Hours earlier...

After what felt like the longest work day of this life, previous lives included, David could barely muster the energy to drive his car. He had walked into his office almost twenty-four hours ago - so many articles to edit, so many projects to oversee - and after he began falling asleep after his fifth cup of joe, the Chief Editor finally released him just before lunch.

But instead of home, he drove to a very familiar part of town...and he casually wondered about his sanity. He hadn't slept in a week.

He needed to talk to Jack. He had to.

In his maddening search, he had found more and more photos of Wilks III and his mysterious brother… Phillip Benjamin Wilks, adopted by the Wilks family in the eighties.

It was him, David knew it. He wondered how he and the guys, even Medda, hadn't seen him before now – on the news, in the papers. Maybe, subconsciously, they didn't want to see it.

Because it was so obvious David felt sick.

Phillip's true history was all but erased, no doubt hidden beneath the Wilks' family fortune. But David felt he was well aware of his previous life as a Rockefeller, or else he wouldn't have worked so hard to climb the ladder into New York's elite. He saw it in his smug face in photographs from the New York Stock Exchange, ribbon cuttings, fundraisers, banquets, Wall Street, galas, all with his brother: he believed he deserved to be there.

What made it worse was he and his brother were inseparable.

Roger and Phillip Wilks were photographed alongside each other constantly: they appeared at multiple events around the city, took trips together with whatever girlfriends they had at the time or groups of women, no doubt gathered and groomed from the Black Diamond…

They traveled the world in private jets, yachts, lodges. It was common knowledge that Phillip was adopted, and the center of gossip, but the treatment he received was based on the relationship he had with Roger. Which, apparently, was fucking close.

Garrison was just as clever as before: he had made himself untouchable.

And so was Cage, it seemed: no photos, no history, no background…no Kid Blink. Nothing. Not even a photo of the back of his head in the background. He didn't exist on the internet.

David dragged a hand over his face as he sat at a red light, his cheeks scruffy.

He wondered again why he was doing this…why he was driving to a place they'd all thought about, even Googled, but none of them had actually stepped foot in the old neighborhood in this life. Not yet.

He parked where the old shoe store used to be, now a finely paved parking lot. David expected to feel a hollowness in his chest as he shut the door and turned around - but he smirked: they'd kept the old sign above the door.

Newsie Boarding House, with a new sign below it: "The Newsstand". Clever.

A bell sounded above him as he stepped inside the dark shop, books and newspapers covering every wall, old paintings lit from under glass lanterns. They'd kept it almost the same…the dark wood, the creaky stairs as customers went up and down between the floors, Kloppman's desk...

David's eyes roamed over the room, feeling lighter as he was swept away, back and back through the years.

How funny it was to see a computer, an Exit sign, the lights in the ceiling. There were new coats of paint on the walls, shelves covering almost every bit of wall space, and rugs lining the way. It was dimly lit and quite cozy, to David's delight.

But he knew why he was really here. He was stalling, even began feeling guilty for it.

But there were far worse places to run away to. Even with its new face, this place was still comforting.

As he wandered through the rooms slowly, he remembered how he and the boys always talked late into the night about how they'd escape this place, this city. When it was strangely the best home they've ever known, the closest family they'd ever had. The memories were still here, their voices and laughter…

He went upstairs, vivid memories flooding him… he remembered how Kid Blink and Mush would slide down the banister backwards, the others jumping down the steps like a herd of elephants as they went out for the day…

He peaked down at the front desk, half expecting to see Kloppman there…but the young cashier stared at her phone, unaware of him as he went up to the third floor.

The old door at the top had been painted green, and had an "employees only" sign on it. It was blessedly unlocked, and David's heart rose to his throat as he pushed it open.

The space was open and mostly empty, save for some boxes of holiday décor and extra books. David was stunned to see some of the old bunkbeds still here used as shelves, the mattresses long gone. The dust tickled his nose, and he looked to the left, seeing the old bathroom with rows of showers, eerie in their empty stillness.

He stood in the middle of the room, feeling more at home than he had ever felt in this life… he wondered if he should bring the guys here, or see if Honey could –

He stopped his thoughts cold – bring Honey here? To do…what? Commune with the 'dead'...?

He looked out the windows to the right, looking over the street that was now populated with cafes and hip restaurants. In his memories, he saw Jack, Kid Blink, Mush and Race sitting in front of the dirty glass, laughing and talking about their day, their voices filling the room as the others got ready for bed…

Or the time Jack watched and waited for Talia to come out from the dark alleyway across the street…Ira.

