to my last breath, I swear. Oblivious to my thoughts, Lucia sticks her thumb in her mouth.

I've sat on the floor without realizing it. I look up to see the Goblin King in the rocking chair, and now Sarah's in his lap. She doesn't look like she's there willingly, but he's snaked an arm around her waist and pinned her in place. Her cheeks are bone white and her eyes are black smudges, though her face is swollen from the tears. Otherwise, she looks remarkably inhuman again.

"I hate you, Jareth," she hiccups.

"If I can't have your love, I'll settle for your hate. It's close enough to passion as to make little difference to me." He nibbles her ear and laughs when she flinches. "Home awaits. The children miss you."

I ignore Jareth and look at what remains of my sister. I feel hollow. This isn't a victory. It's a burial. "Sarah, I'm so sorry."

Sarah draws herself up. Despite her tears, and her hands pinned to her sides, you might mistake her for a queen. "Don't forget me, Toby."

"I won't," I promise.

The Goblin King chuckles, "Liar." And then he snaps his fingers.

"Toby? Baby, wake up. You're dreaming."

I gasp awake to silence. It lasts a second before I feel fingers combing through my hair, and a voice murmurs in my ear, "You were moaning in your sleep again, baby. Another nightmare."

My vision clears as I fully settle back into my body. Cassie lies very close to my face. She looks worried, but she smiles when my eyes open. "Morning, stranger," she says happily.

I respond by cupping her face with one hand. The other skims under her nightshirt and grabs her ass.

Cassie jumps and makes an indignant sound. "Toby! What are you doing?"

"Baby, let me look at you."

"You act like you haven't seen me in a week!"

Usually I'd respond with a quip, try to be funny. Something's wrong though. I just shake my head and feel my eyes water with unshed tears. "God, you're beautiful. I'm so glad you're here."

Cassie clasps me by the wrists. "Toby, what happened? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I, uh ..." I pinch the bridge of my nose and frantically wipe my eyes. "I dunno. I had a nightmare, I think."

"You were yelling in your sleep. That's why I woke you. What did you dream about?"

I don't know. That's the crazy thing. I had a dream about ... something. But the more I think about it, the more impossible it is to recall it, as if the dream has turned to smoke. It dances once on the wind and vanishes into the ether, and with it goes all the emotion associated with it. I'd felt fear and grief, and a burning desire to come home. Which is stupid, since obviously I'm home right now. This must be one of those dreams with deep Jungian connotations that my college professors talked about. Now the emotions seem shallow and false, like they belonged to someone else. My heart rate steadies a bit.

After a very long pause, during which I've turned the memory of the dream over and over in my mind without being able to make sense of it, I reply: "I don't know. It mustn't have been important." I'm holding Cassie in my arms and stroking her cheek as I say this. We're so close that I can count her eyelashes. "Have I ever told you you're the most beautiful woman in the world, and the light and joy of my life?"

Cassie lazily closes her eyes. "Not today yet, but I always love when you do. Keep going."

I chuckle under my breath, kiss her at the corner of her mouth, then on the lips. I'm wondering how quickly I can get her clothes off when the bedroom door opens and our children run in. Or rather, Lucia runs in and Ben follows on all fours. At three years old, Lucia's figured out how to get Benny out of his crib. Our daughter lands on the bed on the first jump, leaving Ben to hold on to the side of the mattress and make impatient noises. I'm put to mind of the cat indicating she wants to be picked up.

As if on cue, the cat saunters into the room, meowing for her breakfast.

I wipe the last of the tears from my face and crack a smile. "Well! We got a full house this morning! I guess we have to get up now."

"Daddy, we're going to the fireworks today, right?" Lucia asks.

"Uh uh uh uh!" Ben says, jumping up and down as he clings to the bed. He squeals as I pick him up.

"I don't know," I say, feigning uncertainty. "What do you say, Mother? Shall we go to the fireworks?"

"Yeah!" Lucia cries. "Please! Pretty please!"

Ben burbles and laughs.

"I think we can do that," Cassie says, and Lucia cheers. "But breakfast first, okay? Aunt Elsie's family will be here soon."

"Central Park is my favorite place on earth."

"Oh?" I stroke Cassie's arm. We're lying on the grass of the park, the remains of our picnic nearby. I hear my children and their cousins shrieking in the distance as they play with Elsie and David.

