Reborn

1

Nicky's bishop and queen were laying a trap for his king, but Bill thought he saw a way out. He moved his remaining knight onto a square that posed a potential threat to Nicky's queen.

"Your move."

"Don't rush me," the ten-year-old said. "This is going to take some thinking."

Five days since that ghastly incident on Monday night. A deep breath still gave Bill a stab of pain where he had been kicked in the ribs, but he was able to function, and the slip-on-the-ice story had been accepted by everyone. His body was slowly healing, but his mind, his soul—he wasn't sure they would ever recover.

carnage IN the village the Daily News had said. Six bodies—four clustered mid-block, and two more, one at each end of the block—all killed by a single crushing blow to the skull. The police were laying it off to a "hippie drug war" because of all the speed they had found on the victims.

Victims! The irony of it! We were almost their victims! And what they got was probably right in line with what they had planned for us!

Still, it didn't sit right. Even though he knew he could tell the police nothing that would help them solve the case, it felt wrong to be hiding his involvement. He firmly believed that everything in life should be open, honest, and aboveboard. An impossible ideal, he knew, one the world would laugh at, but one by which he struggled to live his life.

The ideal had to start somewhere.

But another nagging question tormented him: Who was their savior? And why? Some sort of vigilante? Someone who just liked to kill? Or both?

He shook off the questions. He was too tired to wrestle with them today. They'd never be answered, anyway. At least not by him. He wasn't getting his usual amount of sleep lately. Visions of Carol—teasing, vamping, dancing across his brain—were still keeping him too excited to sleep.

This had to stop!

With an effort Bill turned his mind back to his weekly chess game with Nicky.

"There's someone I think you should meet," Bill told him.

"Who's that?"

"A new applicant who wants to adopt a boy."

Nicky didn't look up. "What's the use?"

"I think this couple is right for you. Their name's Calder. The husband is an assistant professor at Columbia. The wife's a writer. They don't want an infant. They want a bright boy under twelve. I thought of you."

"Did you tell them my head looks like a grapefruit someone left sitting on one side too long?"

"Knock it off! I don't think they'll care."

At least they had said they didn't care when Bill spoke to them. They were a bright, young, stable couple. They had passed their interviews, reference checks, and home inspections. And they'd said they were more interested in what was inside their child's head than the shape of his skull.

"Save us both the trouble and match them up with someone else," Nicky said, and moved his queen. "Check."

Bill moved his king one square to the left.

"No way. You're it, kid. This is one couple who won't be put off by your Lynn Belvedere act."

Still Nicky did not look up. In a careless tone he said, "You really think these folks might be the ones?"

"Never know until you try each other out."

"Okay."

One word, but Bill detected a note of hope in his tone.

He watched Nicky picking at his face as he hung over the board, studying the pieces and their positions. Suddenly his hand darted out and brought in his bishop from half the board away. He looked up and grinned.

"Checkmate! Ha!"

"Damn!" Bill said. "I hope Professor Calder's good at this game. Someone needs to teach you some humility. And stop picking your face. You'll turn that blackhead into a full-blown pimple if you don't watch it."

"It's called a comedo," Nicky said. "The little white ones are called 'closed' and the black ones are called 'open.' The plural is comedones."

"Really."

"Yeah. That's Latin."

"I'm vaguely familiar with the language. But I never realized you were such an expert on blackheads."

"Comedones, if you please, Father. Why wouldn't I be an expert? I'm covered with them. Comedo ergo sum, you might say."

Bill's barking laugh was cut short by a shooting pain in his ribs. But inside was a warm glow. He loved this kid, and no question about it: Nicky was going to make a great addition to the Calder family.