David closed his eyes, searching for the familiar smells and sounds through the dusty air. All he heard was the doorbell downstairs.

He dragged his hand over his face again, for the hundredth time that day.

Most of the stress he harbored had nothing to do with the reaction he anticipated from Jack… and everything to do with Tiffany.

He couldn't understand how Phillip Benjamin Wilks hadn't discovered her at the club yet. Or maybe he had.

It bothered him more than he cared to admit to Kat and Medda, whom he kept updated…he felt guilty worrying them but they reassured him, and proved they could handle it. Medda had gathered more information than the internet and newspapers had to offer and delivered it to him with a cool gaze over coffee in her office the day before, early in the morning before he went to work.

"We need to know how deep she and her friends are," she said. "...and what the Wilks have planned."

"You have to talk to Jack," Kat said softly, her eyebrows knitted with worry.

Even though David made Race, Mush and Spot swear to keep their word and not blab to the others, he didn't disclose most of what he knew. He didn't want any leaks before he had a grip on what was going on…but the more he found out, the more it felt like it was all slipping through his fingers like sand.

And the more he thought about it all, the more he tried to think of ways to help her…to wake her up.

During the two weeks spent away from the girls, David tiptoed around the conversation with Mush, Jack, Race and Spot…the guys looked at him pointedly but Jack was unaware of the dark knowledge they kept secret. David was surprised to hear Jack had beaten him to the punch.

"You asked Honey about past life readings?" he asked Jack, trying to hide his surprise as he glanced at Mush. "What did she say?"

"She shot it down," Jack said dryly as he ate his bacon on the go. "But she told me what I wanted to know."

"Which was?" David fought to keep his voice level.

Jack's eyes locked with his steadily, that look David knew too well. "She's done them before."

David sighed from the middle of the bunkroom.

If he did find a way to bring Honey here…Then he'd have to tell her everything, and risk her seeing them as completely off their rockers –

But what if…there was a way she could see for herself?

But not here…a place that held memories of her, memories of Ira.

He turned and left, flying down the stairs like he used to, spooking the cashier to attention.

"Is there a spirituality section?" he panted, feeling the wildness in his gaze. "Or occult? I'm looking for a book on past lives."

She led him to the back, where the back door used to be. His eyes scanned the spines, picking some out at random. Forgetting about the Wilks Brothers, he wondered if he could help Tiffany in more than one way – help her escape and bring them down. And if Honey would agree to do a –

He jumped as his phone vibrated in his pocket – it was strange to operate it in here.

It was a text from Racetrack. Makin' sure you're alive.

He sighed. Yes, be there in 20.

He felt guilty being there without them knowing, but after he scanned a few pages and selected three books, he felt more encouraged than he had in a month.

Phillip Benjamin Wilks may have been untouchable in this life, but he couldn't escape his past. None of them could.

He needed to talk with Honey. Tonight.


The feeling of encouragement was short-lived; dread came back like a punch to the stomach as he drove down the street towards the apartment. But he still felt hopeful - and hoped even more that Jack would hear him out before losing his temper.

He could hear the guys' muffled laughter as he climbed the steps to their door and the sound made him feel as if he were holding a needle to a taught balloon, forced to pop it.

Tonight they'd meet up with the girls for Tiff's birthday. He groaned internally, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

"David!"

"'sup Davie!"

"Yo, need a beer?"

"Yes," David said as he set his bag in the desk chair, the new books poking out.

The guys were laughing and shouting, the cacophony comforting like coming home. They were playing cards, and Jack had a familiar grin on his face. It normally lifted David's spirits to see Jack like that…instead it made his heart ache.

"Bullshit! I know you're hiding cards, ya wise ass," Racetrack laid down a set and drew.

"You're jus' pissed 's not the same place you hide your cards," Snoddy said, the guys laughing.

"Jus' wait 'til Boots gets here later an' he'll beat our asses like a drum…" Specs checked his phone, his brows pulling together as he squinted at the screen. "Man it's not even two o'clock yet, I may go back ta bed."

"Gotta rest up for later, 'ey Jack?" Bumlets said, a joint hanging from his mouth as he nudged Jack.

Mush picked up his own phone. "Honey said she'd call when they're done."

"We got over twelve hours ta go, hot shot," Jack said darkly as he rearranged his hand. "'s a marathon not a sprint."

"Ya still gonna lose," Race grumbled as he studied his cards.

"Not with that hand," Jack murmured slyly.

They chuckled darkly and Race glowered at Jack.

