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only going to get worse if you don't get help. PTSD doesn't just go away."
    "He's right," I pitched in. "Each time this has happened, it takes longer to pull you back." The desperation I tried to hide showed all too clearly, and Jason cringed.
    "I'm sorry," Jason said. He seemed almost surprised by our concern, but didn't shy away from it as he'd done in the past. Instead he turned to Dustin and asked, "Can I come to you?"
    That he asked for help was a wonderful first step. I was happy with it. But it didn’t stop me from feeling like he’d punched me in the gut. Why? Why did he feel he couldn’t come to me? He’d come to me before, and had seemed better, if only briefly. Dustin hesitated. "You know I want to, Jason. And I know I offered, but I'm not qualified…"
    "I won't go to a shrink," Jason said firmly. "I will not talk about this stuff to a stranger."
    Dustin shrugged. "All right." He'd been given little choice in the matter. Jason wouldn't go to someone else. I should have guessed that. My attention went back to Dustin when he added, "I'll just have to do more research and talk to some of my professors. Don't worry," he assured Jason when he noticed the worried look on his face. "I won't tell them who I'm talking about. Even though I'm not a doctor yet, I'll give you confidentiality. No one will know about this unless you tell them. I won't talk about our sessions to anybody."
    I could see Jason relax at that, and realized he'd gotten very tense at the possibility of anyone else knowing about him. Dustin and I exchanged a look and he gave a small shrug and a half-smile. It looked like he was going to become an expert in Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, whether he wanted to or not.
    I jumped when Jason clapped his hands together. "All right, that’s taken care of. Now, what should I do about this?" he asked, holding up the note.
    "Talk to Alice," I said automatically. My sister would know what to do, or she'd figure something out. "Make it a problem for the police. You have enough to deal with."
    Dustin was shaking his head. "Hate to say it, but I agree with her. As much as you want to help, right now you shouldn't get involved. Get yourself right, and then you can go back to being a superhero."
    Superhero. With his power, I guess it was an appropriate term. But unlike other heroes, he had no superhuman strength or bulletproof skin. He was as human as the rest of us… more than some. Jason had power that scared even him, and he hesitated to use it even before Mason had gotten a hold of him. It was worse now, and the fact that he used it, even just to check for footsteps, surprised me.
    I looked at Jason, expecting him to seem upset that we wanted him to sit this out, but he seemed… relieved. I frowned. He'd wanted to go after Kindred before, so what had changed?
     

FIVE
    Kindred
     
    Warm liquid splattered my face, and the last struggles of another violent man ended in futility. His wife would be pleased. Not that I did it for her pleasure, but if she was pleased, I would get paid. If she wasn't, well… let's just say I always get paid—one way or another. Blood payment may not spend well, but it was an acceptable option.
    The camera snapped a picture of the man's face, wide-open eyes seemingly staring into me accusingly. I shrugged away any thought of guilt, surprised at the unfamiliar emotion. He'd been abusive. Plus he worked for Mason. Those were two strikes against him, the third being that he'd been part of Mason's inner circle that had kidnapped and tortured the Tracker. He had eluded the police, but I was much harder to avoid. The tiny flutter of guilt flitted away and I allowed myself to forget it as I washed the man's blood off my face. The rest I wouldn't worry about until I reached my apartment.
    Anyone who saw me wouldn't see the blood soaked into my clothes. The illusion I had broadcast would make sure of that. I walked back into the living room and thought for a moment. He had helped hurt the