Passenger

Co

He said, “So. You want to get coffee?”

“Oh man, I am dying for some coffee.”

Co

I said, “Um. Sorry. Bad choice of words.”

Then he smiled cautiously and pointed me to the door of a coffee bar.

It made for a long stretch of silence, finishing two full cups of hot coffee without saying a word. But nothing else needed to be said. Sometimes Co

We didn’t avoid each other’s stare, though, because Co

He swallowed. I watched the knot in his throat bob down and up.

I reached across the table and bumped his hand with my knuckles.

“You know, you’ve saved my life about a hundred times.”

I watched Co

I turned and looked at the traffic outside the window, and tried to change the subject. But every subject only ended up being about us, anyway.

“I really like it here. I mean, at St. Atticus. I can feel it.”

Co

“This is it, right?”

“This is good enough for me, Con.”

“I’m okay staying here if you are, Jack.”

He sounded nervous, choked up.

I knew he was talking about much more than just England and St. Atticus Grammar School for Boys. We both knew it.

“Well, I’m okay staying here, Con. And, well … thanks.”

“No prob.” Then he squinted and smiled. “But don’t ever try that shit again.”

“Try what? The before thing, or … um … you know, after?”

Co

“Hey,” I said. “In case you’re wondering, I’m not bugged about it at all. I thought it was totally cool. Really nice. Really. Okay?”

He looked at me and nodded.

*   *   *

“Oh fucking hell!” When I saw the station sign through the window, I shook my head. “We need to get off, Con. We’re going the wrong fucking way.”

We were on the Tube, at Finchley Road, heading in the entirely opposite direction, on the totally wrong line to get to the train station at Charing Cross.

We weren’t paying attention to what was going on around us—outside our little universe—that morning, so in our daze we ended up boarding a wrong-way train at Baker Street. And we barely made it out of the car before the doors whooshed shut.

But after spending a few minutes decoding the colored lines on the Underground map, we switched tracks and headed south on the Jubilee Line, which unfortunately also took us out of our way.

I sighed, and slapped my head when we passed the Baker Street stop.

“Why the fuck didn’t we get off there? What the fuck is wrong with me? I am so messed up today.”

Co

He laughed. It was a real laugh, and it sounded good.

Like home.

He pressed his foot against mine. “It’s not like we have a plane to catch or something.”

When the train slowed into the Bond Street station, I pulled a small folding map from my back pocket.

Like Henry’s compass.

“We can switch at Westminster or Waterloo,” I said. “Waterloo’s probably better. Then we won’t have to get off again till we’re at Charing Cross.”

I tucked the map away. “I’m sorry about getting us lost, Con.”

Co

“I’m having a good time. Don’t sweat it.” He gri

“Yeah,” I said. “Welcome home, huh?”

“Yeah. Home.”

The train stopped.

The doors swished open.

We were at Green Park.

And this was it.

thirty-six

There is something about this particular place.

It is a magnet, and Jack ca

My head snaps around; Co

Like being in a vice.

Something is wrong.

Don’t black out, Jack.

Co

This is the arrow.

There are so many people waiting to board the train.

They begin pressing into the car, packing everywhere. Suddenly it is as though their collective mouths inhale every molecule of air around me. Suffocating, empty, I shake my head and hang my chin down to my chest.

“I don’t know. I feel sick, Con. Like I’m going to pass out.”

“Jack?”

He’s rubbing my back, like he’s trying to keep me awake, and I say, “Shhhhh…”

Everything is suddenly so noisy. I am trapped inside the howling engine of a jet.

Whiteness paints my drained skin; I feel the opening of each pore and I begin to bleed small tears of freezing sweat. I am shaking, and Co

“Let’s get off for a second, Jack. Catch your breath.”

Co

Of course.

This is why we got onto the wrong train.

The train passes into a tu

I take a deep breath.

Breathe, Jack.

I know Co

I feel along the seat beside me, find his hand, and grab on.

Tight.

I lean into him. “Co

I feel him squeezing my hand.

“Jack?”

“Hey,” he says, trying to shake me back. “Jack? Do you know that kid? What’s he want?”

Someone is saying, “I have a score to settle with you.”

The train begins to slow, it leans me forward, and I nearly fall into Co

Co

I shut my eyes tightly, reopen them.

Everything is everywhere.

Seated across the aisle on the bench directly facing us is a redhead kid.

The punk.

Qui

Slower.

Slower.

The kid is saying something.

“Billy? Billy? Isn’t that you, Billy? Don’t play games now. Hell … I knew I’d find you somewhere, as long as I only kept looking.”

My words are slurred, drunk, and they disco

The train stops.

Westminster.

Whoosh.

The doors.

The kid looks like he’s been stung.

“Billy!”

I’m holding Co

I whisper, “Please get me out of here, Con.”

I fall out of the train as the doors hiss shut behind us; end up flat on my face in a forest of legs on the crowded Westminster platform.

*   *   *

“He’s okay. He’s okay. He’s just sick and couldn’t breathe for a second.”

Co

Someone said, “Do you need medical assistance?”