"Pick a card, any card!" Jon fanned the deck clumsily on the tray between them.

"I already know this trick," Gavin said.

"Nu uh. The janitor showed me last night."

The brothers sat face to face on the hospital bed. The TV played a rerun of Legends of the Hidden Temple as the sun lit columns of dust around them.

Jon's drawings hung in neat rows above his bed. They were mostly pencil doodles of elaborate, abstract patterns. Sometimes he drew real things like the hospital, their house, or random objects like lamps... but he never drew anything cool. Not like Hannah.

We hardly look related anymore, Gavin thought. Over the past several months, he noticed his own chest and arms had begun filling out... but Jon still looked like the runt of an alien litter. He was bald again, and his eyebrows were gone. The baldness always started with a few hairs stuck to the shower walls. Jon would come out of the bathroom crying, and a couple days later, it would all be gone.

"Just pick one!" Jon said again.

Gavin touched a card in the middle of the deck... but then slid his fingers to the left and picked the card at the end. Three of clubs.

"Don't forget it!" Jon collapsed the deck, then paused as he tried to recall the next step. "Okay, now put the card on top of the deck."

Gavin obeyed.

Jon propped himself forward and put the cards behind his back.

"You can't do that!" Gav said. "What a dumb trick!"

Jon's tongue licked the corner of his mouth as he did something to the cards behind his back. Then he brought the deck in front of him, held it straight up between their faces, and asked, "Is this your card?"

It was the nine of hearts.

"Not even close," Gav replied. "This is the lamest—"

"Hold on!" Again, Jon put his hands behind his back, squirmed as he seemingly rigged the cards, then placed the deck on the tray. "Make sure your card is still there, then shuffle them however you want."

Gavin obliged, though he was getting a little annoyed with the trick. Yes, the three of clubs was still on top. He shuffled the deck three times and gave it back to his brother. Whatever Jon had done behind his back, there was no way he could know Gav's card.

"Okay, here's the magic part." Jon waved his hand over the deck, said, "Abracadabra!" then—one at a time—flipped each card face up between them.

As Jon performed his magic, Gavin glanced at the white petals sticking out of the backpack zipper...

Jon stopped flipping cards. The three of clubs was face up on the tray. "Is that your card?"

"Holy shit, Jonny!" Gavin grabbed the card to make sure it was real. "How'd you do that?"

"Don't curse."

"But how—"

"It's complicated. I don't think you'd understand." Jon smiled and flashed his awkward baby teeth.

"I won't tell anybody," Gav said. "Pinky swear."

"Did you score any money off Chris today?"

He sighed. "I'll give you two bucks."

"Five."

"Four."

"Five and I won't tell Mom you gamble."

"Four and I won't tell her you're selling me tricks."

"Deal."

Gavin forked over the money. Four bucks was a sad substitute for fancy markers... but it would be weeks before he could save that kind of cash again. "Show me."

"It's so simple it's stupid! When I put the deck behind my back, I just flipped your card face-up on the top. Then, when I held the deck between us to show you the bottom card, your card was facing me. I just had to remember it!"

"I dunno if that's retarded or brilliant."

Jon smiled again.

Gavin snatched the deck. "It's a neat trick, but you're doing it all wrong."

"Bologna. It fooled you!"

"Watch." He began flipping the cards between them. "Pretend your card is the ace of spades."

"Okay..."

Gavin continued to flip the cards until the ace appeared face up, but then he paused and pretended like he was about to flip another card. "How much do you wanna bet the next card I turn over is your card?"

"Huh?"

"How much?"

"That's not the Ace—"

"How much?"

"Four dollars."

"Deal." Instead of flipping the next card in the deck, Gavin flipped the ace already on the tray. He snatched his four dollars back.

Jon looked at his brother with a twinkle in his green eyes. "You're an evil genius."

"I'm gonna make a killing off Chris." Gavin rubbed the stubble on Jon's head.

"Hey Gav?"

"Yeah?"

"Are Mom and Dad arguing 'bout Grandpa Dan?"

"You don't hafta worry about that."

"What are they saying about him?"

"They say his ten years are almost up at UIC. Mom says he should stay away from us until he's in his right mind."

