I cautiously walk up to the door, unsure if I should answer it or not. Ugh. Why Mom? Why did you insist on a house with no peephole, or even a window to see who’s there? Right, doesn’t matter now. I just don’t want to take any chances. I’m home alone. I don’t want to think what might happen if I answer.

I run into my room, hoping to see maybe a car or something to tell me who’s knocking. My curtains are closed, so I carefully sneak a peek while trying to move them as little as possible. I don’t expect a van for the local news, but there it is. Jeez, I wonder why they are here.

“Looks like I got fans,” says 35 sarcastically.

“Yeah, I’d say,” I confirm with just as much.

But what do I do? I don’t think I want to face the news alone! I snap away from the window, hoping no one saw that. I curl up on my bed, hoping they’d go away, sooner rather than later.

My phone rings. Loudly. I jump on it to silence it. Christ, I hope no one outside heard it! Or wait, did they already, and now they hear it go quiet? Oh no! I’m toast.

“Calm down, kid. Just see who it is first.”

Right, who is it? Oh, it’s mom. MOM! Now I hurry to answer it before it stops ringing.

“Hey Mom!”

“Hi Sweetie, is everything okay? It took you a while to answer.”

“I uh, uh, uh…”

“Just tell her,” 35 chimes in. “She’ll be very interested in helping you get rid of them.”

“But, what if…?”

“Tell her, or I will.”

Gulp. Fine. “Yeah, Mom, there’s a news van outside, and they’re knocking on the door.”

Silence.

“Go ahead and answer it. Keep me on the phone and put me on speaker.”

“Oh boy, this is gonna be good!” 35 is getting all cheery at this point.

I put Mom on speaker, and make my way towards the front door. Nervously, I grab the handle, twist it, and slowly pull the door open. It opens with the screeching sound of 1000 banshees. Or so it feels. I get it all the way open, and hold my phone up where everyone can see it.

“Can they hear me?” she asks.

One of the reporters runs up to me. I turn up the volume as loud as it can go.

“I think so yeah,”

She then addresses the reporter and his coworkers.

“Listen here, Buckwheats! I’m going to be home in five minutes, and if there’s one person there who isn’t my son, they’re getting sued for trespassing!”

“But ma’am,” the reporter tries to plead.

“No Buts! Get off my property, NOW!” she screams.

“Please, can we just-”

“NOW!!!”

35 hops out of my body and assumes their giant bird form.

“You heard her, now!”

If there was ever an Olympics for getting away from someone’s house, I think they’re about to win the gold medal. I watch in relief as they pull away onto the main road. I can feel 35’s glee and delight.

“That’s right Mom, show them who’s boss!” 35 exclaims.

“Hey, I’m not your mother! You will address me as Mrs. Weaver. Understood?”

35 actually shrinks a bit, going back to being kinda human, and softly responds “Yes ma’am. Sorry about that ma’am.”

For a split second, I feel a tiny bit hurt, and maybe embarrassed. Did it pain 35 to be knocked down like that? Wow, way to go, Mom!

I turn off speakerphone and put it back up to my ear.

“They’re gone,” I report.

“Good. Everything alright?”

I glance at 35, who seems to have recovered. “Yeah, we’re fine here.”

“Okay good. I’ll be home in five minutes, we’re going to have a talk then.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, I love you! Bye!”

“Bye”

I hang up and work my way back to the kitchen. My pastries have gotten cold, but I eat them anyway. I also realize that this is the first time I’ve had my phone in a while. Since yesterday morning.

I go through my text messages. Turns out, Nat and Alexia have been blowing up my phone with text after text.

Nat’s messages read

“Is it true that there’s an evil shadow in you now?”

“Buddy, where are you? I heard a shot earlier! Are you okay?”

“They’re sending us home. Can we meet up at your house?”

“Yo, what happened at Church? Is it true that you killed Father Paul?”

“Is it true? Please answer me.”

I respond with “All good. Except I now have an evil roommate.”

35 looks offended by this.

“And before you ask, it was them who did in the priest. Apparently, they didn’t kill him, just locked his soul out of his body.”

I switch to Alexia’s texts

“Hun, r u alright?”

“Plz txt me, I’m scared”

“Where r u?”

“I heard ur taken by evil shadow! Plz answer me!”

“Wer sent hom from skool. Where r u?”

“U KILLED FATHER PAUL?!?!?!?!?!?!?!”

I scoff through my nose. Someone’s worried.

“Don’t worry, I’m alright. Nobody killed him, just locked him out of his body. New roommate’s a prick tho.”

