Chapter Twenty-Two

Jak sat up sleepily, blinking around the dark room, the objects he knew well coming into focus as sleep cleared. There was a sound outside, one he didn't recognize as part of the forest, a strange noise that must have pulled him from his dreams.

He reached for Pup, deep sadness squeezing him when he realized he wasn't there. He'd never be there again.

His feet hit the cold floor, and he stood, rushing to the back window and looking out into the snowy, moonlit woods. A bright light suddenly blinded him, and he startled, turning his head and using his arm to shield his eyes. He crouched, his palms hitting the wood hard and making him grunt with the pain.

For a minute, he hid beneath the window, his heart beating loudly in his ears, his mind spinning. What is that light? What do I do?

Had the enemy come for him?

Would they break down his door? Overpower him? Hurt him? Kill him?

Will you die today?

No!

Jak gathered his bravery and raised his head, peeking over the sill as the light went out. There was a person—a woman, he thought—standing outside the window, some sort of light in her hand.

Jak watched, wide-eyed and tensed with fear, as she walked to the window next to the one he was hiding below and peered through that one. She knocked on the glass, and though it was soft, it seemed to ring through the silent woods, the drumbeat of his heart following, loud and pounding in his head.

The woman stepped back and stood in the moonlight, looking at his house, seeming as scared as him. Jak leaned closer, trying to get a better look at her. No weapon, just a big bag hung over her shoulder. She looked one way, then the other, then behind her, before coming back to the window he was crouched below and knocking softly at that one again.

He turned, pressing his back to the wall as the soft tapping continued. For several minutes, he simply sat there, waiting to see if the woman would go away. But instead, she knocked again, this time calling out softly yet loud enough to be heard through the window. "Please let me in."

She sounded scared. What if she needs help? What if she's lost and alone like the blond boy?

He sat there for another few seconds, nervous, unsure, before finally standing, and looking at her through the glass. She stared back, raising her hand. "What do you want?" he called.

She stepped forward, letting out a sob and then putting her palms on the glass. "It's you." There was a small thump sound as she let her head fall forward so it was against the glass. "Please let me in. It's so cold out here, and I just want… I just want to talk to you. Please."

He paused for another second but finally reached out, lifting the window slowly. "Who are you?"

The woman smiled, tears shining in her eyes as she moved from one foot back to the other. She itched at her neck, sniffled, and then wiped her nose with her sleeve. She looked behind her and then climbed through the window, even though he hadn't invited her inside. "Do you live here alone?"

Jak figured she was worried there was someone else inside who might hurt her. "Yes. Don't worry. It's just me."

She let out her breath. "I left the car way up on the road and walked here. I came to the back of the house in case the front is being watched."

Watched? No one was watching him. Was this woman acting this way because of the war?

Jak stepped back, and she shut the window quickly, turning toward him, her eyes moving from his hair to his feet. She smiled again as she met his eyes. She was pretty, with long, black hair and smooth, tan skin, but her eyes had red around them, and she kept itching and moving like there was something wrong with her.

"Look at you," she said, her eyes wet, teary. "You're so handsome. I hoped you'd look like him, and you do."

Jak frowned, confused and still nervous. "Who are you?" he asked again. "What do you want?"

She stepped closer, and he stepped back, keeping his space though he was larger and stronger than the small woman in front of him. She reached her hand out, trying to touch his face, and he moved back. Away. A tear fell from her eye, and she dropped her hand. "I'm your mother."

Shock made him go still. "My mother? How… I don't have a mother."

She stepped closer again, and this time he didn't step back. His mother ?

"Of course you have a mother." She made a jerky move again, scratched at her neck, and then shook her head like she was trying to clear it. "It's me. I knew, God, I knew I shouldn't have given you to him. But I didn't have a choice—" Her face screwed up, and she started to cry but then stopped herself. "I thought you'd be better off with him. And he's taking care of you, I see that." She looked around at the cabin. "You're safe, right? Warm?"

Jak nodded slowly. "I'm warm. But no one's taking care of me." He took care of himself.

The woman—his mother?—tilted her head, jerking and scratching at her neck again. His eyes moved to the place she'd scratched, and he saw that she'd opened a sore and that a trail of blood was moving slowly down the side of her neck. "But he gave you this house, made sure you had a safe, warm place to live."

"Driscoll? Yes, he gave me this house… How do you know Driscoll?"

"It's a stroke of luck that I found you. I saw Driscoll in town, and I followed him but lost his car. I thought I was lost, but then I saw your house. It's like God led me here, you know?" She sniffled, wiping at her nose with her sleeve again. "I know it's not right, him keeping you out here. And I'm going to fix that. I'm going to get clean, I promise, and I'm going to find a place. A nice little house with sunflowers in the garden. Do you like sunflowers?"

