You there, Fang?

I'm always here for you, Moon Dance.

Except when you're not.

Hey, a man's gotta work. What's on your mind, sweet cheeks?

Sweet cheeks?

Oops, did I write that out loud?

You did.

My bad. So what's on your mind, sugar butt?

Oh brother. I grinned, shook my head, then quickly turned somber. There's something going on with my son.

Is everything okay?!

Yes. I mean, I don't know.

He's not sick again, is he?

No. In fact, quite the opposite.

I told him about the healing in Anthony's leg, and my son's seemingly increased athletic ability. There was a long pause before Fang wrote back.

Maybe you are mistaken, Moon Dance. Is it possible that his blood had already dried?

I shook my head, aware that I was alone in my living room and no one could see me shaking my head.

No. I saw the fresh wounds. My eyes happen to be very, very good.

I projected the image I had in my mind. My own memory, in fact.

A moment later, Fang wrote: We used to call those strawberries. Probably got them sliding over the grass and maybe on some dirt.

Right, I wrote. And even if it had been dried blood, where was the wound?

There was no wound?

None.

Just dried blood?

Yes.

There was another long pause, followed by And the dried blood was recent?

Of course. It wasn't there when I dropped him off.

Is there a chance it wasn't his blood?

No. I saw the abrasions.

In the image you projected to me, wrote Fang, I'm pretty sure I see them, too.

We're weird, I wrote.

Yes we are, Moon Dance. A very good kind of weird.

So what does this mean with my son?

I don't know, Moon Dance. There was another pause. And you say he's getting better in sports, too?

Much, much better.

Supernaturally better?

Last year about this time he was benched for picking his nose. Now he's the leading scorer. I wouldn't have thought anything about this, except...

Except when you combine it with the disappearing wound...

Right, I wrote. There's something weird going on with my son. Fang, could you...

I'll look into it, Moon Dance.

Thank you, Fang.

And as we were about to sign off, I caught a fleeting glimpse into Fang's mind, a thought that I was certain I wasn't supposed to see or hear. Except it wasn't so much a thought as a feeling.

Fang was hoping that if he helped me, I would help him in return. To do what, I didn't know.

But I could guess.