“I am so gonna sue you for slander,” I hear them say.

“Oh really?” I respond. “They literally are not charging you with assault and battery because you’re legally not a person. What makes you think they’ll let you charge anyone with anything?”

“I can be like, patient and stuff! I can figure it out!” They reply with a silly tone.

“You literally only have four years.”

“Ugh. Fiiiiinnnne.” They don’t seem very serious right now.

“What’s all that about?” I ask.

“What’s what about?” they ask back, sounding a bit taunting.

“The way you’re talking.”

“Like thiisss?” Their voice has gone very high pitched now.

“Yeah, like that.”

“So what? I can be like, totally ditzy or sassy if I wanna be!”

I’m not sure how to react. I’m being possessed by a shadow entity that everyone thinks is evil, refuses to tell me their name and if they’re a boy or girl, and apparently, has a personality that changes every five dang seconds! How am I supposed to react?

“These next four years are gonna be filled with misery,” I groan.

“Oh cheer up. It could be worse! You could be bald and have a big nose!”

…what? What’s that supposed to mean? Also, isn’t my soul bald? Wait, does it also have a big nose? Oh god.

Just then, I hear the crunching of gravel under car tires and see a blue Outback pull up outside the kitchen window. Mom’s home.

I exhale and wait for her to come inside. I don’t expect it to be good. It rarely is whenever she says we need to “talk.” Doesn’t matter, she’s already working her way towards the door, turning the handle and now…

“Good morning, sweetie. You enjoying your day so far?” She’s a bit uneasy from 35’s presence, but seems to be handling it as best she can.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I answer with almost no energy.

“Good, that’s good.” She turns to 35 and goes a bit cold. “Is there any way I can talk to my son without you being there?”

They slump as they tonelessly say “No.”

A look of frustration briefly washes over Mom’s face. She pulls her head up before trying to calm herself back down. She then gets to saying what she meant to say.

“Understand that if I could kick you out of this house, I wouldn’t hesitate.” She’s calm, but very, very stern. “I do not like you, I do not want you here, and I do not appreciate you showing up and hurting my baby boy.”

“Mom!”

She shushes me. 35 just sits in their chair, starting to curl up.

“So if you’re going to stay here, you’re going to follow the rules. Do you understand that?”

They perk up a little bit. “I understand, yes. But before I say ‘I agree,’ I’m curious, how exactly do you plan on making me comply? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m in-core-pore-ee-al…” (Note to self: get a dictionary.) “…running on your kid’s body, and cannot be sent anywhere without ‘em. You literally cannot threaten me in a way that doesn’t have collateral damage.”

She turns to me. “Brock, listen. You’re going to have to man up now.”

I do not like being told this, but okay. I will.

“I had this friend back in Kansas who was in the military, and he once told me that whenever somebody in basic training made a mistake, the entire platoon was punished for it. And similarly, the captain of a ship is always the one to take the blame if anything goes wrong. So, I’m assigning you as Captain of the ship. Anytime this…35…breaks one of the rules, you’re the one getting punished. You understand?”

Wait, what? No, you can’t do this! “Come on, that’s not fair!”

“Well, until you have a better idea as to control him,”

“Them, ma’am,” 35 cuts in.

“I’m sorry?”

“The correct pronouns for me are ‘they’ and ‘them.’”

“You’re inside a boy, and you refuse to actually show yourself. As far as I know, that makes you a boy too. So, you’re just gonna have to deal with that.”

Okay, but it’s still so not fair that I-

“Now that we have that part covered, it’s time we go over the rules.”

35 rolls their eyes.

“Number One: You do not get to talk to anyone, period. Not even Brock. The only exceptions for this are emergencies and whenever Alan and I ask you a question. Understood?”

35 takes on a more…combative pose for a lack of a better word.

“Understood? Yes. Agreed? No.”

“Well, you don’t get a say in the matter.”

“Oh, I don’t?” they stab with a sarcastic nod. “Well, that rule stands in direct conflict with my mission, so I don’t really have a choice to comply!”

“Tough.”

“Do you think apathy is going to win you this discussion?”

“Doesn’t matter. What I say is law in this house.”

Silence.

“Rrriiiight. Okay.”

Why do I have the sense that there’s more to come about that rule?

“Second Rule: You are to stay outside of Brock’s body whenever he’s home and inside whenever he’s at school. Got it?”

“Okay, now you’re being reasonable. Got it.” They give a thumbs up.

