Chapter Forty-Five

The look on Harper's face was still…glazed. He related. He couldn't believe it either. Couldn't believe she was…the dark-haired boy on the cliff. It made him want to laugh. It filled him with joy. And yet, in some strange way he couldn't explain—not because he didn't have words, he'd gathered so many over the past few weeks—it made sense. He was mystified yet unsurprised. He'd known her, not only because of the whispers that flowed through him—through everyone if they knew to listen—but because she'd been there on the most life-changing night of his life. She'd saved him. If not for that pocketknife, he never would have survived. And he'd saved her. In that split-second decision…he'd saved the love of his life.

They'd both lived because of each other, survived alone yet together all these years so they could return to one another when the time was right.

They pulled up in front of the sheriff's office and both sat staring at the building for a moment. Harper had called Agent Gallagher when they'd reached the highway, and he was meeting Jak there. Harper reached over, squeezing his hand. "You sure you don't want me to come inside with you? Or wait for you out here?"

He leaned over and kissed her quickly. "No. I can do this alone." I need to do this alone. I need to be a man. "But I can't wait to see you at your apartment. I'll ask Agent Gallagher to drive me when we're done."

She smiled, nodded. "I'll be waiting."

The three best words he'd ever heard from the woman he loved. I'll be waiting. He had someone waiting for him. And he'd never leave her waiting long. He grinned, kissing her quickly and getting out of the truck.

The sheriff's office looked different to him, but then again, he'd had different eyes the last time he'd been there.

"I'm here to see Agent Gallagher," he said to the woman at the front desk. Her eyes got big, and she dropped her pen, standing quickly.

"Oh, yes. Lucas, right?" Her forehead wrinkled. "No, Jak! I overheard Agent Gallagher… Well, in any case, I met you before, or saw you, anyway." She laughed, and it sounded high like the bay-breasted warbler. But he had to stop thinking of everything in terms of the wilderness, had to enlarge his…frame of something. There was a saying, but he couldn't think of it right then. But it meant that he finally had names for things he never had before, and he needed to start using them. He smiled, proud of the knowing he had already collected. "Right this way," she said, looking over her shoulder and blushing for reasons unknown to him. Some things were still a mystery. He followed her, walking to a room with a table in the middle where Agent Gallagher sat, a notebook in front of him.

He stood when Jak walked in, shaking his hand. "I'm glad Harper found you."

Jak looked down, feeling bad that he'd run away and still uneasy that this man knew so much about him, personal things he didn't think he'd ever share with another living soul. "I know you need to get me…on record, but Harper and I figured out something new too."

"What is that?"

"Harper was one of the children on the cliff that night. I thought she was a boy because of her hair. And…maybe I just thought we were all boys. But it was her."

The agent sat back slowly. "How do you know?"

Jak told him about the pocketknife, about pushing Harper up on the ledge, about her memory of him telling her to live.

Agent Gallagher was silent for several moments before he gave his head a slight shake. "Wow. Okay…" He was quiet again. "So Driscoll caused Harper's parents' car crash somehow or…lured them off the road maybe, and then Harper ended up with you on that cliff. She was going to be part of his study too."

A chill went down Jak's spine. "I don't know."

Agent Gallagher nodded, his eyes unfocused for a moment. "All right. I'm going to look at some different angles." He thinned his lips, his eyes focusing on Jak again. "For now, let's get your statement, and then I have someone I've asked to join us here."

Jak frowned, but the agent didn't look worried, and Jak trusted him. "I'm ready."

Agent Gallagher turned on a recorder and asked Jak every question he'd believed he would. Jak told him everything he knew, answering honestly and fully, and when it was done, when Agent Gallagher pushed stop on the small recorder, Jak felt like a boulder had been taken off his back.

The path before him had been cleared, and a sense of… victory swept over him. His life was his. It stretched out before him. And Harper was waiting to begin it with him.

There was a soft knock on the door, and Agent Gallagher stood, opening it and letting someone in. Jak looked more closely, standing, his mouth falling open.

It was the redheaded woman who'd told him about the cameras. She came forward, blushing when she saw Jak, lowering her eyes.

He took her hand and shook it, hardly believing she was there, in the real world. Not a part of that old world where war was being fought and enemies were all around. No, she had been a lie too. He was glad to know it.

It hurt to know it.

"Hi, Jak," she murmured.

"Hi…"

"Brielle," she said. "I told the truth about that." She blushed again and looked down.

"Brielle is here to give a statement," Agent Gallagher said. "Her name is unusual, and when you told me, I began searching in some of the programs Driscoll had volunteered for. I found your mother's name from a program she was in twenty-two years ago. And I found two Brielles from more recent programs. Only one had red hair."

Jak took in the information about his mother. That's how Driscoll had found her then. Pregnant with him. He pushed that aside, looking at Brielle. "Driscoll sent you to me," Jak said, already knowing the answer.

"Yes. He told me his son had lived his life in the wilderness. He was going to bring you back to civilization, but he was concerned your base instincts were too strong, worried you'd hurt someone, especially a woman. He wanted to place you in a real-life situation where you could turn toward those instincts or turn away." She paused. "I had been prostituting." Her face went pink. "For drugs. I guess he figured…it didn't matter what you did to me. Maybe I thought so too. I took the money. I took the job."

"Oh," Jak said, not knowing how to feel. He felt stupid and used, but he also felt sad for Brielle.

