“Why did you have to drag me along on this mass gathering of bumbling fools?” I grumbled under my breath as we walked through the crowds of laughing people at the spectacle of a fair. She knew quite well how I detested this sort of thing, yet she insisted that I come with her, anyway. 

“You’ve been working non-stop for too long. I figured you wouldn't do it yourself anytime soon, so I'm forcing you to have a bit of fun!” She answered me before munching on another handful of popcorn. 

“This is in no way fun to me,” I mumbled before I was run into by a man obviously not paying a damn bit of attention to his surroundings. 

“What the fuck? Watch where yer goin’, brat!” he yelled. How unfortunate - he managed to spill his can of cheap beer all over his equally cheap novelty t-shirt featuring a couple of poorly drawn eagles carrying an American flag, along with a raunchy slogan involving guns and vulgarity. I was certain he was picking up his enormous leg to kick me when Helen found her voice. 

“You’re the one who knocked him down, asshole. Apologize to my kid before I make you,” she stated darkly. This certainly captured his attention and he lowered his foot quickly.

“Fine, whatever. Sorry,” he spat and stomped off into the crowd, regrettably leaving a trail of his odor and a slew of misogynistic obscenities directed at my nurse. Thankfully her hearing isn’t as keen as mine, or else I’m only too sure he’d be leaving this makeshift playground with a bloodied nose. Helen took hold of my wrists and pulled me to my feet. 

“Imagine that, there’s rednecks in Indiana, too.” Sarcasm laced her voice while I brushed myself off.

“Are we having fun yet?” 

“Would you just give it a chance? Ah, look - a ride! Now this looks like fun,” she chirped. I could tell that for whatever reason beyond me, this little outing was more of an experience for her than anything else. So, I obliged. It was entertaining to watch the light in her eyes and the muted excitement waltz with the adrenaline within her. We waited in the line for about five minutes before finally moving to the front. 

“Sorry, kid. Gotta be at least sixty inches to get on,” a younger hick said through a cheekful of chewing tobacco after he pointed at a revoltingly animated height chart. I turned to glare at my companion.

“Was your purpose today to humiliate me? You are succeeding, if so.” She appeared guilty as we left the line, allowing a group of what appeared to be middle school children to take our place.

“I didn’t realize your height would be such an issue. I thought forty-eight inches was the industry standard…” 

“Obviously not. If only I had been cursed after my adolescent growth spurt,” I grumbled softly and noticed the roll of her eyes.

“Come on, let’s find something else to do.”

“What else is there? Honestly, why couldn’t we have just gone to a museum? Or perhaps a quiet park if sunlight was your goal? This environment brings out the worst in people, and it is alarming me,” I said and drew closer to her side as a group of hostile, destructive teenagers brushed by us. She sighed, but then she finally nodded.

“You’re right. Just give me a couple of minutes and we’ll go,” she sighed again dismally and tossed her remaining popcorn in a trashcan. 

“Where are you going?” I called, a bit shaken by her sudden directional change toward yet another disorganized crowd. 

“To the restroom. Want to join?” she smirked at me from over her shoulder. It was my turn to roll my eyes.

“Of course not. Hurry up.” 

“Just wait right there and don’t wander off!” She exclaimed with a mean little laugh and made her way toward a distant building. 

“I am not getting any younger, Helen,” I sighed and glanced around.

It had been quite some time since I had last attended a fair. Back then, it was simple, mainly games and dancing. These days, everyone is in search of a cheap thrill. 

I suppose things never change. 

“Peter?” 

I strained to listen, not sure if I had heard correctly. Immediately I felt a wave of humiliation. Peter is a popular name. How foolish to think that somehow I was the one being addressed, especially in a place like this.

“Peter!” 

Again, I heard the name and cringed. A hand touched my shoulder and I spun to face an elderly woman. Tears trailed her wrinkled cheeks, an expression of disbelief overwhelmed. 

“Could it truly be you… after all of these years? Peter, is it really you?” she asked hoarsely. I caught my breath, trying to study her face. No, I did not recognize her. Yet the years did have a way of changing one’s appearance. I simply had no recollection of this soul. 

“Do I know you?” I finally asked. The tears again streamed quickly and she nodded vigorously, her stringy grey hair fell forward from her shoulders. 

“Don’t you remember me? Sweetheart, it’s me - your mother! Oh, I’ve been searching everywhere for you!” she cried and pulled me into a tight hug. She smelled of mildew and sweat. 

“I am afraid you are mistaken. My mother died many years ago,” I sighed and gently pushed her away. 

