As Susan and Mark drove past the abandoned homes and the glowing street lamps, snow continued to fall. Mark’s words were carefully chosen, carefully spoken, yet seemed to slip from Susan’s grasp as easily as her loved ones had slipped from her life. Still, hope prevailed, however fragile. Her son was alive—at the house she had feared the Run had finally taken him—and although the horror of what he had unleashed had not fully sunken in, she felt a gush of relief sweep over her. She said nothing the entire ride, not allowing herself to speak for fear of screaming, fear of losing it, and even as they pulled up to the police station, she remained perfectly still, perfectly silent.
A single sodium lamp barely illuminated the grim building. All that swept through her mind was that her youngest child lay within its brick walls, caged like some horrible criminal.
Mark turned to her, withdrawn. “Are you ready for this, Susan?”
Susan sniffled, stemming a tear with the back of her hand. “No … I’m not. But I guess that doesn’t matter, does it?”
She unbuckled herself and reached for the door handle.
“Wait,” Mark said. He took Susan’s left hand and held it gently. The seriousness in his face frightened.
“What is it?” Susan said, her eyes searching his.
She found something. Something she had not expected. In that moment, she realized she could care so very deeply for this man. It was a tangible sensation she had felt when he touched her, nothing sensual, but rather warmth, warmth she had not experienced for so long. She had missed Paul’s tenderness, still did, but found she had missed that calming sense of security more. She did not need a man, as the saying went, but to feel safe again, to be in her Safe Place, in the comforting arms of someone who cared as much for her as she did for them, was something that had been stolen from her heart. It had carved a chasm she feared could never be filled. Until now.
Mark squeezed her hand softly. “You’ve been through so much. I don’t want … I mean, I don’t think I could take seeing you go through any more.”
Susan took her hand from the door and placed it onto his. She added a small smile, but when he did not return one, she said, “What’s wrong?”
“He’s in there,” Mark said. “Eckert.”
Susan went to say something and found she couldn’t.
“There’s no other way,” Mark said. “I can’t release him—I won’t. And—”
“And you can’t let my son go, either.”
“We don’t have to do this right now. Tomorrow … whenever you’re ready.”
Susan gazed at the building. Every brick seemed impenetrable. She feared she might never see her child again, unless it was inside this awful place. Or somewhere worse; she could only imagine where he might end up.
She turned to Mark. “I need to see my son.”