Noah furrowed deeper inside himself while his senses were in a state of alert.

After the day's shift, Liz had ambushed him. He gave her an abridged version of what happened between him and Tweedledum and Tweedledee. He said they were people he owed money to and that the matter was settled. As thanks for what she dubbed his heroic act, she insisted on him joining her aunties for dinner.

He could blame Liz for dragging him to his first family dinner in a long time but he knew it wasn't fair. He'd agreed to it, to try a new experience. Besides, he didn't want to waste energy on blame and there was bound to be free food.

An hour before the appointment, Noah scored a shower spot. Every week Jesus Loves Youth, a Christian youth hostel, allowed non-hostel residents to use their freezing showers. The spots, however, were always limited, the lines ferocious. Noah had sustained and delivered a fair share of elbow jabs in the shower line. His sore ribs protested against the glacier waters but he showed up to Liz's appointment clean.

Since he no longer owned any nice clothing he wore the oversized pullover he'd picked out with Liz, his least raggedy pair of jeans, and double-layered socks underneath his Converse.

Liz met him at the subway station and was decked out in a simple black dress under a black coat and auburn tights. Her signature ponytail was absent and her brown locks tumbled in waves down her back. The minute they made their way to the subway's exit, Noah was assaulted by a riot of sounds and visions. People spoke over one another in shrill siren-like voices. There was almost no personal space. Strangers grazed his arms, brushed against his leg. It was the shower line all over again.

"They're going to love you," Liz said as they turned into a quiet street, "they tend to be kinda nosy but they're cool."

The apartment buildings continued to disappear the further they walked on. In their stead were cozy houses in European style, complete with chimneys and lofts.

The Forester home was painted warm hues of copper and cream. The porch floor creaked as Liz and Noah passed the welcoming garden gnome and Liz rang the bell.

Mrs. Forester answered the door in a lacey blouse and dark blue pants. Somehow, Noah had always imagined his boss in the coveralls they had to wear at college and it took him a moment to reconcile the relaxed lady of the manor with his stern boss.

"Come in," Mrs. Forester waved them in.

Inside the box-shaped house welcomed its guests straight into a living room. The windows, not large ones found in modern houses but ones common in cottages, were closed and flanked by subdued yellow curtains. There were twin plush couches and wooden chairs in matching pastel upholstery framing a modest coffee table. A translucent ashtray sat next to a pack of red Marlboro. The walls were decorated with pictures of a younger Mrs. Forester in her childhood glory beaming and boosting her crooked teeth. Another was of her and a freckled woman Noah thought might've seen before. Beyond the sitting area, was a dining table with six chairs.

Liz took off her coat and hung it on the coat hanger by the window. Noah took off his pullover and stayed put.

"I should've brought flowers." He muttered to Liz.

"Nah. Diane is allergic," Liz shook out her hair. "We can set the table."

Noah nodded gratefully for something to do. Inside, the kitchen counter was piled with plates filled to the brim with finger food. Chicken fingers, mozzarella sticks, Swedish meatballs, and an assortment of chips and dips were ready to be consumed. Noah felt his mouth water. He picked up the chicken fingers and a salad bowl and placed them on the six-chaired dining table.

"Virginia is running late," Mrs. Forester said. "Is your friend on his way?"

"Yeah," Liz smiled sheepishly. "He should be here soon."

"Take the water jug and the salt and pepper." Mrs. Forester said to Liz then she uncovered a platter of thinly sliced pieces of meat while firing up a pan that looked like it was also a grill.

A violent sizzling noise erupted. The rosy flesh protested as it blackened and the scent of char bore witness to its demise. The heat was searing at that point and more pieces were placed to twist and burn. The inferno was just getting started.

Dark spots filled Noah's vision. He took a deep breath, backed away, and shuffled to the sitting area. Someone propped a chair and had him sit. His savior was a tall, dark, and handsome young man.

"Hi," Malik said. He was clean-shaven and wearing a burgundy button-down shirt.

"Hi," Noah swallowed. "Why are you here?"

Since the night Noah had fixed Malik's English assignment, Malik had been acting strange. He avoided talking to him on campus, requested they take a break from their park meetings, and had altogether pretended Noah was invisible. He assumed he'd done something wrong and wracked his brain but came up empty.

"It's good to see you too," Malik folded his arms over his broad chest. "Liz invited me over."

"How do you know Liz?"

Stupid. They probably have classes together.

"We go to the same church. Speaking of which," Malik glanced over his shoulder, "think you can bounce back and help? Good Samaritan an all."

Noah rubbed his eyes. "I'm good." He followed Malik out to the dining table which was fully decked out.

"Alright?" Mrs. Forester peered at him.

"He's vegetarian," Malik said and Noah felt a rush of affection towards him.

"Ah, new age. Liz, take the meat back." Mrs. Forester said and Liz sashayed to the kitchen "Virginia said to go ahead as she'll be taking longer than expected. Davis are you vegan?"

"Uh...no, ma'am."

"Hmph. There are salads, mash, and pasta. Help yourself and next time tell us what you don't eat."

Noah felt heat creep up his cheeks. He felt Malik's hand on his knee as he gave it a squeeze.

Plates clinked as Noah drizzled gravy on his mashed potatoes and munched on mozzarella sticks. The initial awkwardness wore off. Liz and Malik had more in common than Noah thought. They were both stylish and animated conversationalists and Egyptian on their mother's side.

"What about your family?" Mrs. Forester asked, "All American."

"My mother is French American."

"Ah. What does she do?"

"She's an artist. I think."

"Think?"

"I mean...she is." Noah recovered quickly.

"Hmph. And your father?"

"Auntie..." Liz said.

"We're not on speaking terms."