Sunflowers? "But there's a war out there. Don't you know that?"

She stared at him for a second before nodding, her head jerking up and down and her eyes filling with tears again. "I know. God, I know. No one can be trusted. The whole world's on fire. It's always on fire."

"Yes. You shouldn't go back out there."

She smiled weakly. "I'm a survivor. I'll be okay."

He stared at her, trying to understand this confusing visit. Could it be true that she was his mother and she'd given him to Driscoll so he'd be safe from the war? But what about his baka? He felt his brow pinch together as he tried to make sense of it all. Of the ways he might have been passed around from person to person so he'd be kept safe. Is it possible?

And if it was…he had family. He had a mother. He stepped forward, gripping her arm. "Let me come with you. I can protect you. I can find food for us and…and make warm clothes to wear."

She smiled again, another tear slipping down her cheek. "Sweet boy." She sighed and then shook her head slowly. Sadly. "No. I can't take you with me yet. Soon, I promise. I'll be back for you. But," she said, her voice cheering in a way that sounded like a lie, "I did bring you something." She stepped away, bringing her bag from her shoulder and setting it on the floor. She knelt down and dug inside, bringing out a couple of books.

She stood, handing the books to him. He took them, reading the titles: The True Story of the Three Little Pigs and Goodnight Moon .

"I was told they're the most popular books for kids." She frowned. "I know they're for younger kids, but…I wasn't sure so…"

He looked at her blankly. His baka had told him he must never ever tell anyone she'd taught him to read. His baka had told him it would be very dangerous. But this woman was his mother, or so she said. He didn't have to tell her he could read, but he didn't have to lie and say he couldn't either. "Thank you," he finally said, but he couldn't help adding, "When you come back, will you bring me more?" Not baby books, he wanted to say but didn't. He didn't want her to take back the ones in his hands. He held them tighter.

"Of course. Yes." She smiled and stepped away before picking up her bag again, and moving toward the back window. "I'll be back. I will." She smiled again, bigger this time, but there was hurt in her face, and her body was even more jerky than it'd been. "I just need to get well, and then I'll be back. Until then, you take care of yourself, okay?"

Jak nodded, and she opened his window and began climbing back through, out into the snowy night. "Wait," he called, and she turned. "What's your name?"

"My name's Emily." She turned back toward him. "But you can't mention me. Don't tell anyone I've been here, okay?"

Jak nodded. But he didn't understand. Who was he going to tell? And he didn't get why everyone always wanted him to keep their secrets. He didn't know who was protecting him or who the bad men were. He was all twisted inside and had no idea who to trust or if he should trust anyone at all.

She turned away again, starting to duck out the window but then paused. "What does he call you?" she asked over her shoulder.

He knew she was talking about Driscoll, but Driscoll didn't call him anything at all. And he didn't know if there was any point in saying anything about his baka, wherever she might be now. Why did Driscoll and his mother not know what the other called him? Who am I? he wondered. "Jak," he said.

She nodded, still turned away from him. "Jak's a good name. I called you Lucas." She sounded very sad. "I know that's not your name, but when I was carrying you, that's what I called you. I'm sorry that in the end, I never even gave you that." She ducked out the window then, landing in the snow with a soft crunch.

He watched as she turned on her light and walked into the woods, the light fading in the darkness, along with the woman who'd called herself his mother but had left him alone again.

Jak read the books, three times each, memorizing the words, and then got back under the blanket on his bed and lay staring at the ceiling. But the books didn't make sense. Wolves were good, not bad. Pup had been his best friend. Wolves had families and mates that they stayed with for life. They sang love songs to the moon and rolled on their backs in happiness at the smell of the rain. It was wild pigs who were mean and bad and greedy for their mushrooms. They liked the smell of blood and laughed at things no one else could see. He shivered when he thought of them, and the memory of Driscoll's words came back. Pig meat is going for lots of money in town. If you can kill one, I'll bring you your own bow and arrows. He hadn't found any pig yet, not that he had looked very hard. He couldn't seem to make himself want to do much of anything the last few months. He missed Pup. He hated the loud and empty quiet.

The other book, the one with the little boy and the red balloon, just made him more sad. The old lady in the chair made him think of his baka, made him know there was no one sitting in a chair in his room, or anywhere else, watching over him. No one to make him food or make sure he was warm and happy. The person who called herself his mother had left him that story and then walked away from him. He had a feeling she wouldn't be back. Just like when she must have given him away to his baka. But why? When? He didn't understand anything about who he was.

It was a long time before he slept again that night, and when he did, pictures of an unknown enemy with a face in shadow and dark eyes filled with meanness haunted his nightmares.