Page 75 of The Sound of Him

As I watch him from my hiding spot, I take it all in - his little dances, the way his face pinches when he concentrates, the ridiculously high register his voice can reach if he gets into a song enough. I soak up his joy, his sunshine brightness, thewarmth that’s wrapped itself around me. He feels too safe to be like Travis and Jake.

If I’m wrong, I don’t want to know. I never want to know.

Maybe even more than that, though?

I hope whatever he has going on, whatever is wrong or making him tired, that he ends up okay. He deserves that. Even if only because of how okay - howsafe- he’s managed to make me feel, he deserves that.

That same deservingness is why I force my brain out of the happy fog the music and safety had coaxed it into, at least long enough to write a shaky,THANK YOUon a page in my notebook. I tear it out carefully, quietly, and fold it until it fits neatly in the palm of my hand.

I hold it for a while, careful not to wrinkle it or let it get sweaty. The good feelings of being here are making it harder to fight my exhaustion, but it’s so nice, too nice to leave. At least until my eyes can’t stay open any longer and I feel my head bobbing just like Ace’s.

When I jerk awake at the opening chords of a song I don’t recognize, I decide it’s time to head to my room for some sleep. It’s for the best, even if the urge to never leave this spot ever again is begging me to stay.

I wait until he’s leaning forward, his face doing that funny little pinched thing again as he concentrates hard on something on his screen. Then I carefully slip out of my spot, move across the couch, and head toward the door. I sneak the note onto the corner edge of his desk as I pass it. He doesn’t look my way, either not noticing me or not wanting to draw attention to me. Either way, it means I escape without the need for explanation or a goodbye.

Nolan is half-awake when I sneak into the bedroom. He lifts his head off the pillow like it weighs a ton and asks, “Where were you? Was worried.”

It’s too dark to really answer him, even if I wanted to.

I don’t think I want to.

It’s not that I don’t trust Nolan or anything, but the idea of sharing my hiding place with anyone but Ace feels wrong. It makes me feel a little panicky, actually.The more people that know about it, the less safe it is, right?It’s nothing againstNolan. It’s just logic.

To make up for how guilty I feel about the secret anyway I dump my notebook and pen on my bed before climbing in beside Nolan with my bunny tucked to my chest. He wraps his arms around me and sighs. It sounds sleepy, but also maybe relieved. I try not to feel too guilty about the idea of him having been worrying about me.He had been asleep when I first left to go to Ace’s office, but maybe I should have left a note anyway?

Except leaving a note would mean I would need to explain where I was, which just brings me right back to the whole issue of wanting my hiding spot to be a secret.

I just mirror him, wrapping my arms around his back and holding him close, and give him a little squeeze. He relaxes at that. I relax too.

I fall asleep wondering if Ace is going to get any sleep of his own tonight.

I hope he does.

Chapter Twelve

Ace

My system finds Elliot’s identity just after dawn.

He was taken walking home from school, old enough not to have to take the bus anymore. He had been excited about that. His mom had been nervous. His dad had laughed it off, telling her she was being a worrywart.

His best friend lived on the same street. They always walked together. It was part of the deal the two sets of parents made. Except, his best friend had stayed home that day. His spring allergies were kicking his ass. His mom told Elliot’s mom, but Elliot’s mom thought there’d be no harm in Elliot walking home alone just that once.

Just that once was once too many.

He’s a cute kid. He smiles a lot, this big grin that takes up half his damn face.

I have his identity. That's all I need. I just have to get a picture to Carter, get it confirmed that he’s the right Elliot, and then move on to finding who owns him now.

There’s no reason for me to keep looking at pictures of him. The main picture submitted when he went missing is more than enough. I don’t need to go to the social media page set up for the sole purpose of finding him. I don’t need to read the posts his mom has written. Or the ones from his dad. His aunts. His uncle. A grandma. His older sister. His older sister’s boyfriend. His teacher. His friends’ parents. The town’s chief of police giving an update.

I don’t need to read about the prayer circle at the church. Or the crowdfunding link for the private investigator they want to hire.

I don’t need to be clicking through picture after picture of that smiling face.

Elliot in a baseball uniform. Elliot on his first day of junior high with two of his friends, all of them making goofy faces at the camera. Elliot in a lopsided bowtie next to a girl in a bubblegum pink dress, ready to go to his first dance. Elliot with his baby cousin in his arms, both of them with a face full of popsicle syrup. Elliot at the school fundraiser in a blue class shirt that matches all the other kids in the background.

Elliot, Elliot, Elliot - always smiling.