Page 7 of Jersey

I've used the pain of my past more than once to help me get into character for certain jobs.

Before joining Cerberus, I worked for Immigration and Customs Enforcement, with a specialty in human trafficking.

My crossover job was keeping an eye on Hemlock, the man who was recently named the president of the Gatlinburg, Tennessee chapter.

I sat at the bar, drinking and looking pitiful, while I whined to the bartender, Zara, about my wife leaving with my kids. Zara believed me because my pain was real.

It may make me a solid asshole for drawing on tragedy to get a job done, but there are times in which people believing or not is a matter of life and death.

I still think Hemlock hates me because there were times I flirted with Zara, but we haven't had any serious issues. I imagine there will come a time when he punches me in the face for one reason or another. The man has a temper like I've never seen. He's different only when Zara is around. I'd never make the mistake of thinking that he's weaker because of the woman, but his sanity is easily questioned where she's concerned. His past behaviors are proof of it.

The box at the bottom of the stairs can't weigh more than twenty pounds, but I imagine that's incredibly heavy for Eli, who is undernourished and small-framed.

Sensing the child and his father behind me, I grunt with faux exertion when I lift it so his possible attempts to carry it don't give him some sort of complex. The child is fragile as it is.

I can't imagine Nyx faking something like this, but maybe he'd surprise us all.

I wipe at my dry forehead when I put the box down in Eli's room, smiling at Aspen when she enters just ahead of Jericho and Eli.

"I'm going to draw so many things," Eli says as he walks in carrying a couple of tools.

"I bought extra rolls of paper just to make sure you don't run out," Aspen explains.

I was told last night that the easel we're putting together is to help with his therapy, that kids often draw the things they fear, and that it opens the door for him to discuss them with his therapist. It also allows the therapist to track his progress, as the scary things should transition to less scary things as he improves.

I get to work on opening the box as Eli helps his mom open a roll of paper. There's also a bag with nearly every medium the kid could ask for to draw with—crayons, markers, paints, and even a pallet of watercolors.

"We'll have to get one of those drop cloths before we use these," Aspen says, putting the paint and watercolors to the side.

Eli doesn't argue. I don't know if that's because he easily accepts his mother's rules or if he's too scared to argue or complain.

I pull out all of the pieces of the easel, noting just how easy this is going to be.

"That won't work," Eli says, humor in his tone when Jericho attempts to use a flathead screwdriver on the first section. "See this?"

Eli points to the end of the Phillips head screwdriver.

"They're different?" I ask, playing along with Jericho.

"This one makes a cross. Those things there also have a cross," he says, pointing to the screws. "They fit together. Watch."

I watch intently as Eli mocks using the right screwdriver with the screws.

"Now, Jericho, you hold it in place, and I'll do this part."

I don't have to look up at the man to know he's affected by his son using his road name and not calling him dad, but I keep my eyes down to give him the privacy of working through that without a witness.

"Ah," I say as a distraction as Eli works. "That makes sense now."

Eli looks like he's won a prize when the screw is fully seated.

"Is that upside down?" Jericho asks. "Damn it."

"Damn it," Eli mimics, and I have to roll my lips between my teeth to keep from cackling.

I look up at my friend and notice he's struggling not to laugh as well, his face growing beet red.

The man glances at Aspen, and I can see the motors running in his eyes as if he's worried Aspen is about to lay into him. Aspen seems to be having the same reaction I am as she tries to hide a smile.

---