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Annie had one of the worst sleeps of her life, woke up for good at five, and shortly before six decided to jump out of bed

and get moving.

Before heading downstairs, she showered, dressed, and packed up her clothes. Filled the two suitcases she’d brought for herself,

gathered up all her items in the bathroom. Stripped the sheets from the bed, tucking them into a pillowcase, and threw the

cover back on. Candace could put on a fresh set when she rented this place out to someone else—if she even did.

Then she entered the studio. Her work area had been set up by Finnegan before her arrival, so much of what was here duplicated

what she had at home. And yet, it seemed wrong to leave everything here. What were the odds Candace would find another artist/illustrator

to take the place? And wasn’t it borderline disrespectful to Finnegan to let all this stuff be pitched? She would have to

think about this. There were some empty grocery bags in the kitchen to pack up some brushes and paints and whatnot.

She had a moment’s hesitation about taking home the illustrations of her latest creation, as well as the six-inch tall figure

she’d made of it. In the last couple of days, she had put the finishing touches to it. Detailed the trench coat, perfected

the hairy, claw-like paws or hands extending from the sleeves and pant legs. Worked on those menacing eyes, the sharp teeth.

If anyone had asked her the day before whether she would take this work home with her, she wouldn’t have hesitated.

But this morning, the memory of what she’d seen in that studio portrait haunted her. And not because she was seeing it for

the first time, but because it reinforced what she had seen before. Years ago, when she was a child, and then again, years

later, since coming to this house. Why was this Penn Station rat-wolf eating its way into her brain? Was it something intrinsic

to this house? Did it have something to do with the trains? And would packing this representation she’d made of it be like

taking home a memento of a nightmare?

She concluded, finally, that leaving it behind wouldn’t erase it from her memory. She’d made it with her own hands, for Christ’s

sake. It was a part of her . To toss it was to admit her fear of it. Well, fuck that.

She would pack it.

Despite wanting to leave early, she wasn’t going to wake Charlie at this hour. His door was closed, and she would let him

sleep. Stealthily, she brought her two suitcases down the stairs and set them inside the front door. In the kitchen she found

some bags that would hold everything she wanted to bring home from the studio.

But first she decided to prepare some food for the trip. She took the bag of bagels Finnegan had brought. She was thinking

he’d brought an entire dozen, but there were only six. Still, plenty for the trip home. She put just butter on three, and

cream cheese on the other three. She would have put peanut butter on at least one of them, but she couldn’t find it in the

cupboard. She put the bagels into the small cooler Finnegan had brought, along with an ice pack, mainly for the ones slathered

with cream cheese. There were several different bottled beverages in the fridge that she’d add just before they left.

Back to the studio she went with several bags. She packed up everything she wanted to keep, and took extra care with the figure, wrapping it in some paper before placing it in a Bloomingdale’s canvas tote with the words medium brown bag printed on the side.

She cast her eye on the train layout on the floor.

“Goodbye,” she said.

And she could have sworn, for a split second, the headlight on the engine flicked on and off. She stared at it for several

seconds, willing it to flash once more, but it did not. She was leaving everything there as it was. She was not going downstairs

for that Tide box and packing it up. Let Candace do it.

She went back down to the front hall, grabbed her car remote, went outside, and hit the button to open the tailgate. She put

everything in. The only stuff left to pack was what was in Charlie’s room.

He had asked about taking the bicycle home, a question she had dodged. She didn’t want to take it, didn’t want him riding

around the streets of New York. And even if she were to change her mind, she would want to get him a better bike.

All of which was moot if she couldn’t fit it into the back of the car with the rest of their stuff. To gauge its size, Annie

walked over to the side of the porch where Charlie’d been parking the bike.

It was not there.

That gave Annie a brief start, but then she remembered that when the police were here, she’d instructed Charlie to ride it

out back of the house. So she rounded the corner, walked down the side, then into the backyard.

The bike was nowhere to be seen.

Annie had a bad feeling.

It could have been stolen, of course. Not as likely here as in New York, but possible. Someone driving by could have seen

the bike up by the porch, run up, and taken it. Except it would have been after dark, and the bike would have been hard to

see from the road, and who would want a shit bike like that anyway?

Annie ran back around to the front and into the house, no longer making any effort to be quiet. She bounded up the stairs and pushed open the door to Charlie’s room.

The bed was empty.

“Charlie!” Annie shouted loud enough, she believed, to be heard back in New York.

No answer.

Maybe he was in the basement. Why, she couldn’t imagine, but if he was, he might not have heard her calling for him. Seconds

later, she was down there, shouting his name every few seconds.

Had he gone sleepwalking again? Had he taken the bike, pedaling madly in a trance-like state?

She ran back out front. If he’d gone the same route as last time, he could be at the defunct railroad crossing. She got in

her car, fired it up, and, kicking up gravel, sped down to the road and hung a left. She tromped down on the gas and was at

the crossing within a couple of minutes, but there was no sign of Charlie, or his bike.

