“Noah! NOAH!” I scream until I’m hoarse. I’ll never find him this way. Not in this mayhem.
I scan the wired crowd and spot Hogan talking to Mr. Wilson over on the side. At least Mr. Wilson knows now. We did our job. It’s out of our hands. Finally.
But Hogan doesn’t seem relieved. In fact, he looks almost defeated.
I push my way towards him. Maybe he’s seen Noah. Maybe he’ll help me find him. But the truth is, I just want to be near him. By him. To know that even in this crowd of hundreds, a thousand frantic people…we aren’t alone.
The mob opens for a second, just as Officer Scott steps up in Hogan’s face and Hogan slouches. In a flash, I see the whole story, read it in the slump of his shoulders. They blame Hogan. Of course they do. He is involved, but not in the way they think. He knows way more than an outsider should, so, naturally, they assume he is in on it. That he is the unknown second shooter. Heck, I even accused him of it—why wouldn’t they?
I push through the crowd, eager to reach them and set things right. Hogan won’t do it—not to save himself, anyway. Because, if I know anything about Hogan King, it’s the story he tells himself—that he has to suffer, because he deserves it.