"Put your money where your mouth is, boss," Snoddy said, grinning sneakily at Jack.

Jack laid down a set, the guys' voices rising in disbelief as they passed money, changing their bets. Jack laughed.

Spot came to David's side with a beer, his cat-like eyes sharp on his face. David started; he'd zoned out while watching his friends, the dread clear on his tired face.

"Cat got ya tongue?"

They looked over at the group as they exploded into laughter – Snoddy had cards poking out from his hat.

"If you're gonna cheat, do better, slick," Jack boasted as he pulled in his winnings.

"Since when did ya get good at cards – 's tha fourth time in a row!" Racetrack whined, looking at Jack suspiciously. "I think we got a ringer, boys."

"Line 'em up!" Mush said as he got up to fetch beers.

David sighed again, then felt Spot's fingers taught on his jaw, turning his head back and forth. Spot clicked his tongue and shook his head.

"Sit down, Davie. Ya got yourself strung out like yesterday's laundry."

The guys continued to play cards as David sat in a chair in the middle of the kitchen, their boisterous voices fading to the background as David's thoughts swirled maddeningly in his head.

Spot heated up a towel and placed it around David's neck and lathered shaving soap in a silver dish with a thick brush, just like the good old days. On one of their many trips to antique stores, they'd found an old barber shaving set. The guys never used electric or hand razors again. Spot and Specs were the best at it.

Spot lathered David's face. "I take it ya found out who his is."

David didn't open his eyes. "He's the adopted brother of Wilks."

"Shit," Spot hissed as he reached for the hand blade, shaking his head.

David felt relieved to tell Spot, his chest loosening slightly. Of all of them, Spot handled stress the best.

"Adopted, huh," Spot mused after a moment as he concentrated. "Scum still protects himself with daddy's money…Jack ain't gonna like it… but he needs to know, Davie."

David appreciated Spot keeping his voice down. He dragged the blade down David's cheek smoothly, the air cooling his skin.

"I know," David said carefully in between wipes on the towel. "You're right."

Spot shook his head, "If only some of my guys had realized that sooner back in tha day…they might've lived longer."

David looked up at Spot. "You keep up with any of them still?"

Spot shrugged, his eyes unreadable. "Some. Most of them don't wanna think about it, but they remember. Some call me late at night…jus' ta hear my voice. 'parently I shouted a lot."

Spot grinned and David laughed a little.

Spot's face sobered as he went to David's neck. "'s tough when there ain't anybody ta talk to. One's a cop, an' he's strugglin' a bit. 'member Mud? He never in a million thought he'd be a bull, but he can't walk away from a twenty year career… an' he's got a family. So he tries ta be one of the good ones."

"Twenty years?" David mused, allowing himself to be distracted. "So he's older."

Spot shook his head, "he woke up the day after his medal ceremony. Talk about bad timin'."

Spot handed David a warm towel to wipe off with.

"'s funny, I never enjoy hearin' it."

David looked at him, "Hearing what?"

"That I'm right."

David smirked. "I figured that was your favorite."

Spot's eyes drilled into David's but they were far away. "It ain't."

David's gaze fell as Spot rinsed and wiped the blade. "The real question is are ya gonna tell Jack now or later: in front of the goons who don't miss a beat, before the girls call, or tomorrow morning after the fun's over?"

"Fuck," David put his head in his hands. Was there such a thing as good timing anymore?

Spot lifted his chin and smacked his cheek, "'least ya don't look like a bum anymore."

Everyone looked up at the sound of sharp knocking on the door – Spot strode to the peephole and his energy became prickly as he ripped the door open.

Everyone stood at the sight of Boots – he was wide eyed and pale, his entire body shaking.

"Boots - ?"

"'s matter, man?"

"What tha fuck -"

"Tha fuck happened to you?"

"You ok?"

Boots shook his head, breathing heavily. He looked like he sprinted twenty blocks.

"I tried ta get home faster but – I didn't want them following me after work – they stomped my fucking phone –"

They brought him to the couch as they fired questions.

"Who the hell – ?"

"The club?"

Jack bristled.

Mush filled a glass of water and Boots downed it.

Jack sat on the coffee table and leaned on his knees, his face concerned as he looked Boots over. He didn't have any bruises or black eyes, but Jack had never seen him this shaken.

Boots took a deep breath before looking up to meet Jack's eyes.

"They took her Jack. They smashed her phone and they took her."

The air was sucked from the room, and from David's lungs. Spot turned to him, his cold gaze saying what he thought.