“Thirdly: If Brock does something to get in trouble, you are going to give us a full report on what happened.”

Oh come on!

“Very well.”

Please tell me I just saw them cross their fingers on that one.

“Fourth and final: You will not egg Alan on like you did last night, ever again. You’re going to apologize the next time you see him.”

“Okay, can he please not call me a demon ever again? I am not one, and I don’t like to be called that.”

“Well, if you’re not a Demon, then what are you?”

“I’m a doomed soul who can never go back from where I came. I’m just trying to do right by them. And by you, believe it or not.”

“What do you mean ‘Doomed?’”

“As in, I only got fifty months to live. When your kid turns eighteen, I’m gone, just like I told the agents back in GJ.”

“Gone?”

“Yep. Gone. Like gone gone. Most likely oblivion, but what do I know? I’ve never been to the afterlife.”

Mom and I look at each other. What are they talking about? Yeah, they mentioned fading away, but they never mentioned what happens after that.

35 shrinks and says “I probably should not have mentioned that part.” They take a moment to build up. “Yeah, I agree to your rules. Just please don’t call me a demon, please?”

Mom stares at 35 with a wide-eyed face. She wipes it off with “Very well.” She turns to me and says “There’s going to be an emergency town meeting at 5 today, and we are required to attend, just so you two know.”

Oh great.

She then addresses both of us. “The school board will be there, and they are going to decide whether or not Brock is going to be able to keep attending school, so please, both of you, be on your best behavior tonight.”

I softly respond. “Yes Mom.”

“Yes ma’am,” says 35 confidently.

“Thank you,” says Mom as she lets out her frustration. She marches into her room, and I do the same. I plop onto my bed, face down.

Ugh, why God, why? What did I do to deserve this? My life is over. Everyone besides Nat and Alexia are gonna run away in terror now. I’ll never get into college. Hell, will I even finish school? Maybe I do deserve this. I may not be a monster, but that doesn’t mean I’m a good person. I can’t be. Not if I’m being punished like this. I’ve got no other explanation. Personal trainer? Yeah right. More like personal tormentor.

I turn towards 35. They’re sitting on the floor with their knees tucked up to their chest. They don’t look any happier than I am. Good. Screw them. Screw them for ruining my life.

Not willing to just sit there and hurt all day, I hop on my computer and start playing games. I try to relax by playing William and Sly, but even the beautiful forests and sweet music can’t make up for having someone silently looking over your shoulder. I decide to play a new game where you’re a caveman running around with a spear, but that becomes dull pretty quickly, despite being a cool idea. Eventually, I get bored and plop back down on my bed.

I pull out my phone and pull up my music. I go through all the songs I have downloaded. Heh. They’re almost all country. Johnny Cash, Marty Robbins, Chris Ledoux. A few newer ones like Toby Keith and Dierks Bentley are there too, but still. There’s only one song I have that isn’t country, and it’s “Three Little Birds” by Bob Marley & The Wailers. Oh, and “Personal Jesus.” That too.

I scroll through the options up and down. Ugh. I’m burned out of all these songs. If only there was something-

Without warning, the sounds of an electric guitar start playing in my head. Odd, I don’t recognize the tune. The guitar descends and the rest of the music kicks in.

A guy I don’t recognize starts singing. “She’s a pretty girl; she’s always falling down. And I think I just fell in love with her.”

I turn towards 35. This is their doing, isn’t it?

“What are you doing?” I ask.

They stick their arms up and lower their chin, as if to gesture “Hey, I was only trying to help,” or “Hey, I’m bored too, you know?”

I roll my eyes. Of course they’re following Mom’s rule of not talking to me now. The music plays on

“…sad and lonely girl. QUIT CRYING YOUR EYES OUT!”

I leaped back at that chorus jump scare, even though there was nothing jumping at me. The song keeps playing. I was SO not ready for that!

“Can you stop that?!” I shout.

“…lights on.” The music stops.

“Thank you…” I say while catching my breath.

35 is trying hard not to giggle.

I gotta admit though, that song was actually kinda dope.

“What song was that?” I ask, truly hoping to find out.

35 just stays silent, but they gesture towards my computer. Are they planning on showing me the song?

I sit at my computer, open another tab on my browser. What am I gonna type? I can’t exactly look up audio that only played in my hea-OH.

I look up “She’s a pretty girl,” and ha! A song result pops up! Pretty Girl by-no wait, that’s not it. Uh, ooh! “Quit Crying Your Eyes Out!” No, it’s “quit,” not “stop!”

