by Marina Cohen
“I’ll talk to Mr. Borrelli,” Jake said aloud. “He’ll know where Drew is.”
His mother stopped humming. “Borrelli …” she muttered as if reaching back into the darkest corner of her mind. “Borrelli’s gone. Went to jail years ago.”
“J-Jail?” Jake stuttered. If there was any doubt in him before, he now knew for certain that she had gone completely mad.
“Criminal negligence causing death,” said his mother in a sinister tone. “She died, you know. He should have checked the wiring. It was his responsibility. That’s what the prosecutor said.”
What in the world was she going on about? Criminal negligence causing death? Mr. Borrelli? Impossible. Mr. B wouldn’t hurt a fly.
“Up and down. Up and down. The wiring was shoddy. He should have reported it. A woman died, you know …”
The ground abandoned Jake when madness met meaning: The elevator. The wiring. Jake had known something was wrong. He had tried to tell Mr. B, but he was a ghost and Mr. Borrelli hadn’t heard him. Jake could have done something to stop this. He could have saved that woman.
His mother closed the door, but Jake stuck his arm in and forced his way inside. He couldn’t let her disappear.
“Think!” he yelled. “Where’s Drew? I need to find Drew!”
She released the door, kicked off her shoes, and resumed humming as she walked toward the kitchen. Jake shut the door behind him. He followed her, eyeing the place as he went. Little had changed here. It was almost the same as he’d left it. The world outside had changed. St. George Station had changed. The buses had changed. The fares had changed. But here, inside apartment 710, time had stood still.
His mother made herself a pot of coffee, muttering more nonsense, oblivious to his presence. Jake felt like an intruder in his own home. He examined the space. The same cupboards. The same table and chairs, the same —
“Drew’s a king,” said his mother suddenly.
Jake glanced up. “What did you just say?”
“Drew’s a king,” she repeated, as though it was the most natural thing in the world to say.
Jake flew to her side and took a deep breath. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten her again. “A king?” he said as calmly as his shaky voice would allow.
His mother didn’t look at him. She stepped around him as if he were an obstacle in her path. Opening the cupboard, she reached for a mug. “A king without a crown.”
Jake’s thoughts raced to solve the riddle. A king without a crown?
The significance of her words bulldozed him, and he fell back against the wall. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Jake coughed, swallowed, and coughed again. It wasn’t possible. Drew was the good kid. The smart kid. Why would he do it? He didn’t need them. He didn’t need what little they had to offer. Drew had a bright future. Not like Jake. How could Drew do something so foolish?
Jake reached for his mother’s hands and held them gently in his. “The 5 Kings? He’s in the 5 King Tribe?”
His mother looked up, her eyes locking onto Jake’s. And it was as if he could see the sorrow of the world puddling in them. She nodded once, then let her eyelids close. When she opened them again, she was gone.
Jake let his whole body slump against the wall. The surface was rough. He turned and ran his hand along the wall. Deep beneath the old paint, exactly where he’d etched it what seemed like only hours ago, was the eerie outline of his name.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Jake grasped the doorknob in his sweaty palm. What would he find there? Would he find himself — ten years older — lying stretched out on his bed? Would the sight be too much to handle? Would he lose his mind just like his mother? Adrenaline coursed through his veins, setting them on fire as he let the door creak open.
A musky odour escaped the room, rushing past Jake as he peered inside. The blinds were drawn; a swampy darkness beckoned him inward. He hesitated before crossing the threshold. There was something in there. Something he shouldn’t see. He could feel it clawing at him, dragging him closer.
“It’s just your imagination,” he muttered, and the sound of his own voice gave him strength.
He had to get in there. Jake had to locate a phone number, an address — something that might lead him to his brother. If he could find Drew, the insanity would end.
Jake flicked the light switch. Blinded by a flurry of coloured dots, his eyes slowly adjusted. He took a step inside. His bedroom hadn’t changed. It was exactly the same as he’d left it. His clothes lay strewn across the floor with his school books and other junk in the exact same spot he’d left them. His bed was the same wrinkled mess. Drew’s side was neat and tidy with all his stuff exactly where Jake had last seen it.
His mind raced through a labyrinth, hitting one dead end after another. Ten years had passed, and yet here, for some reason, time had stood still. It made no sense — not even for the warped and twisted realities he’d recently visited.
Something was wrong. Very wrong. Jake could feel it surrounding him, closing in on him.
Don’t look!
He shut his eyes. His mind was exhausted. He didn’t know which way to turn. He spun around and around, flailing his arms wildly, fending off the invisible and inexplicable foe that threatened him. Finally, empty and exhausted, he crumpled into a heap on his bed. Teetering over the edge of sanity, he let himself fall.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
When Jake opened his eyes, the room was dark. He could hear his mother moving around in the kitchen, humming to herself. Sitting up, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. How long had he been lying there? It felt like centuries. He stretched his arms and cracked his neck. His body ached. The humming grew louder, and his mother appeared in the doorway. Light leaked in from the hallway. He could make out her dark silhouette — she was carrying a tray of food. He stood up.
“Sit down, Jake,” she said softly.