"Do you think he's right?"

"About what?"

"That God isn't real."

"No, Jonny. He's wrong about that."

"How do you know?"

"'How do I know God's real?"

"Yeah."

Gavin thought about it for a second, then responded, "You ever feel that warm feeling in your chest after you pray? Like all your problems are gone and everything is peaceful?"

"Yeah."

"Well, that's him."

"Why doesn't Grandpa pray? Then he can feel the feeling too and he'll believe."

"I don't know, Jonny. Maybe he's mad at God."

"But he doesn't even think God's real. How can he be mad at him?"

"I dunno, Jonny! Quit askin' so many stinkin' questions!"

"Sorry..."

"I hafta run for a bit, but I'll be back in time for your results. Kay?"

Jon nodded and looked out the window. "Okay."

"You gonna hang in there?"

"I think so."

"Hey. You're not scared, are ya?"

Jon shrugged. His shoulder bones were visible through the hospital gown. "I don't want any more chemo." His tiny voice broke Gavin's heart. "I don't want another spinal tap, Gav."

"Listen to me Jonny. We're done with this shit. You understand? No more tests, no more leukemia. Doctor Manning's gonna say so tonight. I swear it."

"Think we can go to the lake house this summer?"

"Hell yeah! And we'll have enough fun to make up for the last four years."

Jon held out his arms.

Gavin shouldered his backpack and fell into his brother's hug. Another treatment will kill him, he thought but didn't say it out loud.

* * *

Hannah clutched her paintings so hard that the edges were wrinkling. No matter what the boy on the bench said, the pictures were shit. She couldn't even finish the third one! Mom was the best artist in the world and she deserved better than a crappy strawberry, a lopsided Jupiter, and half a portrait that made her look ugly instead of like the most beautiful lady in the world.

Mom was awake. Dad was whispering all seriously in her ear. She smiled and nodded, then motioned to the pencil and paper on the nightstand. Dad retrieved them and held the paper so she could write. Every letter was a challenge for her tiny arms, but Dad was patient. When the note was finished, he laughed. Mom couldn't laugh, but her eyes scrunched up and she had the biggest, prettiest smile Hannah had ever seen.

Dad looked at Hannah. The note was about her.

Mom rolled her head from side to side like one of the hospital's security cameras, and Hannah had the sudden impulse to duck.

Dad extended his hand. Come closer.

A voice was screaming in the back of her brain telling her to run to her mom, to throw her arms around her neck; to sob, to wail, to smash things, and to embrace the woman who loved her so deeply...

But she couldn't stop staring at that open mouth. She couldn't stop hearing the gargling in that chest. She couldn't stop thinking about the sickness growing in that hole. And the longer Hannah gazed at the darkness between her mother's teeth, the more she expected flies to spew from her throat or tar to dribble off her lip or tentacles to shoot out like the Pit of Carkoon, slapping against her cheeks and flopping across the linoleum to strangle Hannah too.

Dad left the bed and walked toward her like a zombie from Night of the Living Dead. He knelt down and smiled... but the smile wasn't fooling Hannah. Not anymore. Not when he looked like a zombie.

"Hey princess," he said. "I know it's hard for Mom to talk... but she's still in there, sweetie."

In there? What did that mean?

Dad had a glassy, reflective look in his eyes. "Why don't you show her the pictures you made?" He reached for the paintings, but Hannah jerked them away.

"Will they make her throat better?"

Dad looked at the machines. "No, princess. Mom isn't going to make it through the night."

Year 331

three-hundred-forty-five years later.

hannah, 23/354 with windblown hair and aching feet, found an opening in the crowd and watched the memory unfold.

sitting on a chair in the center of the room, hugging her paintings to her chest, was hannah lasker, nine years old, trying to cry. anna laid on a bed a million miles away. joseph—daddy—sat by her side.

fifty other women were crammed in the room, all dressed differently with eccentric hair, accessories, and moods. but they were all the same. they were all hannah. twenty-three-year-old bodies, but each a different age.

hannah watched the memory of the memory of the last time she saw her mother alive. had the little girl known she would never be able to speak to her mom again, maybe she would have given her the paintings. maybe she would have hugged her or whispered some sentiment in her ear. but no matter how many times hannah relived this moment, the little girl never stood up... never went to her mother... never showed her the pictures.

when joseph left his wife to approach the little girl, every head followed his path. they watched him kneel. they listened to him speak. some of the hannahs mouthed his words:

"hey princess. i know it's hard for mom to talk... but she's still in there, sweetie. why don't you show her the pictures you made?"

