When he opened the door to go inside he was stopped by what he saw. Lin Su and Charlie were stuffing piles of clothes and other possessions in large trash bags. He had forgotten the duffels.

He started to tremble. He had a flashback and saw himself as a small boy, seven or eight years old, helping his mother stuff their meager belongings in plastic bags. That was how they moved from place to place and they moved all the time to keep ahead of dealers, pimps, junkies and social services. When he was thirteen and they came for him, removing him from his mother’s guardianship, he left with a bag of clothes. A small bag of clothes.

He shook himself. “Hey. We gotta get out of here fast. I mixed it up with a couple of your hoods and we gotta go. Now.”

Lin Su and Charlie looked at him. He knew what they saw. He was glistening with sweat even though the night was cold. He was panting a little—equal parts fatigue and nerves. He shook a little from some adrenaline and the flashback. He wondered if the flashbacks would ever go away. He held his flashlight and tire iron like weapons. He put them on the ground by the steps into the little trailer.

He stepped inside, grabbed a full bag and took it outside, throwing it in his car. He went back for another, then on his third trip Lin Su and Charlie each had a big bag to stuff in the backseat of her car.

“Charlie? Backpack and laptop?” he asked.

“In the car,” he said.

“I’m going to follow you, Lin Su. If you have any trouble, I’ll be right behind you.” He picked up his weapons and took them to the front seat of his car.

* * *

After Blake had pulled into the garage at his house, Lin Su backed into the drive for convenience’s sake. She wasn’t pulling four giant trash bags of clothing and miscellany into his house; she wasn’t planning to stay long. But she would move the bags he had into her trunk, leave the bags she and Charlie brought in the backseat, and they could pick through them for usable clothing. She was now very grateful for that last-minute shopping run for Charlie’s school supplies and jacket. She took her Target bags with her into the house.

Blake held the door for her to enter through the garage.

“Can you leave the garage door open for a little while? I have to get into some of those bags and find clothes for bed and the morning.”

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll leave my car keys on the kitchen counter so you can move your things from my car whenever you like. And you’re welcome to use the washer and dryer if necessary. There are clean linens in the loft bathroom and on the beds. The kitchen is all yours. There’s tea on the counter, drinks in the fridge, muffins, frozen yogurt, fruit. Have a snack. I’m going to get a shower but I’ll be awake awhile. It’s not very late—help yourself to the TV.”

“You won’t even know we’re here,” she said.

“I want to know you’re here,” he said. “I want to know you’re both here and no more of your belongings will be taken or destroyed or... Oh,” he said. He reached into the cupboard for a ceramic bowl and began emptying his pockets into it. The shards of teak and contents of the box were mixed with dirt. “The guy smashed it and I think most of the stuff was lost. The pieces of the box are too small to put it back together, but...”

She stepped closer. The dust from the dirt rose in a miniature cloud. She recognized the hospital wristbands, then heard the clink of two gold coins. She stepped closer. The swatch, filthy, joined the other detritus that comprised her treasures. She grabbed it, unfolding it, gently brushing it. It was going to take a miracle to restore its color, but it was whole.

She lifted her eyes to his. “This is what you were doing,” she said in a near whisper. “This is what got you in a fight.”

“Yeah. Well, I saw one of those guys, the ones that chased Charlie, and it pissed me off. I knew they’d done it.” He grunted and shook his head. “I’m psychic.”

“Mr. Smiley...”

“For the love of God!” he snapped. “Call me Blake!” He calmed himself. “Or Father Smiley. But no more Mr. Smiley!”

Her eyes were startled. “Father Smiley?” she asked.

“I told Bruster I was a priest so he’d give me back the coins. And not shoot me.”

“Awesome!” Charlie said from the back door. “He had a gun?”

“Yeah. I was pretty safe. He’s a dealer, you know. The head thug in the trailer park. He wasn’t going to shoot me—someone would call the police. If it had been anywhere else he might’ve, but not where he does business. Too risky for him.” He looked at Lin Su. “I probably didn’t get everything,” he said.

“You shouldn’t have risked it,” she said. “Thank you, it means the world to me, but you shouldn’t have risked it. What if something worse had happened to you?”

“Worse?” he said.

“You’re hurt. If you like, I could clean that up. You need an ice pack...”

“Nah,” he said, ducking away from her. “I’m fine. Get settled. Have tea. Eat something...”

Then he turned and went down the hall to his room.

* * *

Blake closed his door and turned on the shower, hot. He looked in the mirror and almost jumped back in surprise. His eye was swollen, his chin was cut, a lump was rising on his cheek and his nose had bled. It appeared he’d absently wiped it across his cheek. His shirt was torn in two places. And he’d never been aware of taking a single hit.

He’d blacked out. It had been a long time since that had happened.

It wasn’t that he didn’t remember anything. He could be so single-minded, so focused, the only important thing was his mission and survival. It had started when he was a kid—he could force himself to act without thinking. He’d be chased by some hood and he’d run and hide, then he’d catch his breath and realize he was two miles away. He could do that in a race—concentrate so hard on the task at hand he had no memory of the landscape. He’d know where each competitor was and what he had to do. It didn’t happen to him all the time, just when the stakes were high. He gave the credit to his discipline but it was probably more than that. One of his counselors when he was much younger said it was a form of PTSD. As long as he was functional, the therapist wasn’t too worried about it.

He stripped and got into the shower.

He’d been very stupid; he could’ve been hurt. He was always careful; he didn’t even ski. Triathlons were his career and he didn’t take unnecessary risks. But after seeing that destroyed little trailer, after hearing from Charlie what had been taken from Lin Su, after seeing that meth head ducking behind the building, he was utterly driven. He went after them, equal parts revenge and quest to get back that little box. He was incensed. Taking her useless little treasures had been so cruel. Men like them enjoyed being cruel.

Really, he didn’t think any of them had gotten off a shot at him, but his face bore the truth—he’d been hit at least three times. He’d been grabbed hard enough to tear his shirt. He was filthy as though he’d rolled around in the dirt. Maybe that came from scooping up the contents of that broken box? He’d never really know.

He put on a pair of sweats and a clean T-shirt and went into the kitchen. The bowl was gone and a dim light from the loft came down the stairs. There was a light over the stove left on. He checked the garage—the door was down.