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Michael clenched his jaw. His hands gripped the phone so tightly that he worried the case would snap.
Then another photo appeared. Hannah on the front steps of Southgate Elementary, James bouncing along beside her, his backpack hanging askew.
Michael felt his heart give a jerk. He made a sound before he could stop himself. His fingers wouldn’t type, but his voice wasn’t broken.
“You leave them alone!” he yelled, shouting at the trees, at the distance, at the very air. The earth rumbled and split, forming a crack that led from his feet to the fence around the drainage pond. “You hear me? You leave them alone!”
The phone vibrated.
You meet me, and I’ll leave them alone.
Michael couldn’t catch his breath. He stared out at the trees, then back at the series of photos.
Then back at the trees.
Nothing.
Sweat had collected on his neck. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. He wasn’t cold now.
He forced his fingers to work.
Fine. Where?
Another text, this time a link to the web page of a little bar and grill on the outskirts of town.
7 p.m. I’ll be in the bar.
Eventually, Michael couldn’t take the quiet stillness. Seven o’clock was almost half a day away, and he had to do something.
So he walked. Not far, just a short walk along the fence blocking the drainage ditch. At first, he’d been ready for a chastising text. A warning, a threat, something.
Nothing.
As his brothers slept and no danger presented itself, Michael gained confidence. That picture of him on the patio had to have been taken from the woods, and even if no one remained, he should at least be able to seek information from the ground.
If nothing else, the movement would do him good.
But the woods didn’t offer any answers, and they didn’t offer enough space to walk and think, either. The dense trees barely covered half an acre before giving way to Ritchie Highway; they were more to give the illusion of nature than any real attempt to preserve the land. The air was still brisk, reminding him that he didn’t have a sweatshirt, keeping his steps quick.
Every time his bare feet touched the earth, he asked for information.
Was someone here? Did someone cross this path?
Is someone here now?
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
He checked his phone a few times, examining the picture of himself, aiming his own phone at the now-empty patio. The photo was grainy—no surprise since it had been taken from a pretty good distance. He could estimate the angle, but now that he was out here using his own phone to try to recreate it, he realized that the picture hadn’t been taken from the ground.
It had to have been taken from high up in a tree.
All of a sudden, Michael felt too exposed.
He cast his gaze up, searching the branches overhead. He put his hand against the trunk of the nearest tree, and as always, he could almost feel the tree leaning back into him.
