He turned off the motor and gazed out his window. “I’m still working on the hows and whys.”
“That’s fine. I’ll settle for the whats.”
When he didn’t elaborate, I climbed out and pulled my seatback forward with every intention of dealing with him later. The kid was still unconscious, but he stirred. Reyes got out and came around the car just as another thought hit me. One I’d completely forgotten about.
“I meant to ask you, when I saw you this morning outside my dad’s bar, another man waved at you.”
He leaned against Misery’s quarter panel and folded his arms at his chest. “That happens sometimes. We live in a crazy world.”
“No, I mean, you were there, right? Your physical body?”
“Why do you ask?” he asked with an uncomfortable shift.
“Because you dematerialized. You. All of you.”
A devilish grin played upon his sensual mouth. “Dutch, you know that’s impossible.”
“But—”
The boy stirred again. I glanced at him. At his blond hair as it fell over his handsome face. At his long lashes and his strong jaw. He was going to be a lady killer, no doubt about it.
With a smile of appreciation, I looked back at Reyes, but he was gone. I turned in a circle, scanned the area, walked around Misery, searching. He was definitely gone, vanished as soundlessly as smoke.
No way.
7
Happiness isn’t good enough.
I demand euphoria!
—T-SHIRT
Clearly Reyes didn’t want to answer any of my questions. Then again, we were on hallowed ground. Maybe he couldn’t step foot on sacred soil? But could he really dematerialize his physical body? The mere concept left me flummoxed.
I crawled into the Jeep beside the boy and pushed his hair out of his face. He woke up with a jolt and pushed away from me, half in confusion and half in fear.
“It’s okay,” I said, showing my palms in surrender. “You’re okay, but I need to get you inside.”
His gaze darted around wildly, squinting every time he looked at me as though looking into a bright light, and I realized, with no small amount of shock, that he was like Pari. He could see my light, and it was obviously disturbing him. I reached into the front and brought out my sunglasses.
“This will help.” When he didn’t take them from me, I unfolded them and leaned in to slip them on his face, taking care to move slowly. He let me but kept his muscles taut, wary. “Is that better?”
He examined his surroundings, then returned his wary expression to mine.
“Oh, right. This is my Jeep, Misery, and I’m Charley.” The moment I said it, I wished I could take it back. Why would I introduce my vehicle to a kid who was, as far as he was concerned, being held captive in it? That would be like introducing Jonah to the whale after the fact and expecting them to get along.
“Misery didn’t have anything to do with this, I promise.”
“Why am I here?” he asked, and I realized why he wasn’t answering my questions. He didn’t use his voice. He used his hands.
“Are you Deaf?” I signed back to him.
He seemed surprised. “Yes.”
“Well, then, I’m Charley,” I signed, taking a couple of seconds to finger-spell my name. I was suddenly very grateful I’d been born knowing every language ever spoken in the history of the world, including the vast and varied array of signed languages.
“Who else?” he asked, and I furrowed my brows in confusion. “You introduced someone else.”
“Yeah,” I said sheepishly. “I introduced my Jeep.” I indicated her with a sweep of my hand. “Her name is Misery.”
“You named your car?”
“Yes. And please don’t ask what else I’ve named. You’re too young.”
The barest hint of a smile crossed his mouth. “My name is Quentin,” he said, finger-spelling his full name; then he raised his left arm and placed a Q on the outside of his wrist with his right hand, indicating his name sign.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, and as per custom, he reciprocated the sentiment, even though I doubt he meant it. “I brought you here for your safety. Do you remember what happened to you?”
He glanced to the side. “Some things.”
Crap. He would totally need counseling.
I waited for him to turn back to me, and said, “It could happen again.” When he stilled and a ripple of fear wafted toward me, I said, “I’m so sorry. I need to get you inside this building. You’ll be safe there.”
He leaned forward to take a look.
“Do you have family here in Albuquerque?”
“A-B-Q?” he asked, not recognizing the abbreviation, so I finger-spelled the whole thing. No easy feat.
“Yes, you are in Albuquerque, New Mexico.”
The shock on his face needed no interpretation.
I put my hand on his shoulder for a minute, let him absorb that latest bit of intel, then asked, “Where are you from?”
After a moment of recovery, he said, “Washington, D.C.”
“Oh, you’re a long way from home. Do you remember how you got here?”
He turned away from me to hide the tears that had pooled in his eyes. I took that as a no. He must’ve been possessed before leaving D.C.
“I can contact your family. I’ll let them know you’re okay.”
He covered his face with a hand, and a blanket of sorrow fell over my heart. I put a palm on his shoulder again. Rubbed. Soothed. He didn’t have to say anything for me to realize he had no family. I wondered if he was homeless.