Before I can try another search, I hear Mom call my name. It pains me very much, but I get up and head towards the living room. She’s sitting on the chair across from the couch.

“Please sit,” she says, gesturing to the right end of the couch.

I do as she says, tucking my feet under myself. 35 sits next to me on the opposite side. Mom exhales.

“I just wanted to say, I’m sorry about earlier. I just got through talking with your dad at the time. He does not want…35… anywhere near you. He’s still trying to work this whole thing out.”

Curious, I ask “where is he right now?”

“He’s talking with some of his friends about what to do. I don’t think he’ll be getting any good answers though.”

35 and I sigh.

“Anyway, I just saw the viral video from the classroom.”

I stutter. “V-viral video?”

35’s eye go wide.

“Yeah, from when you tried to stab yourself with your pencil, and 35 stopped you by…”

Oh no. Oh no. Ohnoohnoohnoohnoohno. She knows? She KNOWS?!?!

She doesn’t finish the statement.

Timidly, I ask “So, you’ve seen…?”

“Yes sweetie, I’ve seen you…like that.”

I nearly faint.

“It’s okay. Remember, you’re my son. I’ll always love you no matter what.”

While her good intentions are clearly visible, it feels…gross. Wrong. Even 35 looks away. I really don’t like it whenever she hovers over me like that.

“So…the way I see it…you tried to hurt yourself.”

I mean, sure. In an attempt to rid myself of what I now know to be 35, but yes. Then again, would I be better off had I actually succeeded? I slump.

“And…’35’ stopped you.”

35 blinks.

She turns toward them and asks “Why?”

35 takes a second to breathe. “I’m…genuinely here to help,” they answer.

“And how so?”

“Did you see the rest of that video?”

Mom closes her eyes “Yes. Yes I did. Please tell me that isn’t…”

“It’s not. It’s a representation of what ails your child. My goal is to help get rid of it.”

Pause.

“Why couldn’t you tell the FBI that part?”

“I didn’t know there was a video out, and they didn’t ever ask.”

“So, what you’re saying is, when you’re done, Brock is going to look more…normal?”

“More or less. By the way, I can help you in a similar way if you want.”

She stares right at them.

“But only if you want. In any case, I am here to help your kid. I’ll even try to testify at the meeting if you think that’ll help.”

Mom doesn’t say anything for what feels like hours.

“Alright, you’ve convinced me. I’m going to change my rule. You may now talk to Brock.”

They look like they’re gonna say something, but Mom cuts them off.

“One condition: You have to report everything the two of you talk about to me.”

Uhhhh…

“What if your kid doesn’t want to talk about something. Surely, there’s an entitlement to privacy, right?” 35 objects.

Mom glares for a second. “We’ll see how the town meeting goes first.”

35 didn’t seem to like that answer, but they give a polite “Very Well.”

I can sense there’s something not being said here. From both Mom and 35. I don’t like it, but I dare not to ask either side.

Not much else happens as we wait until 5:00. Delilah comes home, but flees to her room the second she sees 35, despite their efforts to appear friendly. Mom follows her in to comfort her and explain what’s going on. 35 spends the rest of the time introducing me to some more music, including the song they played in my (I refuse to say “our!”) head earlier.

It's so…interesting. All of my relatives back in Kansas would have deemed this all “Devil’s Music” and would have yelled at more or even hit me with a ruler wherever they thought it would hurt the most. Mom and Dad, despite being quite religious themselves, never believed any of that, so they never said anything to me about it. Still, there’s a reason most of the songs I have downloaded are country.

Meanwhile, 35 is spewing all kinds of songs left and right. Groups like Blink-182, My Chemical Romance, Fall Out Boy. And they’re insisting that none of them are meant for worshipping the Devil. In fact, they pull up this one, “Crazy Train,” and tell me it’s all about how people should learn to love each other. It certainly doesn’t sound that way!

But I digress. Eventually, Mom comes in and tells me to get ready. She makes me put on some “decent” clothes, which I absolutely despise. They feel ugly and unflattering. Not to mention, they’re sweaty and very not-flexible. I hate it, but I have no choice.

“I feel ya kid. I hate being told what to wear too.” 35 tries to comfort me.

I look up and down their shadowy figure. “Since when do you even wear clothes?”

“Since always, actually.” They’ve turned a bit more sharp. “You just can’t see them under the veil.”

“The veil?” I ask. “Is that why you look all…” I gesture to their head and feet.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m blacked out. You cannot be allowed to see my real self until you can see yours.”

