With a few hundred dollars in my pocket, and a car to stay in, I could go just about anywhere. So long as I don’t get caught, I’m golden. The fake license, the fake storylines—it’s all worked out well for me these last two years. It’s easy to make necessary acquaintances when you know people. And more importantly, when they know your name.

It’s best they don’t see my face, though, or ever meet me in person. I’m far too young. I’ve had to kill too many men already for their arrogance and laughter when they see me. I can’t risk a damaged reputation because some old fuck doesn’t know what’s good for him.

Like I said, it’s tedious. And I needed to get away for a while.

The jingling stops, the clatter of skateboards hitting the sidewalk and the rev of engines at the streetlight behind me turning to white noise. None of it makes any noise at all when I stare straight ahead. Because I see them. Cody’s still living with my uncle. A smirk kicks my lips up as I think, I might be as tall as him now.

They walk side by side, Cody right at Uncle Myron’s height. Although it’s obvious he’s younger. He should be headed to college. I saw online and on social media. He got into a few good schools but he hasn’t decided yet where he wants to go.

He’s got a girlfriend too and a job at my uncle’s friend’s construction site.

He wants to be a cop, though. My brother … a cop.

Shaking my head, I wave off the woman who stopped to ask if I’m all right. “Fine,” I answer her and her brow wrinkles. Before I can head out, following down the path Cody and Uncle Myron just took, she asks me, “Are you a Walsh?”

I’ve practiced my expressions a million times. It’s a way to keep people from knowing what you’re thinking. Or vice versa to control a situation. Still, I feel my own expression fall.

Just like how the feeling of dread drops into the pit of my stomach.

I don’t recognize her. Not in the least. The tight white curls that stop above her shoulders may have been dark brown locks long ago. I don’t know who she is, but with that questioning look in her eyes, I can see that she remembers me.

“No ma’am,” I say, putting on a slight Southern accent. “Have a good evening.”

With the dull thud in my chest and the numbing tingling on my skin, I head off with my hands in my pockets and search out my brother. I only look back once and the woman’s still standing there, a bag in one hand and a cane in the other. People move on, people stop talking, and people get forgotten.

Maybe it’s selfish for me not to want to forget Cody, when I’m doing everything I can for everyone to forget who I used to be.