Page 40 of Compassion

We don’t go by our first names.

Just our last.

Always our last.

Especially during a mission.

The soft, delicate voice calls out again, like a siren my mind ruthlessly insists we follow, “Archer…It’s me. Jaye. Can you hear me?”

Jaye?

I don’t know a Jaye.

A small twitch of my entire frame is swiftly followed by a huge headshake.

Of course I know Jaye.

Jaye is now.

“Jaye is now…” I force myself to state as I squeeze my eyes shut, determined to bring myself back to the present.

“I am now,” she warmly echoes at the same time her hand lands on my shoulder causing me to flinch. However, she doesn’t remove her grip. Doesn’t relocate it. Doesn’t even consider how dangerous it might be to keep it there. “Jaye is now.”

Her grip tightens and instinct has me jerking.

Away.

Towards.

In place like a junkie in need of a hit.

And I am.

A hit of sanity.

Fucking clarity.

Where am I?

Pop music blaring from a nearby vehicle have a new question piercing my mind.

When am I?

Then?

Now?

“Archer,” the feminine voice softly coos, summoning the answer out of me.

“That was then…this is now.”

My palm aggressively lands on top of hers only to have her other sandwich it. “Jaye is now.”

“Hiltz was then.”

“Jaye is now.”

“Jaye is now,” is repeated again and again and again until I’m dragged back to the proper point in time.

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