But how could I blame him for feeling that way? In the short time I had been his Shepherd, this would be the second time I’d walked away from Quinn after he’d pleaded for me to stay. Who only knows how many times I’d done this to him when I was alive. But I couldn’t deal with that now. I had to leave. The ramifications—the consequences of Quinn having recognized me a second time—were much more serious than me hurting his feelings or his pride.
“I’m sorry. It just has to be this way.” I stole a glance at Quinn and gasped quietly. He was wearing only his boxers. And even though it was dark outside, the streetlamps were casting their light through the living room windows and down the hall, outlining every curve and ripple of his toned body. If I didn’t know any better, I would have sworn the pounding in my chest came straight from my heart. I had trouble catching my breath. I didn’t dare look at his face for fear that I would lose myself completely in his eyes.
I didn’t want to leave, but I had no other choice. I opened Quinn’s front door and walked out. The door shut behind me with a hollow thud that rang in my ears. I just stood there pressing my face against the door, feeling the chill of the metal against my cheek.
I knew I should be watching over Quinn, but I couldn’t return to his apartment just yet. I no longer trusted myself to make the right judgment calls or to do what I needed to do—what I should have done all along, which was to stay hidden and to keep my distance.
But I couldn’t go to the Archives either. It wouldn’t take long for Peter to read my thoughts and figure out Quinn had made contact with me again. I wouldn’t even know where to begin explaining my mistakes to Peter, and I sincerely doubted he would understand my actions after the warnings he had given me. I shuddered to think about his reaction to how much trouble I had landed myself in—and in such a short period of time. Something deep in the pit of my stomach began to stir as anxiety crept up the back of my throat. I really screwed up this time.
That’s when I remembered her—the faceless statue at the top of the Chicago Board of Trade. I had read about her in one of the few books in Quinn’s loft and then saw her from Quinn’s office window. Her name was Ceres; she was the Roman goddess of agriculture—grains mostly, I think—and was thought to be responsible for nurturing mankind in matters relating to the cultivation of the land. The statue of Ceres stood on top of the Board of Trade to serve as a symbol of the commodities traded within the building. And even though she had a name, she was a mystery, having been given no face; the architect had never bothered to give her one because he wrongly assumed the Board of Trade would remain the tallest building in Chicago. For some inexplicable reason, I wanted to be near this Chicago icon. Maybe I could find some answers there.
I teleported myself to the top of the Board of Trade and heard nothing but the sound of the wind whipping around the statue. Perched up there with her, I was finally able to escape most of the noisy chatter down below. And, oddly enough, the quietude revealed everything I needed to know. It was as if by majestically standing there in complete silence for all those years, Ceres was showing me what I needed to do. She had stood alone at the top of this building for decades, silently watching over the city, guarding it from a distance. Most people probably never knew she existed; they probably never bothered to take a break from their daily routines to notice her at all. Yet, there she remained, year after year, an invisible symbol of growth—a symbol of life.
I, too, was a symbol of life—a protector of it. I was charged with guiding Quinn safely through the unknown dangers that awaited him. I, too, had to do it alone, unnoticed and in quiet solitude. If he was supposed to know about his destiny, if he was supposed to fend for himself against the demons that manipulated his fate, then there would be no need for the secrets, there would be no need for the Rules, and there would be no need for me.
But here I stood. It would take a leap of faith larger than most humans were capable of making to be able to contemplate, much less understand and accept, the details of how I came to stand here. I could not expect Quinn to take such a leap—in fact, I couldn’t let him. It would only distract him and me from the real issue at hand … the only issue that mattered—his life.
And so it was decided. I knew I had to keep my distance from Quinn. I could not under any circumstance let him see me again. I could not communicate with him again. And I would ignore any future attempts by him to contact me. As hard as it might be for me to do, in the long run, I knew it was far better for him to think he’d suffered a spell of temporary insanity than to figure out what was really going on and why I was sent to him.
