Page 29 of Into the Dark, We Go

"We’re gonna pair up," Mitch continued. "Two teams of two. You’re responsible for your partner’s back, and they’ve got yours. Nobody gets left behind and nobody’s left standing around with nothing to do."

That’s how I became June’s buddy.

"Why can’t I beyourbuddy?" June complained to her brother.

"Because you and Nell are rooming together," Mitch explained with extreme patience. "I want you two to be glued at the hip. Whether you’re grabbing a soda or taking a walk, you go together. Nick and I will do the same. We’ll swap partners if needed, but nobody goes solo. Period."

"Even to the bathroom?" June muttered, but Mitchell had already moved on.

"It’s about staying safe, staying alert, and keeping each other in the loop if things go sideways. You got that?"

June leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest and let out an exaggerated sigh, a perfect picture of teenage discontent.

"Okay, everyone dismissed. I mean, that’s it. Any questions?" Mitchell concluded, spreading his hands.

Nick shot me a quick look, but I chose to ignore it. Perhaps Mitch was laying it on a bit thick with the military jargon, but everything he said made sense to me. Plus, he was the only one with tactical and combat experience, so I wasn’t overly concerned about his presentation style. In fact, it was a little thrilling, like we were part of an interactive game where we played as soldiers on a mission.

The next stepwas emotionally daunting, at least for me. With only one lead to pursue, we decided to act quickly and visit Lucas’s parents, not wanting to waste any time.

After some pouting on June’s part, it was decided that Mitchell and I would meet with the Whitmans alone, acting as advocates for Lucas and Amanda, while June and Nick explored downtown to gather whatever insights they could.

"You keep a close eye on her," Mitch told Nick. He’d pulled him to one side, a slither of space gasping between their chests. His expression said,If anything happens to her, you’ll answer to me.

Despite Mitch’s concern, I wasn’t worried for them. Nick’s intimidating height, combined with June’s graphic Hellraiser T-shirt and unfriendly face, made them a formidable pair few would dare approach.

10

Chapter Ten

September, 2020

To my embarrassment,I got nervous at the last minute, and it showed: I couldn’t stop fidgeting, my hands trembled, and I kept dropping things. Then again, I started to make that something of a habit.

"What if they secretly think I had something to do with their son’s disappearance?" I asked Mitch when we were together in the car.

Mitchell looked at me, puzzled. "Why would they blame you?"

"Isn’t that what people usually do? Look to place blame?"

"It’s going to be okay, Foster. Deep breaths."

I saved their address after Lucas asked me to mail something to them one time—a birthday card, or anniversary note I’d encouraged him to gift, trying to get on their good side before we officially met.

Now, as I nearly fell out of the car, my only hope was that they hadn’t moved.

The old Farmhouse-stylehome had been lovingly restored, its classic lines refreshed by a recent makeover. Lucas mentioned that his parents had lived there since they got married. His father renovated the house himself, pouring his heart and soul into it. The scent of fresh-cut grass wafted through the air, the lawn perfectly manicured. On the porch, with its newly painted railings, an old-fashioned radio softly sang Willie Nelson tunes. We seemed to have slipped through the decades, landing squarely in the past.

Lucas’s father was sitting on the wooden stairs, carving a bird-shaped figurine from a piece of basswood, the shavings curling softly at his feet. He looked the same, albeit more faded than when I last saw him at the Minneapolis police station. His face had grown even thinner, accentuating the defined angles of his bone structure, with more lines and wrinkles etched into his skin.

Mr. Whitman’s movements were precise and straightforward, the knife in his hand fluttering around the wood like a butterfly over a flower. When he noticed us, he set the tools down and stood up. His height, the same as Lucas’s, made him appear younger. When he had been sitting on the porch, I’d mistaken him for a scrawny man in his sixties. But now, standing, he appeared tall, with good posture and a strong frame.

"What can I do for ya?" he said in a low, rumbling baritone.

"Mister Whitman, I’m not sure if you remember me. We met in Minneapolis," I began, hoping to jog his memory. "I’m Lucas’s girlfriend."

"Oh yes, Natalie, was it?" the old man said, adjusting his eyeglasses.

"Nellie," I corrected, unoffended. "And this is my friend, Mitchell."