“Honey, it’s me! Remember what fun we used to have? Just you, me, and Hannah, together -”

“Hannah?” I breathed. Yes, Hannah also happens to be quite a popular name. However, the coincidences were beginning to chill me. She nodded slowly with a smile. I could not understand; this woman must have been in her early seventies at the most. There was simply no possible way she could be my mother. Unless…

“We lived so far away, I remember! It was another life. And you were so spoiled, my little darling! Oh, how I loved you. I still love you. I’ve come back for you! Now we can be together again! God has given us yet another chance!” She reached out to hug me again, but I backed away. The crowds, the noise, the scents, the anxiety bubbling within me, it was all entirely overwhelming. 

“Honey, you’re shaking. Come with me somewhere a little less busy, I can see you’re distressed. I want to show you my picture - then you’ll understand!” She spoke soothingly and gently took me by the hand. I glanced over my shoulder, hoping Helen would be there. Yet she wasn’t. I turned back to this mysterious woman, nodded solemnly, and allowed her to pull me away from the bustle of activity and people. 

We stopped when we reached a clearing between a couple of tents and unused props. It was isolated, and even then this fact alone made me leery. Still, I was curious as to what her motives were.

“My precious Peter,” she sighed as she ran her fingers across my cheek, only to draw her hand back hastily. 

“You are so cold!”

“Of course I am. If you truly were my mother from another life, you would know why. I am this way because of her. It was her lack of proper judgment which did this to me,” I answered crossly. 

“I only wanted what was best for you. I always thought I was doing what was best…” At her words, I sighed again.

“Let me see this picture you mentioned,” I declared softly. She smiled and opened her purse. 

“I have searched for you for so many years! Oh, your sister will be so happy when I tell her. She’s back at home right now waiting for us. You know, I’m sure she’ll be delighted to play with that old puzzle you two used to love putting together! We can grab a pizza on the way home and just have our own little party! We’ll get pepperoni with extra cheese, just how you like it,” she rambled as she rummaged around before finally finding what she was looking for. She passed the photo to me and I studied it for only a moment. Within the creased, fingerprint stained image was a boy with blond hair and what faintly looked to be green eyes. He boasted height while posing next to an old sports car, and the photo appeared to have been taken sometime in the late 1960’s or early 1970’s. I carefully placed the picture back into her hands. I had to be especially delicate with her now that I understood the situation of her mental state.

“I am afraid you are mistaken,” I said firmly yet gently. Her hopeful smile faded into a scowl.

“What are you saying?” she asked, tension building as her pale face became red.

“I am not your son -”

“You are! Why don’t you remember me? You have to!” she yelled tearfully and grabbed my wrist. I had to figure out a way to calm her, as this was quickly becoming a volatile situation.

“My mother is in the restroom. If I am not where she left me when she gets out, she will worry. I must go back -” I decided perhaps feigning innocence would be my best strategy. After all, I look to be very young. My hope was that this dialogue would shake her from this delusion and she would simply allow me to leave once she realized that she was wrong.

“You are mine!” She screamed at me and squeezed my wrist tightly to the point of pain. It was surprising just how strong her grip was for her age.

“My name is Sabastian, my mother is Helen Anderson. You can ask her when we go back, please. I need to get back to my - ah!” I was interrupted by the pain from her grip increasing. She began to pull me further from the fair, all the while mumbling that I was hers in a tearful monotone just under her breath.

“That photo must be forty years old, at least! I cannot be him. We look nothing alike,” I tried carefully, but she gripped even tighter and kept attempting to drag me away toward the trees nearby.

“Remember the new car? And the new backpack we got you for school? How about Fluffy, Hannah’s cat… you must remember!” She screamed again and jerked my arm for good measure.

I allowed this to go on for much too long and I was weary of tiptoeing around a delusional shrew’s emotions.

“I can’t! Because I am not your child! I am much too old! Stop hanging on me and hire an investigator to find your boy!” I finally retaliated and jerked myself away. She was so stunned by my words that she instantly let go. She cried hysterically, and eventually the guilt of my actions weighed me down. Instead of going back, as I knew well was the intelligent thing to do, I stayed.

“Why… why don’t you ever remember me?” she sobbed.

“Perhaps he is still out there, somewhere,” I tried. She glared at me.

“If I can’t have you… she can’t. You are mine! I won’t lose you again - she stole you from me - erased your memory!”

“Miss, be reasonable. Do I even remotely resemble him in any way?”

“His smile… your smile! And your perfect face… Peter, I won’t lose you again. Not again.” She tore open her handbag and in an instant revealed a small pistol which shook in her quivering hand.

“I won’t let her take you from me. Let’s go to Heaven together this time!” She smiled through the tears. I backpedaled, not wishing to cause a spectacle or worse - have a bypasser accidentally shot. This was entirely my fault. I allowed this to get extremely out of hand, and it was up to me to defuse this quickly.

