Chapter 3

Leo walked slowly back to the bedroom.

The last light of day was gone. The room was dark, filled with shadows.

He didn't turn on a light.

He went to the bed, to my still form.

He gently touched my face. It was cold.

"Papa," he whispered. "It's okay. I'm here."

He climbed onto the bed and lay down beside me, curling his small body against mine.

He was trying to warm me.

My spirit ached with a love so fierce it was a physical pain, even without a body.

*Leo, my son, I'm so sorry. So sorry.*

He didn't know I was already gone, truly gone.

He thought I was just deeply asleep, or very sick.

He talked to me, his voice a low murmur.

Telling me about his run to Mama's office.

Telling me Mama didn't believe him.

Telling me Julian was a liar.

He was so brave, so loyal.

After a while, hunger gnawed at him again.

He knew there was no one else in the house.

No Mama. No Nanny Rose, who Eleanor had dismissed weeks ago at Julian's suggestion.

He had to find help. For me.

He slid off the bed.

"I'll find someone, Papa," he said to my body. "I'll get a doctor."

He went to the front door. Still locked.

He was too small to reach the deadbolt high up.

He went to the kitchen, dragged a chair to the back door.

He managed to unlock it.

The small backyard was dark. The gate to the alley was latched but not locked.

He slipped out into the cool night air.

I floated beside him, a desperate, silent guardian.

Where was he going? Who could he find?

A car's headlights suddenly cut through the darkness of the alley.

It moved slowly towards us.

Leo stopped, his eyes wide. Hope flickered on his face.

Maybe someone saw him. Maybe they would help.

My spirit froze. I knew that car.

It was Julian's. A sleek, dark sports car.

What was he doing here?

*No. Not him. Anyone but him.*

A wave of dread washed over me.

The car stopped a few feet from Leo.

Julian was behind the wheel, alone.

He revved the engine, then let the car lurch forward suddenly, stopping inches from Leo.

Leo cried out, stumbling backward, his eyes wide with terror.

Julian cut the engine. He got out of the car, a predatory smile on his face.

"Well, well, Leo. Out for a little stroll?"

He feigned surprise. "Oh, dear, did I frighten you? So sorry. These cars, you know, a bit jumpy."

He looked Leo up and down, his eyes cold and assessing.

Liar. Sadist.

I surged towards him, wanting to tear him apart.

My spirit form passed through him, useless, impotent.

Julian crouched down to Leo's level.

"What are you doing out here, little man? Looking for your papa?"

His voice was sickly sweet.

"I know you want to help him. I do too."

A blatant lie.

"But first," Julian said, his smile widening, "you have to do something for me. To show you're serious about helping Marcus."

Leo looked at him, confused and scared.

"What?"

"Your father was a musician, right? A street performer, some might say."

Julian's tone was mocking.

"Sing for me, Leo. Dance a little. Like your papa used to do for spare change."

He wanted to humiliate Leo. To demean my memory.

My rage was a burning inferno.

Leo just stared at him, his small face pale.

"I... I don't know how."

"Oh, I think you do," Julian purred. "Sing something. Anything. Or I won't help your papa."

Leo was trapped. He loved me. He wanted to save me.

He swallowed hard.

His voice was small, trembling, as he began to sing a nursery rhyme.

"Twinkle, twinkle, little star..."

Julian laughed, a harsh, cruel sound.

"Louder! And dance, boy! Entertain me!"

Leo, tears welling in his eyes, tried to move, a clumsy, heartbreaking shuffle.

My son, forced to perform for my killer.

Julian let him sing for a minute, then cut him off.

"Pathetic. Just like your father's so-called music."

He stood up, looming over Leo.

"Now, tell me something, Leo. Tell me your father is a no-good, cheating louse. Tell me he never loved your mother, only her money."

Leo's eyes flashed.

"No!" he cried, his voice surprisingly strong. "Papa is good! He loves Mama! He loves me!"

Julian's smile vanished. His face twisted into a mask of rage.

"You little brat!"

He grabbed Leo by the front of his shirt, yanking him up.

"Your father was filth! A leech! And you're just like him!"

He slapped Leo, hard, across the face.

Leo cried out, a sharp sound of pain and shock.

The force of the blow sent him sprawling to the ground.

Julian kicked him in the ribs.

"He filled your head with lies about me, didn't he? Called me bad?"

Another kick.

Leo curled into a ball, sobbing.

"I'll teach you respect, you little whelp! I'll teach you what happens when you cross Julian Croft!"

He was venting all his hatred, all his jealousy of me, onto my son.

I threw myself at Julian, screaming, clawing, punching.

Nothing. I was nothing. Just a witness to my son's torment.

The pain was unbearable. It was worse than dying.

*Stop! Please, God, make him stop!*