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My fists clench. If The Goat wasn’t deceased, I’d figure out a way to end him.
Lost in thought, we enter the long corridor, and my partner points to a lens above a bright window. “There’s our only inside view.”
As I picture my beautiful sonfighting to break free, we reach a ‘T’ in the hall, and Suds squats. “The camera loses them here.”
While he touchesa drop of blood on the floor, I jiggle the handle on a door marked NO ENTRANCE. Frustrated it’s locked, I tap my partner on the shoulder.
“When I was a studenthere, Mr. Grigio always mopped floors on Thursdays. If the new janitor does the same, Mikey may have escaped to the basement.”
A few calls later, we descend the stairs.
“There.” Shaking, I point out specs of glitter and Suds shoots me a tight smile.
“Don’t get your hopes up. Thesparkly shit flies everywhere.” He squeezes my hand and at the bottom, switches on one naked bulb.
“Mikey?” His flashlight app illuminates the tops of hundreds of boxes and crates.
“Michael Sebastian Sutcliff. Are you down here? Come out, it’s safe now.” Even my well-practiced mom-voice is met with silence.
“Buddy, it’s me, Daddy. The danger is gone, and you cancome out, now.” My husband catches my gaze, purses his lips, and shakes his head no.
Shit. Think, Sam, Think. He’s here, I know it.“Jesus. There’s abouta b’zillion places to hide down here. What if he’s injured and can’t respond?”
As I addusing the lord’s name in vainto the second page of my lengthy list of sins, Sebastianscratches his head, shoves heavy boxes aside, and shines his light on the empty spaces.
“This place looks real familiar.”
“RememberThe Case of the Miraculous Weeping Baby Jesus?” I point to the huge crate where the creche was stored.
“How could I forget?” Crouching under a beam, he tosses the cover off a trash bin, stares, and moves on.
Still hopeful, I recall how God was with us. “We sure coulduse another miracle, right about now. Right, tough guy?”
“Tell you what. How about we make our own? Roundup dogs, friends, and family. Let’s turn this place upside down.” He thumbs his phone and stops as I squeeze his arm.
When he looks up, I capture his gaze, and cup his rough cheeks. “I have an idea. Michael’s teacher said don’t come out until a copsays it’s okay.”
Punching in familiar digits, I place my father on speaker. “Hey, we think Mikey might be hiding in the basement. Can you tell him it’s safe to come out now?”
“Sure, if you think it will help.” After clearing his throat, he shouts out, “Mike, son? This is your papa. I’m a policeman and I say it is timeto come out. The bad man is gone.”
“Wait.” At a tiny scraping noise in the back corner of the church, I hold my breath.
A wooden lid drops to the floor, and for a moment, I can’t believe my eyes. “Oh my God!”
Reality hits, and I race to a crate markednativity. Bawling, I hold my son’s small body to my chest. “He’s o-okay.”
Suds joins us in a family hug. On the phone, my father shouts to my mother, and they start crying, too. With all eyes too watery to call nine-one-one, Suds speaks into his comm unit. At some point, help arrives, and we move outside. Unable to let go, I hold my brave boy while the paramedics check him for injuries. Other than a few bruises and being dehydrated, he appears to have come out unscathed.
When little Mikeis settled in the emergency room, I heave a sigh of relief until FBI agents barge behind the curtain to question him. Before I can kick their asses to the curb, our boy tugs on Suds’ shirt.
“Can I wamble, daddy?”
“Sure buddy, go for it. Tell them what happened.” Winking at me, he smirks.
Mikey frowns and points his finger gun. “Stranger danger. The bad man says, you come with me.”
My little guy grins at me. “He doesn’t knowthe secret word, momma, and I say no way, Jose.”