Daniel.

Would Charlie have gone over there to talk to Daniel or Dolores? Craving another slice of peach pie? It seemed unlikely, but

he had to be somewhere . She did a wild three-point turn and sped back, this time turning into Daniel’s place instead of hers, hitting the brakes

so hard the SUV did a short skid.

Daniel, evidently an early riser, was at the door before Annie reached it.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Have you seen Charlie?” she asked breathlessly.

“Charlie?”

“He’s gone. His bike, too.”

Daniel shook his head. “No. You been up the road?”

She nodded.

“Both ways?”

Annie blinked. “No.”

“Maybe he went to Fenelon,” Daniel said.

That would be a long bike ride, Annie thought, but Charlie had to have gone someplace, and Fenelon made as much sense as anything

else.

“Would you do me a favor?” she asked. Daniel waited. “Will you go to the house, in case he comes back? I’m gonna go up the

road a few miles.”

He nodded.

Annie ran back to her car—she’d left the engine running—and took off in the other direction.

She’d driven nearly three miles when she pulled over to the side of the road. How far could Charlie have cycled, realistically?

If, in fact, that was what he’d done? Just because the bike was gone didn’t mean Charlie had ridden it. Someone could have

grabbed the bike independently of Charlie embarking on another sleepwalking adventure. Or Charlie could have sneaked out of

the house and gone on a midnight ride, and—

Oh Jesus.

He could have been hit by a car. Some drunk driver could have strayed onto the shoulder. A careless driver could have been

looking at his phone. Annie might already have driven past him. Charlie and the bike could be in a ditch.

She got out her phone and called 911 for the third time this week.

“Do you have any idea when he might have left?”

Officer Standish, once again. Asking questions, and Annie at a loss to answer them.

“I don’t know,” she said, standing out front of the house. “I didn’t hear a thing. His door was closed when I got up around

six.”

“And you don’t think he went sleepwalking this time.”

“I just don’t know. Could he do that on a bike?”

“I am aware of incidences of people doing complex tasks while in that state,” Standish said. “People have prepared meals,

eaten, even driven cars while in a sleepwalking state.”

“Oh God.” Annie put a fist to her lip, pressed. “Someone could have... not paying attention...”

“We’ve got police going up and down the road, walking it, looking on both sides, in case something like that happened. Your

neighbor Daniel? He’s out with them, helping. So far, nothing.” She paused, then asked, “Could this have anything to do with

what happened to Mr. Sproule?”

Annie said, “How?”

“Only hours after Mr. Sproule’s death, your son is missing. That’s a lot to happen in less than twenty-four hours.”

“I don’t understand... how could they be connected? I mean, yes, Charlie was the first to find him, but...”

“Was he pretty upset about that?”

“Of course he was upset! Who wouldn’t be upset?” But even as she said the words, Annie thought back to the night before when

she was having her heart-to-heart with Charlie, and how he was less traumatized by what had happened than she might have expected.

But that didn’t have to mean anything.

“Upset enough that he’d feel he needed to get away?” Standish asked.

“I don’t know,” Annie snapped, growing exasperated. “He’s not here . Can’t we just focus on finding him? Does it matter why he left? Does it matter whether he was sleepwalking or freaked out by what happened to Fin? Shouldn’t

we just find him?”

“You seem very upset,” Standish said, keeping her voice even.

“For fuck’s sake, you think?” Annie shot back.

“Maybe we should go in and sit down, take a minute.” She put a hand on Annie’s shoulder, getting ready to guide her into the house.

“We’re wasting time, standing here,” Annie said, pushing Standish’s hand away and heading for her car.

“No, Ms. Blunt, I’d like you to stay here. I have more questions.”

“About what?”

“Well, frankly, I’d like to ask you a few questions about your state of mind.”

“I’m sorry, what? I’m fucking scared to death, that’s my fucking state of mind.”

“And I totally understand that, I do. But right now we’ve got lots of people looking, and if we could talk through a few things,

that would help. Please. Could we take a seat?”

Standish tipped her head toward the porch. With some reluctance, Annie agreed to walk away from her car and sit down on one

of the porch chairs. Standish took the next closest one to her.

“I understand this has been a very difficult year for you,” the officer said.

“Christ,” Annie said. “First Daniel, and now you. Everyone’s googling me. I’m starting to feel like I’m trending .”

“You lost your husband, and before that, all that controversy about the boy who thought he could fly.”

Annie bit her lip and look away. “I don’t need reminding.”

“And now your son’s missing not even a full twenty-four hours after this man, Mr. Sproule, died in your house.”

“Make your point.”

Standish hesitated before making it. “There has been an inordinate amount of trouble for people in your orbit.”

Annie slowly turned her head and narrowed her eyes. “Are you saying that I’m somehow responsible?”

