Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 106839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
People come running, realizing that something is wrong, and I’m just… stuck here.
Again.
Just like I was in the cafeteria that day.
Unable to do anything but watch.
Two hours later there is still no sign of Cross. We’re sitting out on Rosie’s porch, watching people walk by and listening as they all call Cross’s name.
Rosie is beyond comforting. Even now, sitting on the front steps, she is on edge. Leaning forward, unable to relax.
I rub her back, but she stiffens. “Don’t. I don’t want to be touched right now, Amon. My boy is missing.”
The only reason she came home was to change out of her dress, so now she’s wearing her typical summer outfit of shorts and a tank top. The only reason she’s here and not out there yelling with the rest of them is because Abel Bettington, the police chief, told her Cross might try and call the landline so someone needed to be there to answer.
It’s actually a very good point because the landline is harder to trace. Though Collin is already on that and it won’t be that way for long. He’s also called in our whole company of men to help with the search, but we both know we’re not gonna find Cross.
Not like that.
The hours tick off, people start to go home. And a little bit past midnight, Abel comes.
We both stand up, Rosie wringing her hands as she waits to see what he’s got to say.
Abel takes off his hat before he speaks to her. “Rosie, we’re all going home now and we’ll pick it up when it gets light out.”
“No!” She stays this emphatically. “If you guys go home, I’ll go looking.”
Abel shakes his head. “He’s not here, Rosie. We’ve been through the whole town. We’ve searched every house, we’ve been up in the woods. Whoever took him took him away.”
She’s about to lay in to him, but I step in front of her. “Thanks, Abel. Collin will probably keep our guys stationed around town just in case, if that’s all right.”
Probably, normally, this would not be all right. But Abel’s in no position to argue. So he just nods at me and looks to Rosie. “I’ll be here at first light. We’ll call in the Feds, we’ll do whatever it takes, Rosie. I promise.”
There will be no Feds. Edge Security is gonna handle this. But none of us are in any mood to hammer out specifics, so I let it go and Abel turns and walks back the way he came.
“Come on. We should go inside and get some rest too.” I take Rosie’s hand, but she shakes me off.
“No, Amon. I’m staying right here on this porch. I’m not going inside and sleeping. Not while my son is missing.” She’s not looking at me when she says this. And there’s a moment of silence after she finishes. But then I hear her whisper, “Erol. This is Erol.” She turns to me now, eyes wide and red. “He took him. He came here to take him and he’s done. And he’s gonna get away with it, too. Because he knows how to disappear. He’s done it before. How hard could it be? I’m never gonna see my son again, Amon. Never.”
She and I stare at each other for a few moments. And I want to tell her that it’s not Erol. Because Erol is dead.
But I know better than most that dead men don’t always stay that way. Not because of anything supernatural, but because there are really two levels to this world we live in.
Two totally different realities. There are people who live in this one, the one we’re in. The one that has rules and regulations. The one that has congressional hearings. The one that has consequences.
And then there’s the world underneath. The black one. The secret one. The one run by men like Charlie Beaufort and filled with others like Collin Creed.
And me.
I lived in that other world for nearly a decade before it came apart at the seams, so I know it’s there. And I know that when a man goes missing and comes back dead when you run a background check a dozen years later, it’s just paperwork.
That’s all it is. Just paperwork.
I spend the night sittin’ on the porch steps, leaning my head against the railing as Rosie sits in the glider behind me. She stays up for a good while, but when I look over my shoulder around four a.m., I find her slumped over and sleeping.
Erol is not dead. This has to be him. What other reason could there be to take this boy?
I stand up, debate with myself on the pros and cons of trying to rouse Rosie and get her up to bed, and decide to let her be. She’s exhausted, scared, and sad. The last thing she needs is for me to interrupt her sleep.