Spilling the Beans

He was sitting alone on a bench in the park, watching boys kick a football around a field. They had more enthusiasm than skill. James couldn’t remember when he’d been that enthusiastic - about anything, but he was an actor, and he could get by at work without prying questions.

“I’m surprised you’re not out there playing.”

James looked up, saw a stranger standing beside his bench. The stranger was about his age, slender, pale but dark-haired. He had shadows around his eyes and looked tired - or possibly ill.

As if he’d read James’s mind, the man tucked a lock of hair behind one ear and said, “Leukemia. It comes and goes. Makes me look like a zombie.”

“I’m sorry,” James said automatically, British at heart, and then, “Can I help you?”

“Not really.” The man smiled wryly. “I can help you, though.”

“How?”

“I’ll tell you a secret.” The man sat down on the bench beside James, leaned in and lowered his voice. “She’s still alive.”

James felt like he’d been dropped into the middle of an episode of Spooks. Was this a hidden camera prank? “She who?”

The man reached into his jacket. James tensed. They always had weapons in their jackets. He glimpsed dark steel, and his pulse skyrocketed - but then the man handed him a crumpled photograph.

“See the newspaper in the background? This was taken two days ago.”

What James saw in the photo robbed him of breath faster than a gunshot. “Asia.”

“Like I said, she’s still alive. And you can find her.” The man cast a glance over his shoulder. The only person James saw nearby was a skinny girl stretching out for a jog. “I should go. But I thought you should know their little secret.”

“Whose secret?”

The man nodded at the photo. “Theirs. Good luck, James Mallory.”

“Wait - who are you? Will you contact me again?”

“I’m Bob. And probably not.” He ducked his chin into his collar, jammed his hands into his pockets, and walked away.

James studied the photo, and he realized he recognized the others.

Asia’s brothers.

(350 words)