"will they make her throat better?" asked the girl.

this was the moment the energy shifted. hannah braced herself as the tension began manifesting itself through ticks of various extremes. some of the hannahs twirled fingers through their hair. some blinked rapidly. some bit their nails.

"no princess," dad said. "mom isn't going to make it through the night."

one hannah cried out, smashed her fist through the drywall and disappeared. another plunged a knife through her wrist and collapsed on the ground. more than a dozen hannahs approached the woman with an assortment of artwork, some on paper, some holographic, some on giant canvases. they pointed out their favorite parts. they apologized for the bad. but their mother never responded.

the little hannah remained frozen as she pondered her father's words. mom isn't going to make it through the night. then she clutched her paintings, grabbed her bag, bolted out of the room, and slammed the door behind her.

most of the adult hannahs disappeared, but this hannah—the hannah in the here-and-now—decided to stay... just a little longer.

she ignored joseph. she pushed her way through the remaining versions of herself—elbowing them when they blocked her path—until she reached anna, her mother, unable to speak, wincing from the pain that lived like sewing needles in her limbs.

she touched her mother's head. she kissed her mother's cheek. she held back the tears and said, "i'll miss you."

she lingered for a moment longer—just a few more seconds beside her mom—because in less than a minute, she would never be able to return here again.

1999

May

Three-hundred-forty-five years earlier.

Gavin's plan was simple. He would show Hannah the trick, she would bet money on the last card, and she would be wrong. Instead of making her pay, Gav would unzip his backpack and give her the flowers.

He was sitting on Hannah's side of the hallway when she burst from the door, slammed it behind her, and stood heaving in the middle of the deserted hall. Her cheek was smeared with watercolor fingerprints.

Gav knew something was very wrong, but he had rehearsed his plan a thousand times and didn't know what else to say. "Wanna see a trick?"

He half expected Hannah to slug him in the face. Instead, she marched to the bench, dropped her Trapperkeeper on the floor, and sat beside him.

"Ready to be amazed?" he asked. Hannah didn't respond, but Gavin continued anyway. He emphasized all the right words, flipped the card behind his back, held the deck between them, and felt a pang of excitement when he saw her card was the queen of hearts.

"Is this your card?" he asked as he showed her the whatever card was at the bottom of the deck.

She shook her head.

He put the cards behind his back a second time... flipped her card back over, then he gave her the deck.

"Make sure your card is still on top, then shuffle as much as you want."

She did.

"Now," he proclaimed, "I'm going to use my magic powers to find your card!" He flipped the cards one at a time on the bench. When the Queen of Hearts turned up, he pretended like he was going to flip the next card, but paused for dramatic effect. "How much you wanna bet the next card I turn over is yours?"

"My life."

Gavin hesitated, but he couldn't stop now. He flipped over the Queen of Hearts—already in the discarded pile—and smiled.

No reaction.

"You don't really hafta give me your life... but I got you somethin' instead." He removed the daisies and handed them to the sad little girl.

Hannah gazed at the flowers with cinderblock eyes, then looked at Gavin and said with a sickly growl, "I hope your brother dies tonight."

Before he could respond, Hannah snatched the flowers, bolted down the empty hall, and rammed her body into the stairwell door until it opened. As she tumbled through, she dropped the daisies in the path of the closing door.

* * *

"Shit! Piss! Fuck!" Hannah listed every awful word she knew as she slammed her fists into the painted brick in the hospital staircase. With every punch, another curse. "Damn! Hell! Ass! Shit!" She remembered the throat, the flies, the tar, the tentacles; she remembered her shitty paintings that she couldn't even finish; she kicked the wall and elbowed it and smashed her bag against it—"God! Shit! Ass!"—again and again until her little body ached and she slumped to the ground. She put her face in her hands, brought her knees to her chest...

