The ambulance arrived eight minutes later, accompanied by a police cruiser. Ethan stood beside the old man while paramedics examined his injuries, keeping his backpack close against his chest. The stranger had a cut above his eyebrow, bruising along his shoulder, and dangerous signs of cold exposure.
A paramedic named Rachel Morgan asked Ethan what happened.
He explained that three men had been pushing the stranger outside the abandoned storefronts. He described their clothing, approximate ages, and the direction they ran. Rachel praised him for calling for help and keeping his distance once the attackers approached.
“You did the right thing getting emergency services involved,” she said.
Ethan glanced toward the old man.
“Is he going to be okay?”
“We're going to take good care of him.”
Before the stretcher was lifted into the ambulance, the stranger reached toward Ethan.
“Your scarf.”
“You can keep it until you're warm.”
The old man shook his head.
“It's not that.”
He struggled to speak.
“Tell your father... Samuel Whitaker is alive.”
Ethan frowned.
“Who?”
The stranger closed his eyes.
“Samuel Whitaker.”
Then he whispered something Ethan could barely hear.
“Tell Daniel I never betrayed him.”
Rachel gently interrupted, explaining that Samuel needed medical attention.
Ethan watched the ambulance disappear into the snowy street.
He had expected the afternoon to end with homework and leftover spaghetti. Instead, he was standing beside a police officer, holding a statement form, wondering why a homeless stranger knew his father's name.
His father arrived twenty minutes later.
Daniel Brooks was forty-one, broad-shouldered, with dark hair beginning to gray at the temples. He worked as a mechanic at a nearby repair shop and had raised Ethan alone since his wife died four years earlier.
When he saw his son, he hurried across the sidewalk.
“Ethan! Are you hurt?”
“No, Dad.”
Daniel pulled him into an embrace.
“What happened?”
Ethan explained everything.
His father's expression changed when he heard Samuel's name.
“Say that again.”
“Samuel Whitaker.”
Daniel stepped backward.
“Where did you hear that name?”
“The old man told me.”
Daniel stared toward the street.
For several seconds, he looked unable to speak.
Then he asked Ethan to describe the stranger.
“Gray hair, short beard, brown coat, maybe seventy years old?”
Ethan nodded.
Daniel reached for his phone with trembling hands.
“Dad, what's wrong?”
His father didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he looked toward the abandoned building where Samuel had been attacked.
“Samuel Whitaker died thirty years ago,” Daniel whispered.
Ethan felt cold despite his winter jacket.
“But I just talked to him.”
Daniel looked at his son.
“Then somebody has been lying to our family for thirty years.”