“You have no idea what you are doing. Put it away and leave while you can. If you hurt someone today, you will spend what little time you have left in prison. Is this what you want? Your Peter might be out there somewhere. I can help you find him.” I attempted to speak soothingly, but she shook her head violently. With both hands, she raised the pistol to point at me and I couldn’t help but sigh. If I was shot, she would undoubtedly shoot herself or go on a massacre. There were too many innocent people around for this to end without bloodshed if she didn’t find control.

“Pulling that trigger will not make him come back, and you must know deep down that I cannot be him.”

She glared at me. It was an uncomfortably long moment, listening to her speeding heart, smelling the mix of her musk and perspiration, and even the breeze that seemed to attempt to cool the tension the only way that it could. After this moment, she nodded.

“Why couldn’t you stay dead?”

Ah. So it was this sort of situation, after all.

“She took you away - that bitch your father married! She had you call her Mom, and you never wanted to come home with me and sissy. Your father called me dangerous - ha! What a laugh! Peter, I loved you so much that I sent you to Heaven. That way you wouldn’t be confused anymore! I sent you home to Heaven, honey, but you just won’t stay dead. God keeps sending you back to me every few years. It’s our little game! But… you never remember me.”

She pulled the trigger. I felt it plunge into my chest to steal my breath on impact. The fall backward was soft within the blades of overgrown grass, and soon enough she crouched over me to touch my face.

“Why does God keep sending you back, sweetheart? How many times do I have to send you home? I am so old now… I can’t keep burying the bodies.” She gave my cheek a tender pat while I gasped for breath.

“Sabastian!” Helen shouted from a short distance. I couldn’t move. I felt the panic coursing again.

“She has a gun - leave me!” I declared inaudibly via our connection. But at Helen’s voice, the woman dropped her weapon and ran away past me and back into the public, which was now much noisier after the fright of the gunfire. She must have realized that with Helen’s presence, there would be no taking of my body and that she had been caught at long last.

Helen soon found me and dropped to her knees just within my visibility, her face contorted with hysterics and worry.

“Let me see it,” she demanded and carefully pulled my shirt up to inspect the injury. My sight was quickly dimming. There would be no conscious regeneration with this wound, I’d have to restart my heart to heal properly.

“I leave you for five freaking minutes and you get yourself killed,” she sighed, but her voice was breaking.

“Are we… having fun yet?” I breathed. She shook her head, and to my shock, tears began to fall.

“You little idiot! You think because you’re immortal that people don’t care about you? Well, I do! I can’t stand seeing you in pain, and it’s my damn fault!” she cried.

“This was not your fault, only mine. I need to… restart my heart. Don’t leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Hurry up with it… they’re searching the fairgrounds,” she whispered, but not without a sob.

It took me all but forty seconds and I sat upright to cough up the bullet. After retching the damn thing up, I finally took a deep breath to calm my lungs. I was getting too old for this nonsense.

“Are you alright?” Helen finally asked me after watching what I am sure was quite an entertaining recovery.

“Of course. I’m pretty sore, but I’ll live,” I tried to joke, yet it was obvious she wasn’t in the mood.

“Helen, this was in no way your fault.”

“I should have never brought you here. That woman -”

“She has a mental illness and she needs serious psychiatric help. We will notify the proper authorities and have her committed,” I declared.

“But she tried to kill you!”

I took her hand and gave a soft squeeze.

“If you did not show up, she might have shot me multiple times and carted me off to who knows where in an attempt to bury me. She’s done this before. If it hadn't been me, it would have been an actual child. I was in the right place at the right time, directed by Fate as I always am. In turn, you were also directed by Fate. The only blood shed today was that of a god, and for that, you can feel comfort that every child within this fair is safe and sound with their family. I am glad that you brought me here. Thank you.”

I suppose you are in need of a conclusion to the woman’s fate. After little searching, Nadine Parkway was arrested and charged with eight counts of murder spanning fifty-five years, two of which include her son, Peter, and daughter, Hannah. She pleaded not guilty on the basis of insanity, giving detailed testimony that she was only doing the Lord’s bidding by sending back her angels when they would eventually reincarnate over time. Last I knew, Ms. Parkway is still alive and well in a skilled mental facility out west, where she spends her days doing crossword puzzles and coloring in mandala pictures.

As for justice for the many young lives lost, who is to say when or even if it will ever be provided? A woman with a lifetime of untreated mental illness ceased futures and devastated countless families. Those lives can never be recovered, yet hers was lived long and, though it’s apparent she suffered to a degree, this certainly cannot be compared to the suffering of the mothers who would go decades not knowing where their beloved children had gone. Humanity can certainly agree that there is no actual justice fitting enough for the loss of innocent life.

And while it might not feel adequate, sometimes justice is simply peace.

It has taken me entirely too long to accept this as a universal truth.

~