Page 147 of Savior

“Somethin’ like that,” I mumbled, looking at the vintage cars lining the street. Only they all seemed to be brand new. I rubbed my eyes, but everything stayed the same.

If it was a dream, it was the most vivid one I’d ever had.

The longer I stared, the more familiar everything seemed as if I’d been on this street before. Without saying goodbye, I moved on, headed straight for the Rambler wagon parked in front of a bungalow I’d recognize anywhere.

The last time I’d seen this place, weeds had sprouted up between the cracks in the sidewalk before taking over the lawn entirely. The old screen door had been hanging on by a single hinge, and the windows had all been boarded up.

That wasn’t the house I was looking at now.

I was greeted by the sight of a well-manicured lawn and a house that had obviously had a fresh coat of paint recently. Whoever was living here had put a lot of work into the place to make it shine. Even in the early days, it had never looked this good.

I didn’t know how long I stood admiring the old place before realizing how it must’ve looked. Neighbors were probably already calling the cops about the elderly vagrant casing the joint.

Knowing it wouldn’t be long before I either woke up or got picked up by a badge, I ran my hand reverently over the old Rambler, remembering how good it had felt to drive it with my girl by my side.

When I caught sight of my reflection, I froze and brought my hand up to my cheek, stroking the jet black hair on my beard in awe.

The gray hairs and deep lines that had been on my face longer than I could remember were gone. I looked just like I had in the seventies.

I glanced back at the old cars lining the street and then back to the Rambler underneath my palm.

If it was still here…

Before I had a chance to lose my nerve, I strode up the stone path and knocked on the screen door.

Initially, I didn’t see anyone when it opened until I caught movement in the bottom corner of my eye. A dark-haired boy no older than three stood watching me, clad only in a pair of shorts similar to ones I’d seen Jamie wear as a boy.

I opened my mouth to apologize when I was struck by his eyes. An almost electric blue that rendered me speechless.

“Who is it?”

At the sound of her voice, I reached out and gripped the doorframe in my hand, fighting to stay in what I now knew had to be a dream.

The little boy stayed silent, but his eyes held a certain curiosity to them as if he was waiting to see what I did next.

“It’s me, Mare,” I said hoarsely.

She came around the corner, wiping her hands on the frilly apron tied around her waist. “We’ve been waiting on you, Charlie,” she said with a grin. “Supper’s almost ready.”

I covered my mouth to hide my sobs.

It felt real.

So fucking real.

When I stayed where I was, she approached me with a shake of her head, taking my left hand in hers. “You’re soaked. Took a nap on the lawn again, did you?”

“I—I—” I pointed helplessly to the little boy. “Who’s this?”

Mary stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips to my jaw, whispering, “Are you telling me that you don’t recognize your own son, Charlie Stewart?”

I looked into his eyes again and knew she was telling the truth. I’d gotten shot and ended up in some alternate reality where my entire world hadn’t been ripped away from me.

She squeezed my hand and spun the simple gold band on my ring finger. “Did you forget me too?”

“Not one day,” I breathed, touching the ring on her finger; something I’d never seen her wear before. A piece of jewelry that hadn’t been tainted by Donald Quinn.

“Daddy?” The little boy asked, stretching his arms out to me. “Up?”

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