Did she expect his head to swivel like the possessed girl in The Exorcist? Or for Liam’s voice to suddenly come out of his mouth? He started to say he was Jesse Hawthorne, but he wasn’t sure anymore. Who was he, really? Little by little he seemed to be changing into Liam Connolly and losing his own identity. Maybe that was for the best.
He lowered the guitar to the floor and walked out, colliding with Ena in the doorway. Alanna called after him, but the words seemed far away and distorted. He couldn’t face her now. He raced down the steps to the van. The keys were still in his pocket, and he fished them out. Someone had to know who he was. His mother.
He drove to his parents’ home and parked the van at the curb. The aroma of gumbo filled the house, but his stomach was clenched too tightly to feel any hunger, though he hadn’t eaten since eleven. He walked through the living room to the kitchen and found both of his parents at the table.
Dan and Alice. Even their names suddenly had a foreign ring to him, as if they were strangers. He stared from one to the other. Alice in jeans and a pink T-shirt. Dan in the gray suit he wore to the office.
His mother rose and came toward him with a welcoming smile. “Jesse, I wasn’t expecting you.”
His earlier certainty that Liam had taken him over faded with his mother’s warm greeting. Surely she’d sense it if another spirit resided in her own son. He embraced her and inhaled the aroma of her perfume, some kind of flowery scent that was becoming familiar and dear. She’d stood by his side through every step of this nightmare. The love he felt for her intensified. He clutched her to his chest.
She returned his embrace until she finally struggled to pull away. “Son, what’s wrong? Are you all right?”
He dropped his arms to his side. “I don’t know, Mom. I keep having these weird memories.” He ran his hand through his hair.
“Memories?” His dad stood and came close enough for Jesse to smell his cologne. “That’s a good thing, Jess. We should call the doctor. Your memory must be coming back.”
“But they’re not my memories,” he blurted out. “I’m remembering things that Liam knew.”
His mother frowned. “What do you mean? I don’t understand.”
“I don’t understand either.” He faced them both, glancing from one to the other. “Did you wonder when I wanted to take drum lessons? When I insisted on buying that big bass drum? When I wanted to learn to play the bodhran?”
His mother stared up at his father, then glanced back at Jesse uncertainly. “Well, yes, it did seem odd. You’d never shown an interest in music, though we took you to piano lessons when you were five or so. I assumed the injury brought that latent talent to the surface.”
“What else doesn’t fit the Jesse you knew?” His life was like the beach by his house. Where his foot left an imprint, the sea left it distorted and unrecognizable.
“What’s this all about, Jess?” His father’s voice boomed with displeasure.
“I don’t know who I am,” Jesse said. “I hoped you might.”
His mother cupped his face in her hands. “You’re our own dear son. Jesse Hawthorne. Go to your room and look through your scrapbooks again. The doctors said that would help anchor you.”
“Why am I so confused?” He wanted to beat his head against a wall. Maybe that would open up his memories.
“It will come back,” his father said firmly. “You have to be patient, Jesse.”
“Have you noticed anything else odd about me?” he asked. His parents exchanged glances. “What? Tell me!”
“You seem to be right-handed now instead of left-handed,” his mother said.
He needed to sit down. Grabbing a chair, he sank onto it and put his head in his hands. “What’s happening to me,” he whispered. “Am I turning into someone else?” Had Liam been right-handed?
A knock sounded at the door and Jesse raised his head. His mother glanced at him with worry in her eyes, then went toward the living room. He heard the murmur of voices, then steps approaching the kitchen. His mother appeared in the doorway with Detective Adams in tow.
Jesse rose to face the officer. “Detective Adams.”
“Sorry to bother you at suppertime, ma’am,” Adams said to Jesse’s mother.
Jesse stood. Was he about to be arrested? He realized he didn’t care. Maybe in a jail cell he’d have time to think. He could find a way to get back to who he was.
“I need to get a DNA sample,” Adams said.
Jesse wanted to roll his eyes. “You already got one, didn’t you? Right after the bombing?”
Adams nodded. “We need a sterile sample this time. For a new test.”
“I’m not sure our attorney would approve,” Dan said.
“Is this about the bomb?” Jesse’s mother asked.
“It’s just routine.”
Dan folded his arms over his chest. “I think you’d better get a court order.”
Adams frowned. “Okay.”
“Oh, let him have his DNA,” Jesse said. “He had it once. I don’t have anything to hide. He’s not going to find anything from me on the bomb.”
His father sent a glare his way. “Talk to your lawyer first, Jesse.”
“It will only take a few minutes,” Adams said.