He looks different. He is much thinner, and a scar runs from his eyebrow all the way down to his jaw. On his neck, just behind his left ear, a small tattooed number curves around the three-pronged scar that fooled me, for so long, into believing he was cured. His eyes-once a sweet, melted brown, like syrup-have hardened. Now they are stony, impenetrable.
Only his hair is the same: that auburn crown, like leaves in autumn.
Impossible. I close my eyes and reopen them: the boy from a dream, from a different lifetime. A boy brought back from the dead.
Alex.