I returned to Quinn’s apartment before his alarm went off Tuesday morning. With my new plan in full effect, I sat invisibly in what was quickly becoming my favorite seat, the wingback chair next to his couch. I dared not move while Quinn got ready for work. Understandably, he was on edge all morning. He was cautious, almost self-conscious about his actions, like he knew someone—like he knew I—was watching and listening to his every move. You could hear a pin drop, it was so quiet—no morning news, no music, nothing. Even he was silent the entire morning. It went without saying that I remained silent as well.
Quinn grabbed his stuff and was just about to open the door when he turned around and looked into his living area.
“Evie, I just want you to know that I’m okay with you being here. I … I want you to stay,” Quinn announced. Then he opened the door and left to go to work.
I just sat there in utter shock as I watched him leave.
* * *
Sticking to my guns, I kept my distance from Quinn for the next couple of weeks. And each day it seemed to get a little easier. It was pretty easy to follow his schedule, which he maintained diligently. From what I could tell, Quinn was a creature of habit. During the workweek, he’d get up, get ready for the day, stop at one of two places to pick up breakfast, and hop in a cab to go to work.
Quinn’s office life was fairly monotonous. Kyle remained a pesky thorn in his side, but things were going well for Quinn overall. It seemed he was well regarded by everyone at the firm.
In the evening, Quinn typically would come back to his apartment and then go for a run or a bike ride if the weather permitted. Frequently, he would swim laps at a nearby health club. Later, he would review some files he’d occasionally bring back from work or surf the Internet while eating whatever take-out or delivery he had gotten for dinner. He would end his evenings by checking his email and watching TV or listening to music before heading off to bed. The weekends were filled with more bike rides, runs, and laps at the pool; more TV and music; and more takeout.
Sometimes Quinn would meet up with friends, but he generally seemed to prefer being alone in his loft. I couldn’t figure out if he was really that solitary by nature or if he deliberately hung around his apartment in the off chance that I would show up again.
Most of the time, Quinn wouldn’t mention me while he was awake. He did, however, mention my name in his sleep from time-to-time. On a few occasions, he was so bold as to talk to me in his apartment. It was like a game to him. He would say things like, “Evie, I sure hope your day was more interesting than mine,” or “Evie, it’s too bad that you don’t have the pleasure of hanging around my office mate all day.” Once in a while, he would even wish me good night.
I didn’t risk materializing in Quinn’s apartment again ever—even while he slept. But after an entire day of shadowing, or “ghosting,” him, I was itching to be in my human form. So the only solution was for me to leave his apartment while he slept. I used this time to travel to other destinations around Earth.
In fact, I had gotten quite proficient at teleporting myself to different cities and landmarks. I even practiced teleporting myself holding different objects—a dead pinecone I found in Yellowstone or a handful of pebbles I picked up from the California coastline. I also discovered that I preferred to visit time zones when it was still daylight so I could feel the warmth of the sun on my skin.
The
majority of my evenings, however, were spent walking around Chicago. I was too nervous to stray far from Quinn for any considerable amount of time even though he was only ever a thought away. Each time I strolled the city streets I was reminded of little things that I had witnessed Quinn do or say; things that showed me what I already knew to be true: he was a kind and thoughtful person. There was the bus stop in the West Loop where Quinn was the only person who bothered to help an elderly woman gather her groceries scattered about the sidewalk after her collapsible shopping cart had tipped over. There was the Lincoln Park Zoo where he stopped mid-stride during one of his afternoon runs to scoop up and return a stuffed animal that, unbeknownst to a mother, her baby had dropped.
And then there was Ronald—a homeless man—who perched himself on a couple of milk crates, peddling Streetwise, a local paper, at all hours of the day and night outside the twenty-four hour convenience store a few blocks from Quinn’s apartment. Most people ignored Ronald, but not Quinn. Like clockwork, every Friday when he walked home from work, he would buy the latest edition of Streetwise from Ronald and talk to him for a few minutes. Other afternoons, Quinn would randomly slip Ronald a couple of bucks and ask how he was doing.
