Page 137 of Weight of Guilt

Someone had fed Mason here. He had no doubt about it now.

Nash motioned for Wren to stay close as they moved toward the hallway.

Two doors stood open.

The first led to a bathroom.

The second was an empty bedroom with a bare mattress propped against one wall.

No Mason.

Nash reached the stairs and paused, listening.

Nothing.

Then he heard a faint thump.

Wren heard the sound and grabbed Nash’s arm. She pointed toward the back of the house.

Another sound came.

Not upstairs but down the hall.

A third door stood at the end of the hallway.

They rushed toward it. Something scraped on the other side.

Before Nash could stop her, Wren jerked open the door. It was a small closet, dark inside.

“Mom?” a small voice said.

Wren gasped. “Mason!”

Mason was curled in the corner inside, his knees pulled against his chest.

For a second, he only stared.

Then he scrambled to his feet. “Mom!”

Wren dropped to her knees and caught him. Tears poured down her cheeks as she held him.

It was Mason. He was okay!

His arms locked around her neck, and she buried her face against his hair, breathing in his little boy scent.

“I knew you’d find me.” His voice broke against her shoulder.

Wren held him tighter. “I’ll always find you.”

Mason was warm. Alive. Here.

Thank You, Jesus!

She pulled back just enough to study his face. “Are you hurt?”

He shook his head. “No, I just missed you.”

Wren gathered him against her again.