The God Patent by Ransom Stephens

illuminated her. Then, as if making eye contact was somehow forbidden, she rode away.
    “McNear!” Dodge yelled from the lobby. “Get in here! Some punk-ass motherfucker is stage diving—get him out of my theater!”
    Fifteen minutes later, Ryan dragged a drunk teenage boy outside, encouraged him to hand over his cell phone, found “mom” in his contacts, and called her to come pick him up. On his way back in, Dodge tossed him his medicine. Ryan asked, “Where’s Katarina?”
    Without looking up, Dodge said, “Not in here.”
    Ryan took a quick patrol through the alley and around the block. The boy who called himself The Ace sat on the curb smoking. Ryan asked if he’d seen Katarina. He answered by flicking his cigarette into a Dumpster.
    Ryan said, “Alex, leave her alone.”
    He scowled. “Chill, dude, I don’t know who you’re talkin’ about.”
    Ryan took a closer look around the alley, the fire escape, and the parking lot. Katarina must have gone home.
    An hour later, when Ryan finally headed up the hill, a crescent moon was peeking from behind a long, narrow cloud. At the door, he realized Katarina hadn’t returned his keys. It was locked. He knocked a few times but didn’t expect much. There was no doorbell, and the door was too thick to generate enough resonance for knocking to be heard upstairs. Besides, Ryan didn’t want to wake anyone up.
    He looked around for an open window and went around back, but that door was locked too. On the second floor, Katarina’slight was on. He threw some pebbles up, and a minute later she stuck her head out.
    “Could you let me in?”
    She came downstairs, sock-footed and in a dirty nightshirt, and opened the door.
    “Do you have my keys?”
    “The woman said she’d give them to you.”
    “Your mom?”
    “Yeah.”
    They walked inside together. “Really? I’ve never actually seen her…”
    Katarina stopped at the foot of the stairs with a confused look. “You have to.” Turning up the stairs she added, “And if you haven’t yet, be afraid. Be very afraid.”
    Ryan closed and locked the door. A reddish glow from a sconce lit the stairs. Katarina was already back in her room, door closed. He paused to knock—he’d need his key to get in his apartment—but, looking down the hall, he saw that his door was cracked open. It smelled sweet, sort of like cotton candy. He pushed open the door and flicked on the overhead light.
    A woman was seated at his desk, facing the window.
    For an instant Ryan felt like apologizing for intruding, but it was his apartment. Still, he said, “Excuse me?”
    She turned to him.
    “You’re Katarina’s mom?” He looked both ways, at the kitchenette and his bed. He went in the kitchen. There was something familiar about her. “Do you want coffee or something?”
    She didn’t respond.
    He reached into the fridge. “Beer?” She still didn’t respond. He twisted the cap off a bottle and leaned against the counter. His keys were sitting there.
    She was at least a decade older than Ryan, had long dark wavy hair, and wore a similarly dark skirt. That was it—she was the woman on the bike. Katarina had the same jawline and smooth course to her cheek, though her nose and eyes were different. It was definitely the face that Katarina would grow into.
    She finally looked away, back at the window.
    All he could think of to say was, “Thanks for bringing me my keys.”
    She nodded and the quiet strained a while longer.
    Ryan finally said, “I love Katarina. You have a wonderful kid.”
    That was the trigger. “Katarina was a fine child. We loved her so much.” Looking at the floor in front of her, she walked toward him. One step onto the kitchen’s linoleum, she stopped one foot away. Close enough to be uncomfortable.
    She said, “My name was Jane,” and offered a hand. It was cold, and as he closed his hand around hers, she stiffened and her eyes seemed to focus for the first time. “It’s nice that you watch TV with Kat;