Ronald always smiled when he saw Quinn walking down the street. I could tell he appreciated how Quinn treated him like a person instead of a contagious disease.
Ronald also seemed to have taken a liking to me, despite the fact that I’d never once stopped to talk to him during my solo nightly strolls.
“There’s my favorite angel!” Ronald would call out to me in a deep, bluesy sing-song voice while flashing me a goofy, cheerful grin as I passed by the convenience store. I doubted he actually knew how close to the truth he was about me, but he always made me smile.
19. Time to Meet the Parents
One evening the phone rang. Quinn looked at the caller ID and then sighed, debating whether to answer it or not. Finally, he picked up. To respect his privacy, I had gotten into the habit of mentally tuning out whoever was on the other end of the line.
“Oh, hi, Mom … No, I’m fine, really. I was … in the shower … Yeah, sorry about that … I haven’t been feeling well. I think I caught a summer bug or something … No, no, I’m fine … Really, there’s no need for you … Oh, you are? Uh, Mom, I don’t think that’s such a … But, Mom, I’m really busy … No, of course I’m not too busy to see you and Dad … Okay, then, tomorrow night … six thirty … Pegasus … Yup, I know where it is … Okay, Mom. See you then … I love you too.”
Quinn tossed the phone on the couch and sighed again. He walked over to the hallway mirror and looked at the scar on his temple.
“They are going to love this,” he said.
Quinn’s parents, I said to myself. This should be interesting.
* * *
The next evening, Quinn left work and headed directly to Greektown to have dinner with his parents. I ghosted him into Pegasus. The backdrop of the restaurant was a painted scene straight from Greece—a fresco of white stucco buildings was painted across the entire back wall. It made me curious to see what the Greek Islands really looked like, and I decided to visit them the next time I “traveled.”
Quinn saw his parents sitting at one of the tables pushed up against the painted backdrop. He took a deep breath, forced a smile, and walked over to them.
“Hi, Mom,” Quinn said enthusiastically as he leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. Mrs. Harrison was a petite woman with long black hair that was pulled up into a ponytail. She had bright blue-green eyes and beautiful alabaster skin. She was wearing a white Oxford that was unbuttoned just low enough to show off a large turquoise pendant hanging from a silver chain around her neck. She was quite attractive and youthful in appearance. In fact, I would have never guessed she had a son as old as Quinn.
“Hi, Dad,” Quinn said, extending his hand towards his father, who was now standing. Smiling, his father grabbed Quinn’s hand and then pulled him into his arms for a big hug. His father was built like a former college defensive line backer. He was a little taller than Quinn and about twice his size, taking into consideration his robust belly. He had salt-and-pepper hair and bright blue eyes. The crow’s feet around his eyes and laugh lines around his mouth gave his age away. Quinn’s father kind of reminded me of Teddy, except Mr. Harrison was a more low-key dresser, wearing a navy-blue polo tucked into jeans and brown leather loafers.
“So, my dear. What is going on with you?” Quinn’s mother cut right to the chase. “We haven’t seen or heard from you in weeks!”
“Nothing, Mom,” Quinn responded as he sat down. “I told you I’ve been busy, that’s all.” He lowered his eyes as he spoke.
Hmm, I thought, not a very convincing liar.
“Quinny, I’m not buying it,” his father continued. “You don’t think a mother knows her own children? You don’t think I can tell when you are full of it? You haven’t returned any of our calls or any calls from your brothers.” Quinn’s mother softened her tone. “Sweetheart, it’s just so unlike you to pull away from us. We’re worried about you. Is there something going on?” She lifted Quinn’s head up towards her and then gasped.
“Oh, good Lord! Quinny—what happened to your forehead?” His mother had just noticed the fresh, red raised scar on his temple.
“Oh.” Quinn touched the scar with his fingers. “It’s nothing. Really. Someone tried to take my wallet.”