"But I saw the camera at the river." She made a sound that was sort of like a laugh, only not. "Maybe the old guy forgot it's second nature for junkies to make sure they're not being watched. Habit." She cleared her throat. "Anyway, I knew something wasn't right. Then I met you, and, well, I knew something was very wrong." She swallowed. "I want you to know, that after I met you, after I saw who you really were, it"—she shook her head—"I don't know. I'd tried so hard to get clean for so long. For me, even for my son, and I'd always failed. But after that…after you, I got clean. And I know it hasn't been long, but I've stayed clean. You inspired me. And now I'm trying to reunify with my boy, to get better…" A tear slipped down her cheek, and she swiped at it. "I'm so sorry for what I did, Jak. And thank you for what you were to me."

He nodded, and she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him quickly and then letting go, turning. Agent Gallagher ushered her out of the room and closed the door. He walked back to Jak. He took Jak's shoulder in his hand, squeezing it. "I imagine you're ready to get home."

Home . Harper. Yes. But…he frowned, thinking. First, he needed to talk to his grandfather. "Yes. I do want to go home. But first, I need to go to Thornland."

"I'll drop you there and come back in an hour. I need to stop by my office anyway. Will that work?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Agent Gallagher smiled. "Let's go."

***

Jak watched Agent Gallagher's car pull away, turning toward the grand estate that he'd once called a castle. Now he knew it was only a big house where lots of unhappy people lived. He took a deep breath, not looking forward to seeing his step-grandmother. He was sure she was inside sharpening her talons, ready to scratch his eyes out.

The door opened, and Nigel stood there, as slinky as ever. "Nigel," his mouth said. Slinky, his mind said.

"Sir," Nigel answered in that way that made Jak think he was about to sneeze. Jak felt his brow raise, waiting. No sneeze came. "Welcome home, sir." Nigel opened the door wider.

"Thank you. I need to talk to my grandfather."

"Mr. Fairbanks is upstairs. Should I call him for you?"

Jak nodded, stepping inside. "Yes. Thank you."

He wasn't sure he was welcomed there anymore, not as family anyway, so he walked to the big room near the door where he'd first met his grandfather, practicing what he wanted to say to him. Thank you for giving me a name, but I don't need a home anymore. There it was. Simple words.

As he waited, the quiet of the house seemed to close in on him. He walked to the desk, picking up the picture of his father and staring at the man's face. He did look like him; he could see that now. He wondered if he'd looked like him when he was a little boy too. The only pictures he'd seen of himself as a child were the ones he'd found in Driscoll's house. The ones that made him sick.

He opened the drawer of the desk, removing a big, thick book and opening it. It was the book of pictures— the photo album —his grandfather had told him about when he'd first met him.

He set it on the desk, turning the pages, seeing pictures of his grandfather, a brown-haired woman who must be his real grandmother, and the little boy who had been his father. Christmases. Parties with balloons and presents, lakes and boats and things Jak couldn't name. And in all of them, smiles. Everyone had been smiling.

His eyes stopped on one of the pictures, surprise making him pause as he brought the picture closer. His grandfather and his father, a teenager then, standing together with a trophy. Jak's eyes moved to the background, where there were round targets. Jak squinted, looking more closely at the trophy. The words on the front said "First Place Archery" and his father's name.

Jak swallowed. His father was good— no, great —with a bow and arrows.

His father was dead though. He couldn't have killed Driscoll. He stared back at the picture, the look of pride on his grandfather's face. Like he'd practiced with a bow and arrows right along with his son. Like they'd practiced together.

The whispers inside him—his intuition —spiked. He'd already known it, hadn't he? He'd smelled him there, the lingering scent of what he'd thought was a campfire but had really been the smell of his grandfather's cigar. He'd been at Driscoll's right before him. The footprints leading to the window had been his.

"Jak," his grandfather said from the doorway. Jak looked up. His grandfather frowned at whatever was on Jak's face.

"Archery," he said, tapping the photo album. "Driscoll. It was you. Why?"

His grandfather looked at the photo album, his face draining of color, and then away. He opened his mouth once and then closed it, a look of defeat coming over his face as his shoulders hunched. He let out a shuddery breath. "He took you, and then he made you into an animal."

His grandfather's words hurt him. He didn't want them to, but they did. "I'm not an animal."

"I know, son. I know. I see that now . But at the time." He walked farther into the room and leaned against a chair near where Jak was standing. "At the time, all I could see was my own regret. My own shame and rage. I gave you away, but he made it so I could never get you back. Never make things right. He ruined my last chance for happiness. And I despised him. He took the last piece of my heart, and so I took his." He'd shot the arrow straight into Driscoll's heart. He'd gotten his vengeance using the same kind of weapon Jak's father had been so good with. He'd killed him with the love and pride he'd had in his son.

His grandfather massaged his chest as though it pained him there, his face scrunching. "I thought he'd turned you into a…beast. Only"—he let out a laugh that sounded like someone was strangling him from the inside—"I'm the beast. We're the animals." He raised his arm and waved it around the house. "And I surrounded myself with them, casting off my own blood. You deserved…a life. Better than what…I only wish. Oh God, I wish—"

He clutched his chest again, and a loud moan came up his throat. His face went white and screwed up as he pitched forward. "Get help…Jak."

Jak caught him, going down to the floor, holding his grandfather in his arms. His grandfather looked up at him, his face a grimace. But a pained smile turned up the corners of his lips as he reached up and ran his hand down Jak's cheek before his arm fell to the floor. "You're the best of us…" he whispered, his voice fading away as his eyes closed.

Jak laid his grandfather down gently and went for help.