Her voice sounded clear. Normal. The nightmare melted away. He was home in his bedroom with his mother — his sane mother — and it was as if he had never left. It was over. It was finally over.
His mother placed the tray at the foot of the bed and pulled him down so that they were sitting side by side. She handed him a glass of cold milk. He took a sip. On the tray was a napkin, some cutlery, and a bowl of spaghetti and meatballs — his favourite. The smell of her spicy sauce filled the room.
“Mom,” he whispered, putting the glass down on his nightstand. “I missed you so much.”
She reached over and stroked his head. “I always knew you’d come back to me, Jake. They all said I should let go, move on, but I couldn’t. I knew you’d be back, and here you are, just like I told them.” She leaned in and kissed his forehead.
Back? thought Jake. The facade began to fade. He was still on that train. Still at the party.
“I kept telling everyone, My Jake will be back, but they didn’t believe me. They said I was crazy.” She tossed her head. Her hair glistened like liquid silver. “I kept everything here just the way you like it.” She waved her arm around the room. “I didn’t move a single thing. It’s all been waiting for you. I’ve been waiting for you …”
The darkness pressed in on Jake again. Questions tangled into a ball of confusion in his mind. Why hadn’t she moved anything in ten years? Was it because he’d left? If he’d left, where had he gone? Where was he now?
Jake’s throat was so dry that it hurt to swallow. His gaze followed his mother’s hand around the room. There was something here. Something he mustn’t see.
Don’t look!
Jake scrunched his eyes and opened them. Drew’s things were still here. But Drew hadn’t left. Why had she kept all his things, too?
“Where’s Drew?” he asked. “I need to find him.”
The light caught the corner of her eye, and any com
fort Jake had found there was blown away by what he saw.
“You’re staying this time, right?” she said sharply. “You’re not going anywhere ever again.”
Before he knew what was happening, she reached over and picked up the knife lying on the tray. The blade caught the hall light and sent flashes of fire dancing through the shadows. Jake leaned away slowly.
“Mom,” he whispered, but the word was full of fear.
“No one is ever going to leave me again,” she said firmly. “No one. Especially not you.”
Jake’s heart pummelled his insides. “Of c-course not, Mom,” he stammered. “I’m not going anywhere. Not ever again. I s-swear.” He tried to stand up, but she snatched his wrist and yanked him back down.
“I love you, Jake,” she said. “I love you so much.”
Jake scanned the room frantically. What could he use to defend himself? All he saw were his clothes and books and all of Drew’s things. Drew’s karate gi was folded neatly on the dresser beside something else. Something black. What was it?
Don’t look!
It was Jake’s black hoodie — the one he was wearing. He reached down and touched his chest. How could it be in two places at the same time? Something was wrong. He stood up and took a step toward it.
Don’t look!
His mother tightened her grip on his arm and pulled him backward. “I said you’re staying right here!”
He volleyed glances from his dresser to his mother and back. In the dim light he could see the top of his hoodie. Something was wrong with it … it was torn in the centre and … something else …
“Jake!” she yelled. “Don’t go! Don’t leave me!”
Jake swung around just in time to see her lift the knife. He caught her wrist with his free hand and squeezed as hard as he could, digging his nails into her flesh. She screamed and dropped the knife. Jake pushed her aside and bolted from the room and out of the apartment. He could hear her sobbing wildly behind him.
“Wait!” she squealed. “Don’t go, Jake! Don’t leave me!”
Throwing open the metal hall door, he ducked into the stairwell and raced down flight after flight until he burst through the emergency door and into the dark night. Jake kept running until he reached the main road. Then he saw him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Cole stood under a streetlamp in front of the coffee shop, lighting a cigarette. Jake barely recognized him. His hair was short and thin and his hairline had receded, making his forehead practically glow in the lamplight. He was unshaven, and he had way more wrinkles than any twenty-four-year-old Jake had ever seen. But it was his eyes that spooked Jake. Even at a distance Jake could see that the defiant flash that used to light Cole’s eyes was gone. They were dull and hard — as if they’d seen a whole lot of stuff they shouldn’t have.
Jake moved closer.
Cole took a long drag on his cigarette. He stared at Jake for a second, narrowed his eyes, and then blew a cloud of smoke into the air. The wind snatched the toxic fumes and dragged them off into the darkness. Cole turned and walked calmly toward the parking lot.
He has no clue who I am, thought Jake.
Cole strolled to the back of the shop with Jake only steps behind. He opened the door to a beat-up black Accord with tinted windows. Cole glanced back over his shoulder, his expression carved into a mistrusting scowl, then got into his car and yanked the door shut.
Jake stood glued to the ground. He couldn’t understand why Cole hadn’t recognized him. Sure, he was ten years younger — but it was still him. Why wouldn’t his best friend identify him?
The engine choked to life and snapped Jake out of his trance. Cole might know where Jake could find Drew. He couldn’t let him get away.
The Accord started to roll, and Jake sprang into action. He lunged toward the car and pounded on the driver’s window. The brakes yelped as the vehicle lurched to a halt. All Jake could see through the tinted window was Cole’s dark silhouette.
