Thursday, March 25, 9:52 p.m. Passion Ministry

“Jimmy? Hey, Jimbo, you awake?”

A flashlight beam dazzled John.

“Oh, it’s you,” answered a small, relieved voice.

John flicked the light switch. The pajama-clad boy snapped off his flashlight. Pulled out a book from beneath the bed covers. Darby lay at his feet.

Jimmy’s love of space and of the unexplored was apparent in his wall posters, and in the sci-fi novels, videos and movies filling his bookshelves. Even his duvet was splashed with planets and stars. In a far corner, nearly hidden by a dirty shirt, the air compressor waited for the inevitable attack of asthma.

Careful to hide his bandages, John knelt by the boy’s bed. “Jimbo,” he said, wishing he could touch him. Inexplicably, handling Jimmy instantly closed his wounds.

“Reading again after hours.”

His son nodded, solemn as usual.

John waited, grateful to hear Jimmy breathing easily. “Don’t be in such a hurry, boy. There’ll be plenty of time to read the…” John flipped the book over. “…Apology.” He gasped, struck at the incongruity of a little boy in Darth Vader pajamas reading Plato.

“It’s about Socrates’ trial. Been studying it at school. D’you know that he believed no one means to be bad, that all vice stems from ignorance?”

“No. Can’t say as I did.” John was often on edge in front of his precocious son, fearful of looking foolish. What he lacked in physical strength, James Christopher Jacobs made up for a hundredfold in brainpower.

“Why can’t I go to school regularly, like the other kids?”

Caught off guard by the subject change, John gained time by moving to a nearby chair. “Shhh, now. You need sleep.” Though he had recently decided to pull Jimmy out of the Seattle-based academy for gifted children, he hadn’t acted. Grudgingly, he had to admit that his son was thriving. The boy was more poised and socially skilled, precisely what Maggie had predicted. That didn’t stop his heart from lurching each time Oscar and Jimmy drove out of the Ministry. “You are going to school.”

Jimmy’s feet bounced. Darby yelped. “Two lousy days a week. And Oscar comes. None of the other kids has a bodyguard.” His cheeks filled. “I wanna go all the time. Alone. Like the rest.”

John found it difficult to focus. Along with the burning in his wrists and side, flu-like symptoms crept through his body. “Been through this so many times before. We agreed. You’re not like the rest, son. You know that.”

Jimmy squirmed. “Am so. The other kids’re just as smart.” He thrust out his chin. “It’s you, Father. You’re the one who’s different. Not me. And we didn’t agree...you decided.” Jimmy dropped his eyes. “Betcha my mother would’ve let me.”

“Your mother? We’ve agreed. Two days a week.”

“Not Maggie.”

John sighed.

The boy’s face was pinched, he was losing weight. John ached to touch him but didn’t dare. The risk of possibly losing the stigmata permanently was too great. Too many Passionates depended on him. That’s what his advisors preached.

Too many bank accounts is more like it. Ignoring his child’s normal need for physical contact made him feel like crap.

“My real mother.” Jimmy fingered the colorful bedspread. “She’d let me go. She’d want me to go. Be like a normal kid.”

There was a long silence, broken by the dog’s whining. With a heavy heart, John waited for the question he could never answer.

“’Course, I’d have to know her name to find out. Wouldn’t I?”

Bingo. John shifted. Felt blood oozing from his side. Knew the stain could become visible. Jimmy understood his father had been strangely blessed by God, but John expended a lot of energy hiding the details. And Jimmy didn’t ask. Odd for such a curious boy. Yet John was grateful.

“Maggie’s your mother, you know that. She loves you. Takes good care of you.”

Jimmy flicked the flashlight. On. Off. On. Off.

John felt weaker every time the light died.

Jimmy’s face brightened. “Wanna see my video homage to Darby?”

“Your what?”

By this time, Jimmy was hunched at his computer. Seconds later, he clicked the mouse.

As the screen froze, John sat immobilized. Stung. Jimmy had included a clip with Oscar, but not with him. You’re really closer to a security guard? How could I’ve let that happen?

John realized that Jimmy was waiting for his reaction. He clapped enthusiastically. “That’s great, Jimbo.” He ruffled Darby’s head so that his son wouldn’t notice his disappointment. Motioned to the bed.

Jimmy groaned. Jumped back under the covers, with Darby curled beside him. “Stay with me ‘til I fall asleep?”

A child’s natural anxiety. This he understood. John nodded, content to relax in a nearby chair.

“Did ya know he killed himself?”

“What?!”

Jimmy pointed at the book. “Socrates. Drank hemlock. That’s poisonous, y’know.” His eyes lit up. “He was a martyr, Father. Very cool.”

“Sure sounds like it. Now, go to sleep.”

Jimmy lay quietly for over a minute. “Fate’s a funny thing, isn’t it, Father? Like you can’t change it.”

John hesitated. “No, son. Don’t suppose you can.”