The Sword and the Scythe

Chapter 8: Soul Meets Body

1912

Leroy had been sitting on a bench in New York Harbor for over an hour, fiddling with the large ring on his middle finger. He shivered in his wet clothes, the air too cold to help dry them. No one had said anything to him as he'd crawled, sputtering, out of the ocean. No one had asked how he'd ended up there, if he was okay, or even if he could use a blanket. Nothing. The dock workers acted like they saw scrawny young men pull themselves out of the ocean every day.

But then, this was New York City, where no one wanted to get into anyone else's business.

Welcome Home Leroy, he thought bitterly to himself before he could force the thought out of his mind.

More than anything, he was trying not to think about the current miserable situation of his life. He had nothing; no job, no possessions, no money. Nothing. He supposed his only real option was to go crawling back to his mother, but he shot the thought down. He had too much pride to go groveling back home—after what he'd done, he couldn't just show up as the complete and utter failure he'd become. He needed to prove that his betrayal was justified. He just hadn't figured out how yet.

People milled around, going about their business, but one person in the harbor intrigued him. A light-haired man in his early twenties looked around like he owned the bay, though Leroy could not for the life of him remember seeing the man walk up. Leroy watched him, his curiosity piqued. He had a handsome, slender face with a strong chin and intelligent eyes. He was dressed in a fine suit and a warm coat on the chilly April morning. Leroy swallowed hard—the man reminded him of someone he used to know. Turning, he saw Leroy's eyes on him and seemed to study Leroy in return. The man's gaze unnerved him. His eyes had a haunted look like he was much older than he appeared.

"How long have you been sitting here?" the man asked as he walked up, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.

"What, do you own this bench, rich boy? Going to start charging me rent or something?"

"Just answer the question."

"An hour or so. What's it matter? I've got nothing. In fact, I should be dead. But I'm not. I'm sitting here on your goddamn bench with nothing else to do but try to figure out how to start my life over. Sue me."

Leroy stood up, not wanting to deal with the man any longer no matter how attractive he might have been. He started to walk away but the man followed him. "I don't give a damn about the bench. I want to help you. What did you mean you should be dead? Was there some kind of accident you narrowly avoided?" The man stopped in front of him to block him getting any further out of the harbor.

"I didn't narrowly avoid anything; I should be dead, no question about it. There is no explanation for how I survived." Leroy pushed past him and kept walking.

"Has it occurred to you that maybe you did die?" The man grabbed his forearm.

Leroy's eyebrows furrowed together. "I don't know what you think you're getting at, but I am not amused. Goodbye." He threw off the man's arm and tried to storm off.

He hurried alongside Leroy. "I am sorry for what's happened to you. I did not mean to make you upset. I think we got off to a bad start. My name is Philip. I...I am looking for someone. Someone who had just had something extraordinary happen to them. I think that might be you."

"My life has never been extraordinary. Sorry to disappoint you." The man grabbed once more onto his arm and seemed to put all his energy into concentrating like something would happen. When nothing did, he let go. "What is wrong with you?"