“And…” I turn my attention to their face. “How come I can see your eyes now?”

“Because you’ve committed to bettering yourself under my guidance and tried to improve.”

…what?

“Don’t you remember? You talked yourself out of thinking you’re a monster in the car yesterday.”

Right. I did.

“So, what you’re saying is…”

“The more you work towards fixing yourself, the more of me you get to see.”

Wow. Interesting.

“We can talk about this later. Come on, get dressed, we have a meeting to get to.”

**** (At the Town Hall)

The four of us pull up next to dad’s truck in the parking lot to the town hall. He’s waiting for us by the entrance, as are the only two police officers in town who weren’t involved in the trafficking ring 35 uncovered. One of them doesn’t look happy to see us.

Nervously, I step out of the front passenger seat. 35 just floats through the door and stands behind me. Mom and Delilah get out the other side, with Delilah not wanting to be anywhere near 35.

I pause for a moment. How is everyone going to react? Half of the people of this town are Catholics that listened to Father Paul’s sermon every Sunday, and the other half are at least soft Christians of some sort. Everyone’s going to think this is the work of the Devil, and either I’m a helpless victim or an active member of Revelations. Not sure which is worse, but I dread either outcome.

But my dread can’t hold me here forever. Mom eventually turns to face me and gestures me to follow her.

“No way out but through,” 35 tells me.

Hate to say it, but they’re right.

I slowly walk up to the entrance. I’m stopped by the cops standing outside. They make me empty my pockets, and scan me with a hand-held metal detector. They know who I am, why I’m here, and that my being here is required. They still don’t like me. Or at least, one of them doesn’t.

Once they’re satisfied with what they find, they tell me to stay still and hold my hands out. I do so, and they reward me with hand cuffs.

“Guys, really?” I beg.

35 hides a snicker, but I catch it. I turn around and glare at them, but they give me a “don’t look at me” look.

One of the officers pulls me forward, while the other stops 35 and starts to scan them with the metal detector. They do what they’re told, but not without laughing. Once they’re done, we both get escorted to the meeting room.

I am mad to sit in the back, and 35 sits right next to me, as well as my family. Sitting at a table at the front of the room are several people, including the Mayor, the School Board (I presume, I recognize my principal at least), and four other people I don’t know at all.

They talk for a million years as if neither 35 nor I are even in the room. They go on about how there’s currently no one to replace Father Paul, so there will be no service this Sunday, and that any who want to worship should either go to Montrose or Gunnison for the time being. How nothing is going to happen to the Sherriff for SHOOTING AT ME IN MY OWN SCHOOL. (Two-week leave doesn’t count.) They finally get to me and 35.

“We’ve decided,” starts the Mayor, “that Brock Weaver will not be attending River Run Middle School.”

There aren’t many people in the room, but they all get up and start shouting in pandemonium. I just sit there. Not believing what it happening. I’m being kicked out of school for this? For being possessed? And the people shouting, it’s too much, it’s too much. I tuck my head down, clench my fists, and close my eyes. I tremble as I sit there. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stooooooooooooooooooo-

“SILENCE!” 35 Booms.

Just like that, you can hear a feather drop.

I open my eyes and raise my head up. 35 has already gotten up and is working their way up to the podium. One person tries to stop them, but they just pass right through each other. It isn’t long before they’re standing right before the council.

“Ladies, gentlemen,” they start. “I understand that recent developments have many individuals here, especially those who are not particularly well-traveled, quite frightened.”

Silence.

“But,” they continue. “It would be wildly unfair to punish the kid here for that. They have done absolutely nothing wrong, and are at a point in their life when social interaction is extremely important to their development. You’ll be punishing an innocent kid with stunted growth on the emotional side of things. Does that sound fair to you?”

My principal retorts “Well sorry, but we’re worried your appearance would give the rest of the students nightmares.”

“Mrs. Weaver already stated that she just wants me to remain inside my host’s body at all times during school hours anyway. Besides, I can take up a smaller, less frightening form,” they counter.

In a second, there’s a small mouse standing on top of the podium, blacked out the same way 35 is. I have to stand up to see them.

“Case in point, this mouse form,” they say, voice unchanged. “Additionally, I can agree to policies such as ‘no talking to students, except when asked or instructed by staff members.’”

“We still cannot allow that,” objects another member. “Just the knowledge that there’s a demon like you in our schools is enough to-”

“Demon, my ass!” Shouts a voice from the audience.

