mind at the same time.
He listened with his mind, the same as heâd called out with his mind and not just his vocal cords. There was silence at first and he wondered if everything poor, dead Daniel had told him was a lie. He hadnât thought too hard about that before he took care of business and maybe he should have.
Then he felt it, heard it, the tentative sound of their thoughts, their inner voices. They awoke to the sound of his call.
There were more than he had honestly expected and it took a few seconds to sort out the voices and the noise. Most of them were in their bedrooms, but a few were up and walking about. He didnât know where they were, but he could sense that some were closer and others were a great distance away. Of course that didnât guarantee that all of them would show up when the time came.
âWhoâs there?â The voice that came to him was closer than he expected, and though the others didnât ask, he could sense them listening. Could they hear each other? He wasnât sure. Perhaps, but he didnât think so. He thought they could hear what he let them hear.
âMe.â Did he have a name? He had to think about that for a minute. No. No he did not. Heâd need one.
âWhoâs âmeâ?â
He thought about where he was, where he was standing as he spoke through the darkness of night and sent his words to them. The building he leaned against, for all its slow degradations, would work for a good first name. St. Josephâs cathedral was a beautiful building and he could live with the name Joe.
âCall me Joe Bronx.â
âOkay.â Another one spoke up. Her voice was soft but held an edge. âSo who am I?â
He shrugged and then remembered they couldnât see him. At least he didnât think they could. He hadnât ever consciously linked to others before. When he was a child, the linking had been instinctual. Part of him thrilled to feel them again, the others out there, the ones that were at least a little like him. âYouâll have to figure that out for yourself. I canât help you with that part. Not yet.â
âWhy did you wake me?â
âYouâve been asleep for a long, long time. Donât you think youâre overdue for waking up?â
âWhere am I?â
âI have no idea. Youâll figure that out all on your own.â
âWhat do you want from me?â
Joe Bronx smiled. âAhhh . . . Thatâs the very question I was waiting for.â
Chapter Seven
Gene Rothstein
THE SOUND OF THE garbage truck rumbling a few feet down the alley woke Gene Rothstein from his troubled sleep. He opened one eye first and looked around, seeing garbage, graffiti-covered brick walls and a rat gnawing on what might have been a piece of donut.
That woke him up in a hurry. He should have been looking at his bedroom wall and the poster of Lindsay Lohan in a bikini, not at a brick wall or a half-starved rodent.
âAhh!â Under the circumstances, it was the best thing he could come up with to say.
Gene stood up, wincing at the pain in most of his muscles, and did his best to figure out exactly why he was in a strange alleyway. To add to the fun, he wasnât even dressed in his pajamas. Instead he was wearing a ratty pair of blue jeans, shoes that felt too large for his feet and a T-shirt that fluttered around his narrow shoulders in the stale wind that blew across him.
âAhh!â He looked around again, desperate for anything that looked familiar. There was nothing.
âOh, shit, Momâs gonna have a cow.â He muttered the words under his breath as he started for the closest exit from the alleyway. The rat looked at him indifferently and kept eating its breakfast.
Gene looked around at the buildings on the other side of the street and felt his stomach churn a bit. He had no idea where he was, but Cioffiâs Transmissions across the way didnât
He listened with his mind, the same as heâd called out with his mind and not just his vocal cords. There was silence at first and he wondered if everything poor, dead Daniel had told him was a lie. He hadnât thought too hard about that before he took care of business and maybe he should have.
Then he felt it, heard it, the tentative sound of their thoughts, their inner voices. They awoke to the sound of his call.
There were more than he had honestly expected and it took a few seconds to sort out the voices and the noise. Most of them were in their bedrooms, but a few were up and walking about. He didnât know where they were, but he could sense that some were closer and others were a great distance away. Of course that didnât guarantee that all of them would show up when the time came.
âWhoâs there?â The voice that came to him was closer than he expected, and though the others didnât ask, he could sense them listening. Could they hear each other? He wasnât sure. Perhaps, but he didnât think so. He thought they could hear what he let them hear.
âMe.â Did he have a name? He had to think about that for a minute. No. No he did not. Heâd need one.
âWhoâs âmeâ?â
He thought about where he was, where he was standing as he spoke through the darkness of night and sent his words to them. The building he leaned against, for all its slow degradations, would work for a good first name. St. Josephâs cathedral was a beautiful building and he could live with the name Joe.
âCall me Joe Bronx.â
âOkay.â Another one spoke up. Her voice was soft but held an edge. âSo who am I?â
He shrugged and then remembered they couldnât see him. At least he didnât think they could. He hadnât ever consciously linked to others before. When he was a child, the linking had been instinctual. Part of him thrilled to feel them again, the others out there, the ones that were at least a little like him. âYouâll have to figure that out for yourself. I canât help you with that part. Not yet.â
âWhy did you wake me?â
âYouâve been asleep for a long, long time. Donât you think youâre overdue for waking up?â
âWhere am I?â
âI have no idea. Youâll figure that out all on your own.â
âWhat do you want from me?â
Joe Bronx smiled. âAhhh . . . Thatâs the very question I was waiting for.â
Chapter Seven
Gene Rothstein
THE SOUND OF THE garbage truck rumbling a few feet down the alley woke Gene Rothstein from his troubled sleep. He opened one eye first and looked around, seeing garbage, graffiti-covered brick walls and a rat gnawing on what might have been a piece of donut.
That woke him up in a hurry. He should have been looking at his bedroom wall and the poster of Lindsay Lohan in a bikini, not at a brick wall or a half-starved rodent.
âAhh!â Under the circumstances, it was the best thing he could come up with to say.
Gene stood up, wincing at the pain in most of his muscles, and did his best to figure out exactly why he was in a strange alleyway. To add to the fun, he wasnât even dressed in his pajamas. Instead he was wearing a ratty pair of blue jeans, shoes that felt too large for his feet and a T-shirt that fluttered around his narrow shoulders in the stale wind that blew across him.
âAhh!â He looked around again, desperate for anything that looked familiar. There was nothing.
âOh, shit, Momâs gonna have a cow.â He muttered the words under his breath as he started for the closest exit from the alleyway. The rat looked at him indifferently and kept eating its breakfast.
Gene looked around at the buildings on the other side of the street and felt his stomach churn a bit. He had no idea where he was, but Cioffiâs Transmissions across the way didnât
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