"Yep," Cassie says. "We had our third date here, after we met at Columbia. I still can't believe how cocky you were, walking into class that day. You were such a show off."

"I had to impress you."

"Mm-hmm."

"It's a good park. My frat brothers and I had our reunion here a few years back. You know, that was when I finally decided to go full time with the photography thing and leave architecture for good."

"Really? You made that decision here?"

"Sure did. At the time, I figured I'd do weddings. I didn't expect I'd end up getting invited to photograph the governor of New York, or the presidential inauguration."

"Or get a Pulitzer."

"That, too."

"Would you change any of it? Done anything differently?"

I nuzzle her cheek. "Are you kidding? Never."

We have a few hours before the fireworks start, and the women are starving, so we decide to stroll over to our favorite pub for an early dinner. Ben's strapped to my chest in his harness and happily burbles away as we walk. "You don't mind, do you?" Cassie asks her sister. "I don't have any groceries in the house. Toby's parents are coming tomorrow and I still have to go shopping."

"Of course not," Elsie says.

David slaps me on the shoulder as we stroll out of the park. "So, bro, what's this I hear about you going to Afghanistan?"

I puff up. "Yeah, it's crazy! Time magazine wants an exclusive on the rebuilding of Kabul."

"Where's that?"

"Not sure. I think it's the capital. It got pretty trashed during the war."

"We're still discussing it," Cassie interrupts. "It's not very safe over there yet. I don't know how I feel about Toby running off into a war zone."

"Former war zone," I add.

"Just be glad he's not a cop," David says.

Elsie nudges him. "Sweetheart, you're not helping."

"Geez, sorry! Toby's just used to getting what he wants because he's an only child."

"Why do you think we had two kids?" I joke back. "I don't want them spoiled like me. Let them learn to share with other people, you know?"

Everyone playfully bickers as we exit Central Park on the north side, carefully sidestepping the crowd of people coming out for the Fourth of July. The summer air is hot and cloying. For some reason, I stop. My family continues without me, talking and laughing. Joggers and cyclists swerve around me without a second thought, like a school of salmon swimming upstream.

Frowning, I turn around.

There's a girl standing several feet behind me. She has long dark hair and could be pretty, if she weren't so wan. Her eyes are green. Cassie always said I had an eye for the details. It helps me be a better photographer.

Ben burbles again at my chest. I jiggle him as I frown at the girl. She's young, gotta be in high school. "Can I help you, miss?"

The girl doesn't respond, but her hands flutter up to cover her swollen stomach. The blouse doesn't do a good job of hiding the advanced stages of her pregnancy. Definitely third trimester.

Suddenly, a man's exited the park and come up behind the girl, slipping an arm through hers. He's got tousled blond hair and the sort of thin, chiseled look that was all the rage in yuppie fashion in the 1980s. He wears a light summer suit and nice shoes. When he smiles, it's a very crooked smile. "There you are, my dear. You mustn't run off like that."

He says this in a very gentle, paternal way, then winks at me. "Lovely day out. Hard to believe they have an entire holiday dedicated to liberty, isn't it?" He says this last bit to the girl as if sharing a private joke, but the girl doesn't laugh.

I don't know why, but this guy gives me the creeps.

"Honey," I ask the girl in my kindest dad voice, "are you okay? Do you need help?"

"No," the girl replies. She sounds very calm when she says it, or resigned. I can't tell. But she grips the man's arm a little tighter as she says it.

The man winks at me and turns around, leading them away into the North Woods. The rest of the crowd is avoiding the shadows of the trees, so it's easy to follow the pair as they leave the heat of the city sidewalk and go away, away, away, into the forest.

"Toby?" Startled, I turn to find Cassie watching me with imploring eyes. "Everything okay? We're waiting for you."

"Oh, yeah," I say. "Ben and I got distracted."

"By what?"

I don't know. There was something important, but I can't recall it now. I guess it wasn't so important after all. Oh, well.

I take Cassie by the arm and escort her away from the park while Ben offers a running commentary in baby talk on everyone who passes us. I spy Lucia further up the block shrieking with her cousins while her poor aunt and uncle try to keep everyone in line. Cassie hooks one hand around my elbow and leans on my shoulder. "This has been a great day."

"Yeah," I agree.

All is well.

The end