Yesterday's Gone: Season Three (THE POST-APOCALYPTIC SERIAL THRILLER)

what she meant. It had been three months since her father died on Black Island, and while Boricio wasn’t living on Black Island, and it wasn’t even the same Black Island they were attacked on, being anywhere near any large rock in the middle of water was enough to bring back too many painful memories. It had been hard enough coming back, starting over after they’d been declared missing by state officials. Fortunately, Sullivan had somehow managed to pull enough strings to straighten things out and help them get another home, far enough from the other bad memories which would eternally surround Warson Woods.
    “Did you all start without me?” The pleasant voice came from the top of the stairs.
    “I thought I’d let you sleep in until breakfast was ready,” Boricio said, setting a plate on the table, then walking over to the girl with a pixie cut and kissing her on the cheek.
    Paola couldn’t help but laugh, seeing Boricio, Mr. Tough Guy himself, as soft and cuddly as a bear when with his girlfriend, Rose, a super-nice woman he’d met a month after returning to Earth.
    Boricio caught Paola laughing, and pointed a finger at her, “You watch it young lady, or I’ll stuff spinach in your pancakes.”
    “Ew,” Paola said.
    The woman took a seat beside Boricio and smiled, then picked up her fork as they all dug into their breakfast together.
    It had been a long time since Paola had shared a meal with anything close to a family. This was nice, even if only temporary.
    She looked up to see Boricio smile at Rose, then giggled again.

    * * * *

CHAPTER 17 — Brent Foster Part 2

    Our Earth
    New York City
    April 3, 2012
    Pre-dawn

    One minute, Brent had been sitting in the Facility with the others. The next, he was back home, standing in the dark of his apartment.
    “Oh God, they did it. I’m home,” he whispered, looking around, hardly able to believe his eyes. “Oh, God.”
    He swallowed hard, wondering where Emily was.
    He started to panic, then remembered when he’d first met her and her mother, Jane, near the ferry. Jane said her husband had vanished. At the time, of course, Jane didn’t know the truth — that it was they who had vanished to the other Earth, which meant her husband was probably still home, wondering where his wife and daughter went. And if Brent was returned to his home, it stood to reason Emily was returned to hers — he hoped.
    Brent looked around the apartment long enough to figure out that it was still his family living there, and that they hadn’t moved out in the six months since he left. Gina’s purse was sitting on the kitchen counter, keys and glasses next to it — always well prepared for the next day.
    Brent raced down the hall.
    The door on the right led to his bedroom, where Gina was probably sleeping.
    He longed to see her, but that would mean explaining a lot, if not everything. At the moment, Brent wanted nothing more than to see his son, Ben, though.
    He passed his bedroom and went into his son’s room, freezing at the sight of the drawing taped to the front of the door — a heart with two crudely drawn circle figures in it. Beneath the heart, Gina had written in crayon, “Ben and Daddy.”
    He wasn’t sure how he would explain his absence to his wife. But even less so how he would explain to his son. He could only imagine the abandonment that Ben felt — that Daddy left because he didn’t love him.
    The pain sliced through Brent’s heart and he began to cry as he reached to open the door.
    The room was dark, except for the soft blue hue of the nightlight.
    Brent’s eyes adjusted as he stepped toward the bed, barely making out the shape of his son beneath the covers.
    He couldn’t see his son’s face in the darkness, and as Brent stepped toward the bed, his heart swelled in anticipation of seeing it. It had been so long.
    Oh God, Ben, I missed you so much.
    As he inched closer, Brent’s shoe slipped on something and he nearly stumbled. He caught his balance, then bent to see what he’d stepped on, hoping he hadn’t broken it.
    Stanley Train smiled at him, unbroken.
    Brent grinned, clutching the train whose duplicate was taken by the Guardsmen at the docks; the train which he’d cried over losing several times since then.
    Stanley is here.
    Ben is here.
    I am here.
    Tears flowed down Brent’s cheeks as he looked down at his son’s face, so angelic and peaceful in his cozy bed. The stuffed dog that Brent had given Ben last Christmas was tucked