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She had to move double time to deal with his insanely adrenalized speed. And she had to hit harder to take him out. She leapt up for a huge sweeping roundhouse kick to the face. His face snapped to the right as blood gushed from his mouth, but then he came at her
again.
She needed a second roundhouse kick at double the strength to send his entire body three feet back and finally knock him out.

This wasn't right. This was all wrong. Skinheads were easy. Skinheads were the bottom of the barrel as far as fighting was concerned. The trained martial artists were supposed to be the problem, and the Navy SEALs and those SWAT-like sons of bitches in black. These kids were street trash. Gaia had dumped the likes of them into trash cans without breaking a sweat. But these sons of bitches had changed. They were the same assholes she'd seen around the park a hundred times before, but they
weren't
the same. It wasn't that they were skilled in any way. They just . . . wouldn't stop.

“You idiot!” the leader howled at Jake. “You idiot!” He laughed. “You
can't
freaking scare me! I
don't
bleed
anymore. Nothing
hurts.
I don't bleed.
You
bleed.” He drove his knife at Jake's chest—straight for the center of his chest with every intention of gutting him. And for just one moment Gaia could see it in Jake's eyes: actual terror. Real live child like terror.

“Jake!”

The knife ripped through Jake's T-shirt and pierced his skin.

But Gaia reached out in time. She swung her hand around the leader's neck and ripped him backward right off his feet as they went tumbling to the ground. His six-foot frame nearly crushed her to the ground as he lay on top of her on his back.

“Drop it!” Gaia shouted, pulling tighter and tighter around his neck as his breaths became fewer and farther between. He was bucking and kicking his entire body, trying to break free from Gaia's choke hold. His hand grasped his knife even tighter as he tried to lunge behind him for any part of Gaia's body over and over again. He was lunging so wildly that he actually sliced open his own arm.

But it made no difference. Blood was pouring from his left arm and he hadn't made a sound. Not even the least indication of pain. He only swung back harder and harder. “I don't bleed,” he choked out between strangled giggles. “I'm invincible,
bitch.
You can't touch me. . . . ”

Jake had obviously been enraged by his near-death experience. He went off on the bastards in a frenzy, disarming their cackling attacks with a kick and then snapping some bones when he had to. Whatever it took to take these mindless psycho-skinheads out.

But Gaia had to stay focused on this one lunatic—the boy who seemed totally unaware that not only
did
he bleed, but that he
was
in fact bleeding profusely from his own self-inflicted wound. “I . . . said . . .
drop it,
” Gaia uttered.

She finally applied enough pressure to his windpipe that he passed out. His body went completely limp on top of hers, and she hurled him off of her, leaping back onto her feet in one smooth motion. She snatched up his knife and ran for the last psycho still standing.

She waved the knife right in his face. “It's over!” she warned him. “Unless you want to end up in pieces, I suggest you get the hell out of here!”

But he only laughed harder, like he'd just shared the most hysterical joke with himself. “Go ahead,” he chortled. “Cut me! Try to cut me!” He jumped up and down in place like a hyperactive child. “I want you to. I
dare
you to. It's not going to hurt. It's not.” And then his laughs began to give way to a terrible coughing fit. “Oh Jesus,” he spat out between coughs. “Oh God, I love it. Thank you, God . . . I love it.” And then he dropped down to his knees and clasped his hands over
his eyes. “Oh God.” He coughed again. “My head. My freaking head.”

Slowly Gaia let the knife drop to the ground as she watched this pathetic sight. The boy gripped his head tighter and tighter, and then finally he collapsed, falling back into the grass with a light thud.

Gaia stared down at his body with utter puzzlement. She knelt down next to him and checked for a pulse. He was still breathing. He was just gone for the night.

She felt a hand come down on her shoulder. But she instantly knew that it was Jake's. This particular nightmare was finally over.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I'm fine,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “It's them I want to know about. What the hell happened to them?” She scanned the unconscious bodies strewn about her and tried to make sense of the strangest attack she'd ever experienced.

“Can you stand up?”

“Of course,” Gaia said. She made a move to stand up, and then all of Washington Square Park began to spin in huge swooping circles. “Or actually, Jake, will you help get me back uptown?”

“Of course,” Jake said, kneeling down next to her and checking the bruises on her face.

“Good. Because I think I'm going to . . . ”

The last thing she felt was Jake's arms catching her before she hit the ground.

Kaia

GOD, WHAT IS THIS, “LOVERS' NIGHT”
or something?

Ed's annoyance level was spiking as he scanned the line of bowling lanes at Bowlmor. Couple after couple after couple. All of them slapping fives and swigging from their beers and then, of course, kissing. A kiss for every strike, every spare, every gutter ball; it didn't seem to matter. Madonna's “Like a Virgin” was blaring through the speakers, and somehow Bowlmor had been transformed into some sort of fifties-style make-out palace. And it just kept inducing the same damn flashback over and over again in Ed's head.

Jake and Gaia. Jake and Gaia smiling. Jake and Gaia gleaming with the light of
teenage love in the afternoon.

Jake and Gaia kissing. Over and over.

It was only in the last few minutes that Ed had begun to understand why this nagging image refused to leave his head—why it was making him so excessively annoyed. The reason wasn't jealousy. The reason was this:

If there was such a thing as an alternate universe—some reality that existed somewhere else in time and space—and if Ed and Gaia just
happened
to be existing in that alternate universe somewhere . . . then it should have been
them
kissing across that table in Starbucks. Not that Ed wanted that now, but back
then
 . . . back when they'd been together, back in that alternate universe, a simple moment like that was all he had wanted.

A moment of normalcy. That's what he'd wanted so badly for them. A series of moments, actually. Just the day-to-day aspects of love. Renting some movies, having some burgers, a daily kiss in the coffee shop . . .