“Cole!” he shouted. “It’s me. Open up.”
For a moment nothing happened. Jake had raised his hand to pound on the window again when it glided open. As they stared at each other, Jake saw something else in Cole’s eyes. It looked like fear.
“It’s me,” he said. “I need to talk to you.”
Cole’s eyes grew wide, then settled back into a cold, hard glare. “Get lost, kid,” he growled, and the window began to rise.
Why was Cole acting this way? So Jake looked a whole heck of a lot younger, but why was he blowing him off like this? Wouldn’t he want to talk to him? Wouldn’t he want to find out what had happened?
The window was halfway up and the car had started to roll. Jake’s pulse beat out of control. He had one shot and hoped he’d hit his mark.
“You set me up, man!” he cried. “You and Damon set me up! I heard you guys talking in the coffee shop that day!”
The car stopped. The window stopped.
“You set me up to take the fall and dragged my little brother into your mess. You owe me, man. Tell me where Drew is. Where’s my brother?”
The air raced in and out of Jake’s lungs. His fists were balled, preparing for confrontation, but the car just sat there, the choking engine sounding more and more like a dying animal. Then, slowly, steadily, the car rolled backward until Jake and Cole were face to face once again. Cole sized Jake up and down.
“Let’s go,” Cole said suddenly, motioning his head toward the passenger seat.
Jake hesitated. This wasn’t going the way he’d expected. Who was this guy inviting him into his car? Jake didn’t know him anymore. He was a stranger.
“Get in,” Cole said. “I’ll take you to see Drew — if that’s what you really want.”
His smoke-filled laughter sent a shiver skittering up Jake’s spine.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The Accord rolled to a stop in front of a building a few blocks away. A group of guys hung around on the front steps. The walls behind them were covered in spray paint. There was a giant Roman numeral V and a capital K. Beneath it was an image Jake knew all too well — a crown dripping blood. There was other graffiti, too, some of which Jake understood. He knew the number four stood for the fourth letter in the alphabet. It was a warning. D meant death to rivals. There were names, too — most likely nicknames. Shark leaped out at Jake. He had a pretty good idea who belonged to that nickname.
Cole gave Jake a shove. “You wanted to see Drew. What are you waiting for?”
“Cole …” Jake began, but the guy smacked him upside the head. Jake whipped around. He could feel tears of anger and embarrassment welling in his eyes. He fought them back.
“I don’t know who you are, or where you get off calling me by my name,” he snarled. “No one calls me that anymore, anyway. Not even my mother.”
Jake gritted his teeth, swallowed his anger, and nodded. He had to see his brother. He was so close now. Drew was all that mattered.
The car door swung open. Jake’s insides were a mass of jelly, but he knew better than to show any fear to these guys.
He and Cole walked up to the front of the building. As they approached, one guy stood up and blocked their path. At first Jake didn’t recognize the face that appeared before him, but then he saw the tattoo emblazoned across the guy’s knuckles. He had less hair and a giant scar across his face, but those steel-grey eyes … It was Damon, all right — the Shark.
He looked at Jake, and for a second his eyes widened. They searched Cole for answers. When Cole shrugged, Damon sized Jake up and down again, then narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Who are you?”
Why doesn’t anybody know who I am? thought Jake.
“This guy wants to see Drew …” Cole sneered. “ … Claims he’s his brother.”
Damon volleyed glances
between Jake and Cole.
Jake watched a smile slither across Damon’s lips. “Drew!” he called over his shoulder. “Your brother’s here to see you!”
Jake swallowed. Something didn’t feel right about the way Cole and Damon both said the word brother. They had been the ones who had tried to set him up all those years ago. He couldn’t escape the feeling that they were setting him up again.
Drew will know me, thought Jake. He’s my brother. He’ll know me.
The group of guys parted like a curtain, and one figure emerged. He was tall and lean but looked as solid as a tank. Could it be? Was it really him? Jake resisted the urge to blink in case the vision disappeared.
With a mixture of amusement and disbelief, Drew glared at Jake. And in the instant their eyes locked, any hope Jake had that his brother might recognize him oozed into a puddle on the cold concrete steps.
Drew had changed. This wasn’t the little kid he remembered. Something had happened to him. Something horrible.
Drew spat on the pavement inches from Jake’s feet. “What do you want?”
Jake cleared his throat. He didn’t know what to say. How would he make his brother understand?
“It’s me,” he said quietly. “It’s Jake.”
Drew’s eyes ignited in cold flames. Jake had never seen anything like it. Who was this? What had happened to his brother? What had changed him?
Jake heard Cole and Damon cackling as if they’d known all along Drew would react like a psycho. He opened his mouth, but before he could get another word out Drew slammed his fist into Jake’s gut and the wind exploded out of his lungs.
“Jake,” said Drew coldly.
Jake gasped for air. He almost snatched a mouthful of oxygen when a second fist crashed into his stomach.
“My brother?” Drew said.
Jake’s knees buckled, and he dropped to the ground. He struggled to breathe, stealing short, shallow breaths, but it was as if there wasn’t enough air left on the entire planet. His insides felt as if they’d been ripped out of him.