“It’s an observation. Not necessarily responsible, but somehow at the center of things.”

“I didn’t know that boy. Evan Corcoran. I’d never met him. But, believe me, even though that book sold hundreds of thousands

of copies, and there were no other similar incidents, his death weighs on me every day, and no matter what anyone says, I

feel responsible. So, yeah, that one’s on me, I suppose. He was in my orbit, as you say. And John? That was a hit-and-run.

He walked out into the street looking at his phone and some son of a bitch ran him down. So, another one in my fucking solar

system.”

Standish pursed her lips thoughtfully. “As I said, it was an observation. And a sympathetic one, whether you choose to believe

that. The stress, the grief, it must be incalculable.”

Annie said nothing.

“Are you under any kind of care?” Standish asked.

“Am I what?”

“A counselor? A therapist? A psychiatrist?”

Annie slowly rose out of the chair. “Get out,” she said.

Standish remained seated. “Please, Ms. Blunt, I mean no offense. I’m simply—”

“Get out!” Annie said again, and this time Standish stood. “Is this how they do things here? When your son goes missing they

accuse you of having something to do with it?”

“I’ve made no such accusation.”

“Well, there’s a fuck-ton of insinuation in the air.”

“We’re going to go through the house now,” Standish said matter-of-factly.

“What? I’ve been through the house. Charlie’s not here! I’ve looked. His bike is gone! Why are you—”

Standish raised a hand. “You’ll stay out here while we take a look.” She waved one of the other officers over, directed him with her thumb to head inside.

“You have no right to—”

“I’m not asking.”

With that, Standish turned and followed the other officer into the house, leaving Annie standing there, shell-shocked.

It was the longest day.

Police from neighboring counties came in to join the hunt, which was expanded from roadways to nearby forests. Once the police

were done with searching the house—Annie could only assume they believed she’d killed her own son and were looking for, if

not his actual body, some evidence he’d died on the premises—they allowed her to come back inside.

Standish insisted she stay on the property and allow others to conduct the search. At one point, a van with action news emblazoned on the side was parked down at the end of the driveway. From the porch, Annie could see Standish being interviewed

by a young woman with big hair who was accompanied by a cameraman. When the reporter failed to come up to the house to get

a quote from her, Annie could only assume Standish had not permitted it. Didn’t want the media interviewing their prime suspect,

Annie guessed.

Okay, sure , there had been a lot of shit happening in her fucking orbit , Annie conceded. But this—this was just lazy police work. Without any evidence, they were zeroing in on her because it was

convenient . And whatever energy they were focusing on her wasn’t being directed toward finding Charlie.

Oh, John, I wish you were here.

By late afternoon, as the search continued, Annie began to feel faint and realized she’d eaten nothing all day. For reasons of pure survival, she went into the kitchen and ate one of the bagels she’d put in the cooler. That, and a coffee, gave her some strength, but to do what? She wanted to be out looking for Charlie, too, but what area would she search that hadn’t already been combed over by the police?

She had to think about this in a different way. The question wasn’t where Charlie was. The question really was: Why had he

left? Maybe Standish was right. Charlie’s motive for leaving was critical.

If she believed Charlie was still alive—and she simply had to—and that he had not been abducted but left on his own accord, where would he go?

Back to the city? He might want to, but on a bicycle? It was hundreds of miles, and he’d be spotted somewhere along the way.

A kid that little, pedaling on an interstate highway?

If not the city, then—

“Ms. Blunt?”

She put down her bagel and turned to find Standish in her kitchen. There was nothing in the officer’s expression that suggested

good news.

“We’re scaling back the search, for the moment,” she said, “but that doesn’t mean we’re done. We’re short of people. We’re

in the process of bringing in more teams. We have someone coming with tracking dogs. There are still going to be some people

on this tonight. We’re bringing in a plane first thing in the morning that can pick up heat signals, so if Charlie is lost

in the woods somewhere, we have a good chance of finding him that way, provided he’s... We could find him that way. I want

you to know we’re not giving up. We’re throwing everything we have at this tomorrow. Plus, we’ve got media coverage. A lot

of people, just regular folks, are going to be checking their own property to see whether Charlie might be there.”

Annie said, “Okay.”

“And you have my card. You can call me. Doesn’t matter when.”

Annie said nothing.

Standish started walking backward from the room. “So, tomorrow, then.”

And then she was gone.

A moment later, Annie walked out to the porch and watched the various police and other emergency vehicles depart. Feeling

weak, she settled into a chair until the last of them was gone.

It was suddenly very quiet.

Annie bowed her head and began to weep. She was long overdue for a meltdown. She owed herself one. She cried and cried and

cried.

“Oh, Charlie,” she said under her breath. “Charlie, Charlie, Charlie, where the fuck have you gone?”

She cried some more. And then she heard something over the sound of her own weeping. Something from inside the house.

Chuffchuffchuffchuffchuffchuffchuff ...