“Tom, did you hear that? Quinn was mugged!” Quinn’s mother looked towards her husband in alarm.
“Did you stop him?” Quinn’s father joked, but he couldn’t hide the concerned look on his face.
“Well, let’s just say that I still have my wallet. And … I seem to have made a miraculous recovery.” Quinn’s eyes darkened for a moment and he grew quiet. I knew Quinn was thinking about me, but I also knew he wasn’t about to tell his parents about our encounters. He forced a smile and then added, “I’m fine, really. No harm done.”
“That’s my boy,” his dad said with pride. “See, Maggie—he’s fine. He knows how to take care of himself.” Looking back at Quinn, his dad asked. “Hey, did they catch the son of a bitch?”
“Tom, language please,” Quinn’s mother chastised.
“Mags, take it easy.”
“Take it easy,” she huffed. “Tom, our son almost got killed by some … hoodlum, and you want me to take it easy? I knew I should have insisted that Quinny live with us this summer instead of subletting that apartment downtown. I would feel so much better knowing he was home safe with us.”
So would I, I seconded silently.
“Come on, Maggie, the boy is twenty years old. He’s an adult. When we were his age, we were already married and waiting for the arrival of Tom, Jr.”
“Times were different then, Tom.”
“Not that different,” his dad said. “Look, Quinny,” he continued, turning towards his son, “obviously you’ve discovered firsthand that city living carries with it certain risks. This isn’t like living at home—or in Bloomington for that matter. You have to have your wits about you all the time around here, okay?”
“Okay, Dad,” Quinn replied. He seemed to genuinely appreciate his father’s advice. Quinn took his mom’s hand. “Mom, I like living in the city. I’ll be more careful. I promise. Besides, I’ll be back at IU before you know it.” He squeezed his mom’s hand lovingly, looked at her, and flashed a big smile. His mom’s face softened immediately. She returned his smile and caressed his forehead.
“Ugh, you know I can’t resist that smile of yours. You ought to have a warning label attached to that thing!” She took a deep breath and sighed.
“Good. So can we talk about something else now, please? I’m sick of focusing on my dull, uneventful life,” Quinn said, chuckling in jest. “How’s the rest of the family?”
His parents shot a knowing glance at each other. They had shared a similar look when Quinn arrived. I’d thought their exchange was nothing more than the concern of two parents who hadn�
�t seen or heard from their son in a while. But now I could see there was something else—something about their family that they needed to discuss with Quinn. He also noticed the sobering glance his parents had shared and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“Mom? Dad? What is it?”
His mother went on to brief him about his oldest brother, Tom, Jr., and his wife, Samantha, who had just purchased their first house and would be moved in well before the arrival of their first child. Quinn smiled hopefully and asked whether they had found out if they were having a boy or a girl.
“Not yet. They should find out in a few weeks,” his mother replied. She continued to explain that Tom, Jr. still worked for a small public accounting firm, but he was looking to move to a bigger firm downtown.
“Of course that would mean longer hours for Tommy, but it would also mean more money, which would allow Sam to quit her job and stay home full time with the baby,” his mother added.
Then his mother updated Quinn on his second oldest brother, Doug, who was preparing to enter into his third year of law school at the University of Illinois. His mom added that both Tommy and Doug were upset with Quinn for blowing them off the other weekend when the three of them had plans to go to the Cubs game together.
“It’s not like you to be that inconsiderate, Quinny,” she said in a disappointed tone. “They are your brothers. You really should call them and apologize.”
“Fine. You’re right. I will.” Quinn poked the food on his plate with his fork.
“And Brady?” he asked warily, changing the subject. “Have you heard from him?”
His parents stole another glance at each other. Ah—there was something going on with his brother, Brady.
“No, not recently,” his father said, clearing his throat. Quinn’s mother looked at her husband; I could see the distress in her eyes. “It’s been about a month now.”
“Last we heard, Brady was still in Vegas,” his mom continued. “Quinny … we cut off all contact with him.”
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