The ringing phone jarred her from a fitful sleep. Her dreams had been filled with images of hungry cats and lost boys. Or perhaps it was lost cats and hungry boys. Anissa had no idea. The details of the dream departed as she opened her eyes. She sat up and reached for her phone, bleary-eyed, answering just before it rolled over to voicemail.
“Hello?” she croaked.
“It’s Pete,” the sheriff said.
“Yes?” she asked, her stomach knotting in advance of whatever he was going to say. Calls from her boss in the wee hours were never for good news.
“They found him,” Pete said.
Neither of them said anything, each observing a moment of silence for a lost boy, now found. Pete’s breathing seemed to slow. She waited for him to speak again, but he didn’t. She wondered if he’d been there when they found Davy.
“Where was he?” she asked, though she could guess it wasn’t very far from where the jacket was found. In her mind she was standing beside Seth, watching the search team, so close to where Davy had been all along, yet miles away from where she’d last seen him.
“Buried,” the sheriff said. “In a wooded patch about forty yards from where the jacket was.” He exhaled and she knew that as he did so, he removed his hat and wiped his brow before depositing the hat back on his head.
“It was pretty deep. Whoever buried him . . .” Another silence elapsed. “Whoever buried him”—his voice sounded pinched—“Wasn’t worried about taking their time or being caught in the act.”
“Or had help?” she ventured.
He was quiet, probably thinking about that possibility, probably not for the first time. “Maybe. Who knows.”
She shuddered at the thought of more than one perpetrator living and working in their town all these years. She wondered if she’d stood behind them in the grocery checkout line, given them the right of way in traffic, sat beside them in church.
“Also,” he said. She cringed at the word. There was more. “Gordon Swift. We’re gonna have to bring him in today. For more questioning. You’re gonna need to communicate to the Malcors the whys and wherefores as they happen.”
“Why?” she said on a breath. She thought of the handsome, gentle man maintaining his innocence in his driveway, longing to be left alone, seeing her as just another tormentor.
The sheriff sighed wearily. She wondered if he’d slept at all since that jacket was discovered.
“There was . . . an item . . . with the kid. We’re running fingerprints, but we’re pretty sure whose we’re gonna find. There was . . . indication of where the item came from that’s just about as reliable as fingerprints or DNA.” He sighed again. The item was clearly an unwelcome complication.
“The thing I need you to keep in mind is that the last thing we need is for this new development to get misconstrued by the family or the press. Innocent until proven guilty and all that. Swift’s lawyer will have a field day if we mismanage this.”
“I’ll do whatever you need,” she promised, even as her heart pounded and her throat constricted. She slid out from under the warm covers and went to stand by her bedroom window, her eyes scanning the dark sky for a glimpse of the moon. She found it, the barest crescent of light, just like that night more than twenty years ago.
“For now, just get dressed, get some coffee in you, then go to the Malcor house and wait in your car outside. I’ll be there as soon as I can, and we’ll go in together.”
She breathed a sigh of relief that he would be with her. She didn’t know if she could face the Malcors alone. Especially Thaddeus. Since the moment he’d arrived at their house, he’d watched her, his wary eyes questioning why she was there. He looked at her like he knew she was withholding something. Or maybe that was just her own conscience. She owed the Malcors the truth—that she was there for more than just her job. She was there because, for the briefest moment, she’d loved Davy too.
“So you’re going to tell them?” she asked, hoping that was the case. She didn’t think she could be the one to tell the Malcors that Davy was dead.
“Yes,” he said. “But I can’t stay afterward, so I’m going to need you to.” He yawned into the phone, then apologized for doing so. “There’s going to be a press conference later today. Make sure they’re prepped for that too. It’ll be . . . hard for them, but if they can manage to be there, I think it would be good. It’s gonna be a tough day, a lot for them to handle. They’ll need someone.” His voice caught and she got the distinct feeling that he would cry or scream or punch something as soon as they hung up. Or maybe he’d just go pick up his baby and hold him close.
She agreed to meet him at the Malcor home, replaced the phone in its cradle, and returned to the window, seeking the moon once more, as if it would tell her why. She stared up at the sickle in the sky, as thin as the sliver of hope the Malcor family had been holding on to.
“You were here,” she said aloud in the emptiness of her room. “You were right here.” She pressed her forehead into the cold glass as she said her own private goodbye to a boy who was really and truly gone.
She was about to turn away, to start getting ready for the long day ahead, when movement below caught her eye.
She looked down at the sidewalk and saw the cat there, sitting on its haunches, blinking up at her as if it expected something. The two stared at each other for a moment before she turned away from the window in search of something to feed the poor thing.
By the time she stepped out onto her front stoop holding a can of tuna, the cat was gone.
“Here, kitty kitty,” she called softly. No response. She set the can down, barely feeling the chill of the night air as it blew through her.
October 12, 1985
8:17 p.m.
TJ finishes his second beer and belches loudly as he crushes the can. Beside him, Phillip crushes his can too. Together they toss them into a growing pile. TJ looks over at the large garbage bag, still bulging with can-shaped lumps, and feels something like relief. There is more beer to be had, more fun with his friends in this wooded hideaway near an abandoned field, while in the distance the children play their games.
TJ is not a child anymore. In the span of a few weeks, he’s had his first kiss and gotten drunk for the first time. His mother is always telling him not to be in such a hurry to grow up, but sitting there with his buddies around him joking and cursing, he doesn’t agree with her. He wants desperately to grow up—the faster, the better. He is more convinced than ever that good things await him on the other side of childhood. And he can’t wait for all of it.
“Hey, Phillip, did your uncle really get this beer for you?” a kid named Mike asks.
Phillip narrows his eyes at Mike. “Yeah, why?” This close to Phillip, TJ can feel Phillip’s body stiffen in response to the question.
“I mean, it’s just cool is all.”
“Well, just make sure you keep it to yourself. If this gets him in trouble with one of your asshole parents, I’ll be the one to pay the price.” Phillip smiles like he is joking, but TJ can tell he’s not. Phillip’s uncle is nice enough, but he has a temper. TJ has seen the evidence on his friend through the years, but he’s never said anything, feeling like it would break some unspoken code between them. Phillip had to move in with his uncle after his parents died, and though he was a father figure, he was not a father in the normal sense of the word.
Mike pretends to zip his lips as some older guy beside him named Lee Watkins raises his beer can and says, “To Phillip’s uncle. Coolest cat in town.”
TJ and Phillip have no cans to raise in response, so Phillip crawls over to the bag, extracts two cans, and hands one to TJ. Together they pop the tops, listening to the satisfying sound of the carbonation releasing from its seal. It will be a sound, TJ thinks, he will always tie to this night, to this time with his best friend beside him, learning just a little more about what it means to grow up.
“To Phillip’s uncle,” TJ agrees, holding the fresh can aloft before he takes a long swig, adding an “ahhh” after he swallows like they do on the beer commercials on TV.
For a moment all the boys are quiet as they listen to the night sounds and breathe in the cooling night air. TJ looks up to find the barest suggestion of a moon in the sky, and for the briefest moment, he wonders where Davy is, what he is doing. He pats his pocket, making sure the rock he picked up after Davy ran off is still there. He will give it to the kid when he sees him, a peace offering meant to smooth over the rough edges created between them tonight. He even thinks about running over to check on him real quick, just so he can say he did if his parents ask. He is about to get to his feet when Lee Watkins speaks up again.
“Anyone ever shotgunned a beer?” Lee asks with a devilish grin. As TJ shakes his head no, all thoughts of Davy leave his mind.