long-sleeved T-shirt, and Nike sneakers. If anyone has any information, please call the number on the screen. Police, at this time, are not ruling out an abduction, so please be on the lookout.''
Tuning out the rest of the news report, I focused on the little boy's mother. She looked to be living her worst nightmare.
I stood there a minute, watching her. The numb way she moved, the emotionless way she spoke. Fear radiated from her every breath.
I simply couldn't imagine what it would be like to lose my child. And in such a way, too. Not knowing whether the man you loved was responsible, or if a stranger took the boy, or if he'd simply wandered away.
But most of all, not knowing if you'd get him back.
My heart broke for her.
I thought about the boy's father being questioned by the authorities. Was he innocent? If so, what kind of hell was he going through right now? To have everyone in New England thinking you were a child killer? What would he see when he looked into his wife's eyes? Would there be doubt? Or would there be trust? Trust that he'd never hurt the child they'd created together?
Yet if he was guilty . . .
I shivered. Slipping on my mittens, I looked around at all the volunteers. Frustration and depression settled around me like a thick fog. With my talent, I should be able to do more than look under bushes or serve a Styrofoam cup of coffee. I should be able to touch Katherine O'Brien's hand and find her son. To bring him back to her, one way or another.
Why else have a gift like mine? I just didn't understand it.
My fingers cramped from being balled into fists, and I flexed them inside my mittens. There was no point in dwelling on what I couldn't do.
Instead of standing around being as useless as I felt, I worked my way into a crowd waiting for the next bus leading into the park. I climbed on and sat down next to the window.
Just as the bus pulled away, Katherine O'Brien looked up. She couldn't see me in the darkness, yet I felt as though she were looking into my soul. And I made the silent promise that I'd do my best to bring her little boy back to her.
I just couldn't help feeling that my best wasn't good enough.
My house was dark when I arrived home. It was well after 3:00 A.M.
Sheer exhaustion, both physical and emotional, had me dropping onto the couch soon after I closed my front door.
No sooner had I sat than Grendel pounced on my lap, pawed at the zipper on my coat. I switched on a lamp, happy to see that Dovie had cleaned up after her impromptu dinner party.
And I was very happy that Butch hadn't been invited to sleep over. I wouldn't put it past my grandmother.
Trying not to disturb a kneading Grendel, I slipped off my coat and my shoes. Pulling my legs under me, I curled up, scratching Grendel's ears. He purred happily.
There had been no progress in the search for little Max O'Brien. No evidence, no leads. No nothing. The FBI hadn't been called in yet because there was no proof that he'd been kidnapped. It seemed as though the case was at a standstill.
Most of the local volunteers had cleared out around 1:00 A.M. I'd stayed longer, tramping through the woods with a borrowed flashlight, calling Max's name until I'd lost my voice.
When I left, I noticed that Katherine O'Brien was still wearing that faraway look in her eyes.
I rested my head against the sofa cushion. In a perfect world, I'd wake up in the morning and the TV would announce that Max had been found safe and sound and was back in the loving arms of his parents.
But I knew all too well that this wasn't a perfect world. More than likely, searchers would be out in the woods again the next day, looking for the Little Boy Lost.
A noise from my bedroom had me bolting upright. Grendel rrreowed in protest but clung to me. He was such a scaredy-cat.
I heard the squeaking sound again and wondered what in the world could be making such a noise. It wasn't menacing in nature—more mechanical than anything.
Rising, I tried to
Tuning out the rest of the news report, I focused on the little boy's mother. She looked to be living her worst nightmare.
I stood there a minute, watching her. The numb way she moved, the emotionless way she spoke. Fear radiated from her every breath.
I simply couldn't imagine what it would be like to lose my child. And in such a way, too. Not knowing whether the man you loved was responsible, or if a stranger took the boy, or if he'd simply wandered away.
But most of all, not knowing if you'd get him back.
My heart broke for her.
I thought about the boy's father being questioned by the authorities. Was he innocent? If so, what kind of hell was he going through right now? To have everyone in New England thinking you were a child killer? What would he see when he looked into his wife's eyes? Would there be doubt? Or would there be trust? Trust that he'd never hurt the child they'd created together?
Yet if he was guilty . . .
I shivered. Slipping on my mittens, I looked around at all the volunteers. Frustration and depression settled around me like a thick fog. With my talent, I should be able to do more than look under bushes or serve a Styrofoam cup of coffee. I should be able to touch Katherine O'Brien's hand and find her son. To bring him back to her, one way or another.
Why else have a gift like mine? I just didn't understand it.
My fingers cramped from being balled into fists, and I flexed them inside my mittens. There was no point in dwelling on what I couldn't do.
Instead of standing around being as useless as I felt, I worked my way into a crowd waiting for the next bus leading into the park. I climbed on and sat down next to the window.
Just as the bus pulled away, Katherine O'Brien looked up. She couldn't see me in the darkness, yet I felt as though she were looking into my soul. And I made the silent promise that I'd do my best to bring her little boy back to her.
I just couldn't help feeling that my best wasn't good enough.
My house was dark when I arrived home. It was well after 3:00 A.M.
Sheer exhaustion, both physical and emotional, had me dropping onto the couch soon after I closed my front door.
No sooner had I sat than Grendel pounced on my lap, pawed at the zipper on my coat. I switched on a lamp, happy to see that Dovie had cleaned up after her impromptu dinner party.
And I was very happy that Butch hadn't been invited to sleep over. I wouldn't put it past my grandmother.
Trying not to disturb a kneading Grendel, I slipped off my coat and my shoes. Pulling my legs under me, I curled up, scratching Grendel's ears. He purred happily.
There had been no progress in the search for little Max O'Brien. No evidence, no leads. No nothing. The FBI hadn't been called in yet because there was no proof that he'd been kidnapped. It seemed as though the case was at a standstill.
Most of the local volunteers had cleared out around 1:00 A.M. I'd stayed longer, tramping through the woods with a borrowed flashlight, calling Max's name until I'd lost my voice.
When I left, I noticed that Katherine O'Brien was still wearing that faraway look in her eyes.
I rested my head against the sofa cushion. In a perfect world, I'd wake up in the morning and the TV would announce that Max had been found safe and sound and was back in the loving arms of his parents.
But I knew all too well that this wasn't a perfect world. More than likely, searchers would be out in the woods again the next day, looking for the Little Boy Lost.
A noise from my bedroom had me bolting upright. Grendel rrreowed in protest but clung to me. He was such a scaredy-cat.
I heard the squeaking sound again and wondered what in the world could be making such a noise. It wasn't menacing in nature—more mechanical than anything.
Rising, I tried to
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