“My name is Tim Smith.”
The man scowls. “Bullshit.”
He doesn’t believe me.
Liam told me no one will believe anything I say.
I shut my eyes. I was so close.
I’ve been stupid to think I could walk up and talk to them. My family doesn’t want me back. They never even looked for me. That must have been the one thing Liam told me the truth about.
“Get to your feet, Tim Smith.” They grab me by the upper arms and easily lift me.
“Dude doesn’t weigh anything,” says one of the cops.
“Didn’t anyone tell you to never run from cops, Tim Smith?” asks the man in the shoulder holster.
I shake my head and they all snicker. “Right,” says one.
I glance at them. I’ve always been told to stay away from police at all costs and don’t understand why they laughed.
They walk me across the yard toward where I ran between the homes.
“Where’s your car?” asks the cop on my left.
“Don’t have one.”
“Then how’d you get here?”
“Walked.”
“From where?”
I’m not going to tell them that I walked for hours from the outskirts on one side of Bend to this little neighborhood on the other. And there’s no way I’ll tell them where I live.
“Run all the plates of the vehicles parked on the streets nearby,” says the shoulder-holster man. “We’ll figure out where he’s from . . . and his name.”
“No car. I walked.”
“Right.”
We reach the street and move toward the house. There is still a group of people in front, watching me be escorted in handcuffs. I lower my head, unable to meet their eyes, and my feet are suddenly heavy. The cop on my left pulls harder on my arm as I slow.
This isn’t how I dreamed this would go.
I risk a glance up as we get closer. All are staring—no, glaring—at me. Each one is angry.
“Is he with Adam?”
The speaker is a young woman with dark hair. Her arm is entwined tightly with the arm of another young woman with the same face. Twins.
They’re beautiful.
I drop my gaze, realizing I stared too long.
“He says he doesn’t know Adam,” says the shoulder-holster man. “And claims his name is Tim Smith.”
“I don’t know him,” a man with silver hair says.
They don’t see who I am.
I don’t know whether to be relieved or sad.
The twin in the black dress steps closer, and I meet her gaze. “Did Adam send you?”
I don’t know her name.
Pain shows in her eyes, and I ache to take it away. I shake my head and try to project truth in my gaze. I don’t want her to think I’m a liar.
One of the cops pulls my arm, trying to turn me away. “We’ll get him out of here and question him some more.”
I clench my teeth and hold my ground, facing the group. It’s my last chance for a memory, and I soak in their faces one by one, my gaze memorizing them all.
I meet the older woman’s eyes and see a flicker of confused recognition. Her mouth opens but she closes it, giving a tiny shake of her head.
She can’t place me.
I let the officers turn me around and walk away. This is how it ends. At least I have new memories to haunt my dreams at night.
“Malcolm?”
It’s my mother’s voice behind me. Uncertain and quiet. I haven’t heard her say my name in decades.
I stop but can’t turn in the officers’ firm grips.
“What are you doing, Miriam?” asks my dad.
My mother comes around and steps in front of the three of us, her hand thrust in a halt command. She is wide-eyed as she stares at me. “Malcolm.”
This time it isn’t a question. I give a tiny nod.
She knows me.
She lunges forward and wraps her arms around me. Caught by surprise, the officers are too late to block her and try to pull her away.
She hangs on. “Malcolm!”
I lower my head against hers, and her scent opens an assault of memories in my head.
I am home.
40
“Mom!” Rowan shouted as her mom hugged the handcuffed stranger with the long hair.
She’s lost her mind.
Her dad was beside her mom, trying to unwind her arms from the man.
“Stop it!” Miriam told him, pushing him away. “Can’t you see it’s Malcolm!”
Her dad froze, staring at the stranger.
Malcolm?
Impossible. Mom’s overwrought.
Her heart in her throat, Rowan strode around to see the stranger’s face, her sisters on her tail.