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“Honey, what is it? Why are you calling at this hour?” Sleepiness, alarm, and concern mingled in Trudy’s simple questions.
I glanced at the clock on the dresser. Its blue light and blocky numbers informed me that it was a little after three a.m. I’d lain in bed for at least the last four hours, tossing and turning, knowing that if I didn’t get some rest, how would I have the energy to continue the search for Marc?
“I’m sorry, Mom. I just couldn’t sleep. I’m so worried. And guess what? You’re the person I always turn to when life is really good to me and when it’s really bad. You always listen as if I’m the most important person on earth.”
“That’s ‘cause you are. Now, I’m assuming, because of the late hour, that nothing ‘really good’ has happened. Tell me right now what’s going on.” As she spoke, the pitch and timbre of her voice woke up, becoming more alert and more worried.
“Marc is missing.” Saying the words out loud gave this conversation, appropriately, a dream’s surrealism. If only…
“What do you mean?”
“He’s gone.” A lump formed in my throat and a couple of tears ran down my cheeks. I told her about my day, leaving out the part about seeing Jeb again because it would have been simply too much all at once. “When I got home, he was just gone.”
“You say it’s been about twelve hours? Is it like on TV? You need to wait twenty-four hours before making a missing persons report?”
I had left out a crucial detail. I blew out a terrified breath and told her, “I called them. They came over earlier and I gave them a report.”
“I’m surprised, but glad to hear that. I have to ask: why did they bother so soon? I mean, Marc’s a grown man. He hasn’t been gone all that long. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Should I tell her about seeing Jeb again today? This imposter had to have something to do with Marc. I knew it in my bones.
“There is.” I drew in a breath and plunged in. “There was a bloody handprint on the front doorframe. That’s why the cops are taking this a little more seriously, although not as seriously as I’d like.” The world collapsed around me for the umpteenth time in the past half-day and I began to sob. The fact Mom was listening made it worse. I let it all out—the terror, the loss, the worry—and choked out my grief for a good couple of minutes. At last, I pulled myself relatively together.
“Sweetie,” she said and paused. In one word, I heard her agitation, her worry. “I need to come out there. I’m going to be beside myself if I don’t.”
I was about to protest, because that’s me. But the little boy still living within me piped up in my head to cut me off. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
“Okay. Listen, I’m going to let you go, okay? And I’m gonna get on the computer right now and look into flights.”
“I can help you with the cost.” Mom barely made ends meet. I couldn’t imagine how expensive a last-minute flight like this would be. Maybe she could get on the phone and find that rare bird—a live customer service representative who actually cared—and get a break in the price. It would be like a bereavement fare. And I immediately banished that thought for fear of cursing myself—and Marc.
“Don’t worry about that right now. I’ll call you back when I have something booked.”
“I’ll pick you up. O’Hare or Midway, doesn’t matter.”
She sighed. “Listen, you got enough on your plate right now. Just let your old mama worry about it all. I’ll be there to help before you know it.”
Her kind words were about to ignite another crying jag. “Okay,” I said, a little breathless. “Hurry.”
“I will. See you soon, son.”
She hung up.
I turned to stare out the window. The darkness seemed to have a presence as it pressed against the glass. Like a monster…
Chapter 7
Now—Trudy
I
The Pittsburgh International Airport was nice enough, Trudy supposed. It had a franchise of one of her Pittsburgh restaurants, Primanti Brothers, which served the most amazing sandwiches she’d ever encountered.
But she wasn’t hungry.
No, she was terrified.
Terrified for Sam and what might be happening to him, the danger he was in.