We all turn to see who it is. There’s a man standing on the far side of the room. He’s in his fifties, short hair, wearing jeans and a white and blue plaid shirt. Why does he look so familiar?

“The floor does not recognize you at this moment, Mr. Holt,” says the mayor.

“Then recognize me now!” he shouts.

There’s a brief silence before one of the board members gives it to him.

“Thank you,” says the man. “My name is Roger Holt, and I’ve lived here for the last twenty years. And every Sunday, for those years, I’ve gone to church. I listened to every sermon, said all of my ‘Amens,’ gave my confessions and my ‘Hail Marys.’ So, when I find out that my five-year-old son, who has been missing for the last three months, has been held prisoner in Father Paul’s shed this whole time, I feel betrayed. That man had been preaching to me every Sunday, and I listened faithfully. And how does he reward me? By snatching my son and doing…unspeakable things to him.”

Mr. Holt lowers his head for a second.  He holds back a snivel, then raises it back up.

“My son…” He stops and reconsiders. “My wife is looking out for him at the hospital right now. When we heard about this meeting, she insisted that I go, as much as I wanted to stay. We were hoping to have news about what would happen to the monster that did this. Instead, I hear almost NOTHING about that, and instead about how you’re going to hold a fourteen-year-old boy out of school, because you think my son’s SAVIOR is a demon! Clearly, none of us know what real monsters look like. No one would have guess-”

“Alright, I believe we’ve heard enough, Mr Holt.” Interrupts one of the board members.

“Hey! I’m not done here! You can’t just pull me out like that!”

“Your time is up, Mr. Holt,” says another member of the council.

Someone walks up to Mr. Holt and tries to pull him away from the stand, but at that moment, the doors burst open. In walks…Agents Collins and Thompson? What are they doing here? They walk up to the podium, dismiss Mr. Holt and the other guy, and introduce themselves.

“And what business brings you two to this meeting?” asks the mayor.

“An order from the Governor’s Office,” replies Agent Collins. “We meant to give it to you before this meeting, but it didn’t make it to us in time. Please forgive us.”

Agent Thompson walks up to the panel and hands the mayor a letter. He reads it silently, before angrily scrunching it up and glaring at her.

“What is the meaning of this?” He yells.

“It means that Brock Weaver will be attending school for the time being, under the watchful eyes of the FBI,” answers Thompson.

Wait, what?

Everyone in the room starts gasping and talking to each other. No one seems to believe this is happening.

“And what could possibly prompt this decision? We were never even consulted!” the mayor objects.

“Our bosses believe that this is the only way we’ll learn the true intentions of this…’35,’” explains Thompson. “And the Governor’s Office agrees that it would not to be fair to keep a fourteen-year-old out of school over this. So, an agreement was made. Brock Weaver will return to school Monday, August 13^th.”

“Outrageous! I’ll be calling up the Governor myself! I’ll be giving her a piece of my mind!” He looks at the townspeople, who are mostly staring uncomfortably at him. Not knowing what else to do, he yells “Meeting adjourned!”

Once again, pandemonium breaks out. My mom, sister and I work our way towards the exit, with 35 following right behind me in their human form. We look for the officers who cuffed me up. We find them at the entrance to the building, where Dad is already talking to them.

“I was talking with these guys about letting me have some of their handcuffs,” he reported. “They say they’re not sure if they’re allowed to, but they’ll look into it.”

Great. When am I ever NOT going to be handcuffed?

Out of nowhere, the guy who spoke up at the meeting runs up to us.

“Hey, Eve, Alan!” He greets.

“Oh, hey Roger!” greets Mom.

“Roger.” says Dad.

They know him? How?

“Hey, I just wanted to thank you. My wife and I were starting to lose hope of ever seeing Charlie again.”

He slumps his head down.

“Well,” Mom starts nervously. “That wasn’t us. That was…35.”

Dad glares at her.

“How’s Courtney doing?” Delilah asks.

So THAT’S why he looks so familiar!

“She’s doing great.” He answers. “I’ll tell her you said ‘hi.’”

Delilah lowers her head and covers her mouth before saying “Thank you.”

Mr. Holt turns to me and 35.

“I don’t know what your goal is, but if it’s more of what you’ve done for my son, keep doing it.” He salutes. “And you, Brock, stay strong, young man.”

I frown. “Yeah, sure.”

“It was nice to catch up with you fine people, but my wife is waiting for me to get back with her at the hospital. See you guys later.” He takes off.

We all quietly walk back to the cars once my cuffs are removed. The ride home is silent, and once again, Mom does not tuck me in.