Passenger

But things always changed.

When an echo comes back to you, the song is always different.

It was why the pictures disappeared from my camera back in June, and why Co

So maybe I’d never gotten back home to begin with.

From the very first time I went to Marbury, things got moved, rearranged. And once those things shifted the slightest bit, they never went back to exactly the same spots they’d come from.

That’s what I thought.

Co

That was it.

We stopped ru

I shoved him. Hard. I wanted to punch him so bad I was shaking. Both my hands tightened in fists. Of course he saw it.

“What the fuck, Con?”

He shook his head; his brow tightened up like I was speaking a different language.

“What’s wrong with you, Jack?”

“Stop fucking with me! Leave me the fuck alone!”

Co

I spun around, away from Co

“What is fucking wrong with me?”

I wasn’t asking Co

So we stood there like that for the longest time, absolutely silent except for the panting breaths we gulped. And I think Co

“I’m sorry, Con.”

He stepped toward me. I didn’t see him, but I could feel his heat as he got close. Finally, he put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed me tight. He was sweating.

I said, “Dude. You fucking reek like BO.”

He gripped my bicep and pulled me in to him.

“It’s all okay, Jack. I’m not fucking with you. We’re here. Safe. Together. Everything is good now. Finally, dude. We made it. I swear to God, everything’s good now.”

I swallowed a lump and nodded.

“What if—”

Co

He patted his hand on the back of my neck.

“This can be it, Jack.”

“You think?”

“It’s good enough for me, bud.”

The sky began darkening again. It would rain soon.

And Co

This is it.

*   *   *

Co

He just made small talk and teased me, picked on Jack like he always did, calling me gay, testing me.

And we didn’t even clean up. Sweaty and stinking, we got dressed in the same jeans we’d worn on the train, slipped into our T-shirts and pullovers.

Co

It didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered.

Because this was it.

And I knew what I needed to do.

I had a plan.

As soon as we shut the door behind us, I took out my phone.

Co

“No. I owe someone a beer.”

We walked to The Prince of Wales.

thirty-four

By the time Henry Hewitt showed up, Co

The place was noisy and alive.

I didn’t even try to pace myself with the drinking. I wanted to poison every fear I held on to, work up the courage to finally let go of everything Jack kept balled up in the center of his fucked universe.

Co

He stood up, sat, and stood again, wavering unsteadily while he carried our empty pint glasses to the bar for refills.

And that’s when Henry walked in.

Co

I waved and held three fingers up, then pointed to the man at the door.

“Make it three.”

It was almost fu

I was the worm and I was the hole. We all were—me, Co

I never fucking got us back home.

Maybe I was just drunk, but as I sat there in The Prince of Wales, I decided that the reason I never told anyone except Co

Everything was Jack’s fault.

But this could be it.

This was good enough, and I was tired. I wished I had the balls to hold Co

This is it.

Henry stood at the door, eyeing me for a moment. Then he nodded and began snaking through the crowd.

I could say he looked older, but we’d both been through so much. As he made his way toward me, I wondered if he knew about the places I’d been, if maybe he’d had dreams, and in them, if he saw London falling to pieces, ghosts who came and went, Jack bleeding to death in front of him, and blue plastic drums with the tangled bodies of lost little boys sleeping endlessly inside them.

Maybe he had no stories except for the ones that trapped us together.

I wondered if he carried a small compass with him.

I was so sick of everything. I had called Henry here to say good-bye to him one last time.

When he got to our table, I stood politely and took his hand, but I didn’t smile. Behind him, Co

“The last time I saw you, I promised I’d buy you a beer,” I said.

Henry cleared his throat and sat beside me. “And when, exactly, was that, Jack?”

“Fu

Henry shrugged one shoulder as if to say it didn’t matter whether it sounded familiar or not. “Well, it’s always nice to have a pint with a friend, I think.”

Co

He leaned across the table and put his face so close to my ear that he almost fell on top of me. He whispered, “Hey, Jack. There’s some creepy old guy sitting next to you. Just thought I’d let you know.”

Then he laughed and sat down.

I raised my glass. “Co

Our beers clinked together, and Henry said, “Cheers.”

So we sat like drunken veterans trading war stories for two hours. We spoke with low voices, at times in whispers, like we were all escaped inmates from the same asylum.

Maybe we were crazy.

Each of us told of things the others hadn’t seen, but the pieces all fit together in some rhythmic alcoholic order: the Odds, the battles in Glenbrook, the floods, Anamore Fent and the Rangers, the Under, the trip into the desert, the encampment, and, finally, Henry’s loss at the settlement, which brought us all back here, to London, to The Prince of Wales.