“Some of it,” he said. “But I can’t tell which memories to trust. Which ones are real. That’s why I need you. To figure this out for both of us.”

“It happened at Connor’s house,” I said. “Tell me what you remember. All of it. Real or not. We can figure it out together.”

He didn’t say anything. His face was tight, and reddening fast. I knew I was hurting him, but I had to press forward.

“Your mother,” I said. “She got locked up— It was right around the same time. Right?”

He didn’t move. Didn’t nod, didn’t say anything. But I knew that much was true.

“Did something happen with her?” I whispered. “Did we see something? Something she did?”

“I can’t,” he said, and held up both hands so I could see how they shook. “When I try, I get—I don’t know, sick. Nauseous. And then I space out. And then bad things happen.”

His arm twitched. His leg jerked. Solomon was struggling with the fight-or-flight response, and I knew that in a minute, maybe two, he’d turn and run. I might not see him again for a while. And I might not get the chance to warn him.

“Solomon, your aunt called Child Protective Services to report you as missing.”

His eyes opened, wide with sudden startling fear.

“She had to— Otherwise she could get charged with child negligence. She could go to jail, Solomon. She protected you for as long as she could.”

Solomon nodded, but the terror did not go out of his eyes.

“This doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” I said. “Come home with me tonight, shower and eat and get some rest and feel better, and then tomorrow we can go to the department of social services and talk to them. Would you do that?”

He looked at his feet for a long, long time. “I can’t,” he said finally.

“Why not?”

“What if they want to lock me up?” he whispered.

“They’re not going to lock you up after one visit!” I said, almost laughing.

“They wouldn’t lock you up, Ash.”

They’d locked up Solomon’s mother, hadn’t they? Why would he think it would be any different for him?

I took his hand. Took his other hand. Held them both, hard. Waited for them to stop shaking, but they would not. I breathed slow and deep, trying my best to be calm, to clear my mind, to find some peace and send it Solomon’s way.

“Solomon, you need to see a doctor,” I said. “Would you do that? For me? Please? I’m scared for you— They say the sooner you get treated, the better your chances are.”

He pulled his hands away from mine, turned away. Took a step, then another.