But that was only part of the problem. What would happen to my life on Earth if I chose Kull? He couldn’t come with me. Anytime I wanted to return home, I’d have to leave him behind. And if we ever had kids, what would happen to them? Would they remember both worlds, like me? Or would I have to leave them behind, too?
Kids? Great. I was way overthinking this.
I hugged my arms around my stomach, feeling nausea heave through my insides as we crossed the causeway from the mainland to Galveston Island. Storm clouds gathered over the churning waters of the bay far below. The silhouettes of huge tanker ships loomed in the distance, blocks of black against the gray.
“Why don’t you think about it first?” Brent said. “You don’t have to make your decision yet.”
I remained silent as we exited the causeway and drove onto the island. Oak trees lined Broadway Boulevard, their barren branches swaying in the stiff sea breeze.
St. Luke’s sat off the road and was isolated from the other buildings. It was a squat, beige-colored building with chipped paint and graffiti on one side. We drove over the cracked-asphalt parking lot and stopped at the front door, where a few homeless men gathered around the entry. Their rough, lean faces and soiled, tattered clothes spoke of the harsh lives they led, lives far worse than my own. It made me wonder why I’d been so wound up in the first place.
Even with everything that seemed wrong in my life, I knew I still had so much to be thankful for. I had a home. I had friends and family. I had fallen in love with a man who really cared for me. I couldn’t throw that away. Deep inside, I knew what I wanted. Despite fears of my future with Kull, I would regret not breaking it off now with Brent when I had the chance.
“Brent.” I said his name softly. “I’ve made my decision.”
“And?”
“My answer is no.”
His eyes widened. “I can’t believe you’re doing this now. After everything I’ve sacrificed.”
I couldn’t help but realize that he was trying to guilt-trip me. Yes. I’d made the right decision. “You’ll find who you’re looking for, but it isn’t me.”
He nodded. “You should probably go,” he said without looking at me.
“Sure.” I left his car without another word. Maybe I should’ve felt awful. Instead, I felt as if a huge weight had been lifted. A few eyebrows rose as I walked past the homeless men with a giddy grin on my face. I’d done it. I’d chosen Kull. Now I just needed to fix this magic problem so I could get back to him.
Entering the shelter, I found the front desk. A dusty-smelling Christmas garland lay atop the counter, and a nurse wearing reindeer scrubs stood behind it.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Yes. I’m looking for a John Doe.”
I gave her the description, and she pointed me toward room fourteen. I thanked her and headed for the door, when she stopped me.
“Just want you to be careful, sweetheart. We’ve had some trouble with him.”
“I will. Thanks.”
I found room fourteen and knocked on the door. A muffled “Come in” came from the room, and I opened the door.
A dark-skinned man sat on a rocking chair near a window. Through the glass, low-lying clouds crowded out the sunlight, only allowing a faint gray glow to illuminate the room. The room’s only other furniture was a mattress sitting atop a rusted-metal bed frame and a saggy, particleboard desk in the corner. I crossed the linoleum-tiled floor to stand by the man.
He raised his head to look at me, and that’s when I noticed his eyes.
Catlike green irises stared up at me. Odd, but not the yellow eyes of Mochazon. Honestly, they looked more like cheap contact lenses. Not what I’d been hoping for.
Mr. Doe sported a newsboy-style cap, a white button-up shirt, and polyester brown pants. His thin frame bordered on anorexic. He gave me a slight smile.
“Are you Miss Kennedy?” he asked.
“I am. May I have a seat?”
He pointed to the mattress. “Go ahead.”
I sat on the foot of the bed. “Dr. Hill told you I was coming?” I asked.
He nodded. “He said you help people like me.”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether you qualify as one of my patients.”
He laced his thin, bony fingers together. “And how would I qualify?”
“Well, Mr. Doe—”
“It’s Chester,” he said. “Chester Buxton.”
“Mr. Buxton,” I corrected. “This is usually the time I would ask if you have any collections, especially of the dragon, pixie, or elf types.”
He let out a quiet chuckle. “Does it look like I have any belongings?”
I inspected the near-empty room. A tatty army-green backpack sat in the corner, and a pair of scuffed Reeboks lay beside the bag. I also spotted a used needle in the trash can. Hopefully, he was diabetic.
I turned back to him. “Good point. Let’s start over. Do you suffer with any mental disorders? Depression, bipolar disorder, narcissism—”
“Miss Kennedy.” He leaned forward. “My memory isn’t what it used to be. You’ll forgive me if I don’t understand a word you’re saying.”
My shoulders slumped. This wasn’t going to be easy. “All right—do you ever feel very, very sad? So sad you wish you were dead?”
He tipped his cap. “I don’t have to feel sad. I’ve got my medicine.”
“Medicine?”
“Yes, ma’am. Shorty’s guys gave it to me. For free.” He laughed. “And they keep giving me my medicine. So you see, I feel okay. Long as I have my medicine.”
“May I see your medicine?”
He drew back. “No one can see my medicine. Only me.”
“Why?”
“Because it looks invisible to everyone else.”
I pressed my eyes closed. I’d dealt with visitors to Faythander, but this bordered on a whole different level. Maybe even the he-needed-to-be-admitted-to-St.-Joe’s-psych-ward kind of level. “It’s invisible?”
He nodded vigorously. “Now