His mother had eloped with her lover and his father had never forgiven him for being a spitting image of her. No matter how long he'd waited for her to come back or how many beatings he took from his father, his parents did not forgive his shortcomings. Was this what his boss wanted to hear? The truth made people uncomfortable.

Was the air getting stuffy?

"Curious." Mrs. Forester's sour expression hardened.

Noah lost his appetite. He had a bad feeling growing in his gut.

Danger.

It's a nice home.

Homes are where I was held captive.

"I'd like to leave," Noah whispered to Malik.

Malik smiled. "We can go after a bit. We don't want to seem rude."

Mrs. Forester and Liz had gotten up and headed to the kitchen.

"Something doesn't feel right." Noah continued to whisper. "Why would they invite us over? Why the questions?"

"It was just conversation."

Noah shook his head. "I never told you but Liz was sneaking in the archive rooms. And Gold's thugs followed us when we were at the mall."

Malik took a sip of water. "Okay."

Noah pursed his lips. "Okay? Something is going on."

"Boring Liz is not a gangster."

"She's not boring," Noah had fun hanging out with her, "but don't you find any of this weird?"

"Nope. Don't tell me she's a superhero?"

"Are you mocking me?"

Malik sighed. "No. I think you're being a bit paranoid. There is no conspiracy theory."

Noah sat back in his chair and stared at his friend. He had a smile plastered on his face and wouldn't meet his eye, occasionally tapping his foot on the ground.

"You're different."

The doorbell rang and Malik whipped his head around.

A woman walked in wearing a pair of thick-rimmed red eyeglasses slid to the tip of her nose. Her hair was coiled in a loose bun and her insincere smile sent shivers down Noah's spine.

"Hello, dear." Mrs. Lawrence said.

Noah stood abruptly fists clenched at his sides. The chair he sat on clattered to the floor as he glared at the elderly woman.

"What is going on?" He asked no one in particular.

Malik got to his feet. "Maybe we could chat in private?"

Mrs. Lawrence gestured towards the hallway. "Make yourself at home."

Out of habit, Noah slipped the table knife into his back pocket. Malik suggested they talk in the kitchen, Noah went for the back porch.

"I'll get the jackets," Malik muttered as he went for the heavy outwear. Outside, the chill was bearable. A motorcycle whizzed by and Noah resisted the urge to hop on and amble away from that neighborhood.

"Here," Malik passed him his pullover.

"What's going on?"

"I tried to give you heads up. I went to your apartment."

Noah's throat went dry.

"I have no way of contacting you. You don't have a phone and you've lied about where you live."

''I...I live everywhere."

Malik shrugged on his leather jacket. "It's cool if you don't want me to know where to find you."

"Why...why is that woman here?"

"She lives here. Your boss is her wife."

No. No. No.

That meant he got and kept the job out of charity. He was of no good.

The world will not accept you. You'll only have their pity. I am the only person who could love you.

Noah's breath went out in a rattle.

"Is it too loud?" Malik asked quietly, "Is it too loud inside your head?"

Noah swallowed. He tried to will himself to speak but could only nod.

"Okay. What do I do?"

"Just...leave me alone."

"Like hell. I think you've been left alone for too long.'' Malik's hand hovered over Noah's. "Listen, I know. I know about the asylum. Noah, we can help you."

The pullover slipped from Noah's fingers to the mud-stained carpet. "What asylum?"

Malik scratched an eyebrow. "I know you were being treated there for schizophrenia—"

"I was never in a mental hospital."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of—"

"I wasn't there. Where is this coming from?"

"Let us help you."

Noah gaped at him. "Who's us? A week ago this would've meant you and me. Now you're talking...what is this?"

"Calm down," Malik reached for his hand and Noah slapped it away.

"No. Whoever told you this is lying."

Malik shook his head. "They're more honest than you."

Noah flinched. "I didn't lie to you. I tried to...I am trying to figure this whole thing out."

"You didn't tell me anything about the tattoo."

"Because I don't know." Noah stifled a sob. "My father had it and...you have no idea what he's like."

Malik regarded him with a sympathetic expression. "I'm sure he's worried sick about you."

Noah gasped, his eyes widened in horror. "No. I...I'm not psychotic. I didn't make anything up. There are people out there with abilities—"

"Noah..."

Noah took out the knife. "I can prove it."

Malik took out his phone and pressed. "The second you cut yourself, I dial nine-one-one."

"Malik..." Noah implored, "You have to believe me. If you don't...I'll have no one."

Malik's eyes glistened in the dim light. "I believe you believe it. I won't let you destroy yourself."

A guttural cry escaped Noah's lips. "Please. Let me prove it. I can heal."

The knife pressed against his palm and a thin film of blood formed.

Malik released his thumb off the screen of his phone. An operator's voice came on.

"Nine-one-one what's your emergency?"

For a moment they forgot to breathe. Each frozen in time. But when it came to cruel stabs, Noah was well-versed in taking pain in stride.

He tossed the knife at Malik's sneakers and dashed into that place inside himself where he could feel nothing. He clenched his fist and swung at Malik's jaw as hard as he can. He saw Malik sway and ran.

Noah ran as if hell hounds were yapping at his ankles, his chest expanding to take in air and the wind caught up, pushing him forward. He ran away from the earth-shattering disappointment and the silly soft heart of his that he had tossed to Malik the moment they met. He ran until he was breathless, leaning against a closed Laundromat. He rigged the locks with the pick locking kit he kept parts of between his socks.

A strong smell of soap burned his nostrils as he sagged on the floor and crawled under the counter, realizing he was clad only in a thin t-shirt. He could've reached for the rack and skimmed through the array of clothes...he drew his knees up to his chest and held tight. The sight of Malik's shocked face haunted him as he tried to rock...tried to summon the Beatles...none of it worked. He was numb to all sensations but pain.