But that was never Gaia's life. Everything had always been drama. Everything had always been life or death. Everything had always been jam-packed with confusion and doubt and betrayal. That was why Ed had finally given up—because she could never just
be
there with him like that. There was always something else or some
one
else making things a hundred times more complicated.

But if Ed had believed that Gaia was capable of that kind of normal life, if he had believed back then that she was capable of having moments like that perfectly normal kiss with Jake, then he never would have given up on her in the first place.

It was the irony. The stupid, pointless irony. That was what was pissing him off. That was what kept images of Gaia Moore running through his head long after he'd gotten over her.

Kai suddenly plopped down in Ed's lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Did you score it?”

“What?” Ed asked absentmindedly.

“My sweet, sweet spare,” Kai boasted joyfully. “Did you see it?”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, no. I was just about to—”

“Ed, were you watching me at all?” Kai poked her finger into his head.

“Was I . . . ? Of
course.
” He smiled. “Of course I was watching you.”

“Okay, what pins did I hit?”

Oh God, not a test. Come on.
“You hit . . . the pins to pick up the spare.”

“Ugggh.”
Kai clenched her fists and shook them with mock frustration. But Ed could tell it wasn't exactly mock frustration.

“What?” Ed laughed, trying desperately to keep things light.

“You're driving me
crazy
today.”

“Why?”

Kai looked deeper into Ed's eyes as if to say,
Are you kidding me?

“What?”

Kai removed her arms from around Ed's neck and crossed them over her chest. The expression on her face was turning far too serious. It made Ed nervous. “Ed . . . do you want to talk about our little ‘moment' at Starbucks today?”

Ed felt his chest begin to tighten. “What moment?”

Kai blew out a small, uncomfortable sigh. She
turned away from him for a moment and then turned back. “Okay. Let me rephrase. Do you want to talk about Gaia?” Ed was beginning to feel a little sick. “Because sometimes that helps,” Kai went on. “Sometimes it helps to get someone out of your system if you just talk a little about—”

“No,” Ed interrupted. “What are you
talking
about? Out of my system? Don't be ridiculous. Gaia Moore is so utterly and completely out of my system.”

“Well, you just seem so preoccupied with—”

“God, I don't know what you're talking about.” He laughed. “Preoccupied? You don't get it. Oh, man, you've got it completely wrong. You want to know why I was just so preoccupied? You want to know why I missed your spare?”

“Why?”

“Because I was feeling jealous.”

This didn't make Kai happier. “I know that,” she said quietly. “I know you were jealous at Starbucks—”

“No, not jealous of
Jake.
Jealous of
them.”
Ed pointed out to the rest of the bowling couples. “I was watching them. They've all been kissing this entire time, and I was jealous. Because that should be
us.
We should be kissing after every strike and every spare and every gutter ball. That's what we should be doing.”

The smile suddenly crept back across Kai's face. “Oh,” she uttered quietly.

Ed ran his hand up along Kai's cheek and then
cradled her chin, pulling her face closer to his until their lips connected. Gently at first, and then firmer and firmer—probing each other's lips with force and with passion.

Now it ought to be crystal clear who Ed was thinking about tonight. He wasn't thinking about Gaia, he was thinking about Kaia.

Kai.
He was thinking about
Kai.

Another false home—another room with another bed, for a short while, until things changed again.

Headaches and Homelessness

THE TAXICAB WAS FAIRLY NEW. THAT
was good, because Gaia felt sick. Nothing too major—just a headache—but she was grateful for the clean vinyl smell and the fresh New York air blowing into the cab. The driver wasn't making things any more pleasant—he was madly speeding up and slowing down—but Gaia could take it.

“How are you feeling?” Jake asked.

Gaia didn't feel like answering. She was tired, and her head hurt. She had her eyes closed, with her head resting on the smooth flaps of the cardboard box in her lap. She said, “Mmm,” and hoped he would understand: not great, but fine.

Jake's hand squeezed her shoulder for a second and then pulled away. He understood. She didn't want to talk. He also understood that she'd hurt her arm; Gaia could tell by the gentle way he touched her. She was beginning to like that about Jake: he caught on to things. He didn't make a big deal about it, but he kept his eyes open.

Just a few boxes,
Gaia thought.
That's all my life comes down to, really.

It was true. She had her clothes—really just a
collection of worn-out T-shirts, sweatshirts, and jeans—and what passed for her “toiletries” and a few pairs of shoes, all in a garbage bag on her lap. Jake, next to her, held another, heavier box, with her school-books and a few other things. He had insisted on taking the heavy box, and Gaia hadn't stopped him. He had a point: after that crazy, inexplicable fight she still felt weak. In the cab's trunk were two more boxes. And that was it. That was all it took to relocate Gaia Moore from East Seventy-second Street to her new home.

“Still got that headache?”

“Yeah.”

“That was one hell of a fight.” Jake was keeping his voice low—but he sounded almost excited. He wanted to talk about that freak show. “How could they
move
like that? The guy who tried to stab me was so
fast.
”

He sure was,
Gaia thought.
Any faster and you'd be dead.

“We creamed them, though,” Jake went on. “Two against—what was it,
seven
? I mean, I'd give us a pretty high score, given the odds.”

“Eight,” Gaia said. She wanted him to stop talking, but she couldn't say that. “It was eight. And we barely made it, Jake. What the hell were they on? What was their
deal
?”

“So how would you score us?”

“I
wouldn't,
” Gaia said, sitting up straight and looking at him. “I don't keep score. This isn't a
game
!”
It's
my life,
she thought bitterly.
Assassins and headaches and homelessness and welcome to it.
“You almost got
killed,
Jake. This wasn't some sparring exercise.”