Damn it.

Boots' voice spilled and they tried to keep up –

"After I took her to campus, I went to the square – a woman and a suit got in, I saw her in the rearview mirror – it was Jazzi and some big goon...they told me to drive back to campus, told me to keep both hands on the wheel. I'm wondering what the fuck is going on when the goon got out and Tiffany and Cage got in. She looked terrified, man, and Jazzi didn't do anything –"

Their heads reeled. Jack felt the color drain from his face.

"She tried to plead for me," Boots took off his hat and rubbed his head, his eyes pained. "But he told her that if she tried to contact you, he'd kill any one of us. Fucking dirt bag put a gun on me –"

The guys shifted uncomfortably as their tempers flared –

"Mother fucker -"

"He what?"

"Son of a bitch -"

Racetrack closed his eyes as Snoddy dropped his head to his hands.

"What the fuck is he doing?" Specs said, exasperated.

Mush paced behind the couch, lost. "this is bad...this is really bad -" He took out his phone, began a message, and then thought better of it. "Shit this is bad."

"I drove around for hours," Boots sighed, slowing his breath as he closed his eyes, shaking his head. "I turned in my keys and took the subway up to Queens and back, just to make sure I wasn't being followed here. Not that it matters - the fucking scum bags know everything."

Boots licked his lips, reading Jack's eyes. "They followed us all day yesterday, man. I feel so stupid -"

Jack stood and paced the living room, his gaze deadly.

"Where is she?" he asked.

"I don't know," Boots hung his head. "Cage said he had presents for her… she looked terrified. I don't know what any of it meant. She's on lock down, an' these guys aren't fuckin' around."

David jumped when Spot nudged his elbow - and the movement caught Jack's eye.

David looked at Spot, no patience to be found in his cold expression. He jerked his head in Jack's direction.

David looked back to Jack, seeing his eyes flare and lock on his face, nothing lost on him. David could see the remembrance dawning on Jack's face, the night he first tried to tell him – Jack looked ready to set the city on fire.

"Got somethin' on your mind, David?" Jack asked evenly.

David stalled. Mush and Racetrack's expressions were cold as stone. The others looked confused, their gazes flickering between David and Jack.

He licked his lips, unsure where to start -

Jack strode forward so quickly David almost tripped backwards - but Jack held him up as he gripped his shirt in his fists and slammed him into the side of the kitchen counter and cabinets. The guys exploded in protest -

"Jack!"

"Easy, Cowboy -"

"It's ok," David said as he held his hands up, his eyes on Jack. He deserved his anger. He almost hoped Jack would punch him. It wouldn't hold a flame next to the guilt he felt in his throat.

Jack's eyes burned into David's. His voice was measured but deadly.

"Whatever it is you've been hidin', you've been keepin' it to yourself for too long." Jack breathed heavily through his nose, his hands shaking slightly on David's chest. David could see the hurt beneath Jack's anger, and it broke his heart the most. Jack felt betrayed.

David swallowed but his voice shook. "I think you already know."

Jack's eyes froze on his face. David sighed heavily, thoroughly hating himself.

"He's here, Jack. He's been here this whole time."


David showed them everything he had: pictures, articles, official documents. The guys listened solemnly, anger and fear drenching them. David wasn't sure how long they sat in silence on the couches, his laptop open to the photos he'd saved. He sat numbly as Jack rose and went to the window. Energy bristled from him like a predator with nowhere to go.

"You've known this whole time," he said, the first words he'd spoken in two hours.

David closed his eyes, knowing nothing he said would make a difference. "I confirmed it a few days ago -"

Jack wheeled on him, "BULLSHIT!"

They watched silently as tears sprung up fast and hot in Jack's eyes. He clenched his teeth as he stared at David.

"You've known this whole time," he said again, the rage inside him threatening to break free.

David's heart broke. "Yes."

Bumlets closed his eyes, his head dropping into his palms. Boots leaned back into the couch and dragged his hands over his eyes. Specs shook his head dejectedly.

"...'s not like we could'a warned her," Racetrack said darkly. He looked at David, "'s not your fault, Dave."

David thought of Tiffany…he closed his eyes. "Yes it is."

They didn't say anything. Jack turned away.

Mush dropped his head and his gaze landed on David's bookbag…he reached in, drawn by the purple book poking out. He read the title… "you got a plan here, David?"

They looked back, seeing the book in Mush's hand.

David looked up to Jack's stoic tired face, hoping it wasn't too late to right the wrong.

"I do."