And then she remembered.

Cautiously—as if she could fix her mistake if she moved slowly enough—she unzipped her backpack. She felt it before she saw it, dust between her fingers—Arthur—and she vomited on the steps.

* * *

I hope your brother dies tonight.

Gavin knew Hannah must be a very sad girl to say something so cruel. He decided to forgive her for the comment even though he could still feel it stinging in the back of his chest.

Jon cupped the dice in his hands, blew on his fist, and released them to the Sorry board. "Seven," he said and moved a red piece forward seven spaces.

A knock at the door caught everyone's attention.

Gavin leapt up, bumped the game board with his knee, and ran to open the door. "Hey there, Grandpa Dan!"

"Gavinator! You get bigger every time I see you!"

Gavin rolled up his sleeves and flexed.

"Wowza!" he said. "Put those biceps to use and give your grandpa a hand with dinner."

Gav carried the pizza boxes to the counter.

"Grandpa!" Jon shouted.

"Jonny boy!" he called back and bounded across the room for a hug.

Ever since Gavin could remember, Grandpa Dan favored his right leg when he walked. Most people couldn't tell at first glance, but only because he tried so hard to hide it.

"Did you get your results yet?" Grandpa asked.

"Couldn't do it without ya!" Jon replied.

"Excellent. I wouldn't miss the good news for anything."

Mom perched herself on the windowsill and watched her father-in-law like a pissed off Oriole. "Hello Dan."

"Lovely to see you, Susan." He brushed past her on his way to Dad, then shook his hand hard. "There's my boy."

"How was the drive, Pops?"

"I see you twice a year and you wanna talk about traffic?"

"Still using grad students as chauffeurs?"

"Her name is Kelly. And yes, she happens to be a grad student."

Dad tried to keep a straight face, but caved after a few seconds. The men hugged, slapped each other's backs, and pulled away laughing.

Grandpa held up the wine. "A gift!"

"I don't think they have corkscrews at the hospital," Mom interjected, still crabby from the off-color banter.

"It's already open."

"What about the boys?" she asked.

"Sorry, Susan. They didn't have pop at the pizza place."

"What pizza place doesn't have—"

"We can have water!" Jon said.

Grandpa spun to face his youngest grandson. "And how's my favorite kiddo feeling?" (Grandpa Dan called both of them his favorite.)

"Better than yesterday," Jon replied with a monstrous grin.

"Glad to hear it! You puttin' weight back on?"

"Everybody says I'm too skinny, but my body feels like it weighs a million pounds."

"Chemo will do that to ya."

"You're not gonna gain weight by talking about it," Dad said. "Let's eat!" He opened the boxes and everyone jumped for a slice.

Gavin helped Mom fill three Dixi cups with water, then gave the men empty cups for the wine.

Grandpa raised his tiny glass. "I'd like to make a toast to Jonny. Here's to kicking cancer in the ass!"

"Here, here!" Dad said and bumped his cup against Grandpa's. Mom raised her water and said, "Cheers."

The family settled into mismatched chairs and indulged in their dinner. Jon barely nibbled his pizza before trying to slip it back in the box, but Mom caught him and told to take five big bites.

"Hey Ma," Gavin said, a strand of cheese still dangling from his lip. "Can I go to Roycemore next year?"

She choked on her water. "You can go to Roycemore after the hospital bills are paid."

He pouted. "How long will that take?"

"Why do you want to go to Roycemore, son?" Dad asked. "Is that where your new girlfriend goes?"

Oh crap. Here it comes.

"Girlfriend?" Grandpa asked. "My little Gavinator has a girlfriend?"

"It's not about her!"

"Who's 'her?'" Mom asked.

"Nobody! It was just a question."

"Don't be ashamed, son," Dad said. "She's a cutie."

"A cutie?" Mom asked, then pretended to cry. "My little boy is growing up!"

Jon spoke in a singsong voice. "Gavin and cu-tie, sittin' in a tree—"

Everyone joined in. "—K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"

Gavin pressed his fingers in his ears. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

The family laughed until it hurt.