George quietly entered the house through the back door, and tried to pretend he’d been there for a while. He crept into the living room and leaned on the arm of the sofa, half sitting, half standing, acting as if his heart were not pounding out of his chest.
His nerves were shot, partly because he got home late, not that anyone seemed to have noticed. Also because he knew he was about to have to lie to a couple of police officers, which he wasn’t sure he would be able to pull off. George swallowed hard, wishing he were more like Eddie.
His mother and father sat holding hands on the couch. Sitting in the chair was a young, uniformed officer with spiked hair, while an older one with grey hair stood behind him, appearing to take inventory of the room with his eyes. George could hear someone in the kitchen, and could smell coffee brewing. He assumed it was Helen since her car was outside.
He was invited to sit down by the older police officer. His mother gave him a weak smile. The questions began. First the police started with his parents. They asked about Eddie, his habits, his friends, if he was happy, if he was suicidal. They asked when they saw him last and what he was wearing.
The questions kept coming, and seemed to get more insulting as they went. George thought his mother would cry and his father would hit the officer at one point. “Was he happy at home? Who did he seem to fight with more? Not to mention the questions that made his mother turn beet red.
Helen entered the living room carrying a tray of cookies and coffee. George watched his mother accept a mug without and then simply wrapped her hands around it as if to warm her soul. The two officers politely declined. Only his father took a cup and drank it, as if needing it to keep him going. He thanked Helen and she smiled. She took a seat next to George and hugged him.
Next, it was his turn. The younger police officer turned and asked him if he had anything he would like to add to his parents’ comments. George felt all eyes on him. Mr. Miller’s words echoed in his head.
“We’re almost out of time.” He said the words out loud without thought.
“Out of time for what exactly?” The officer now sat on the edge of his seat.
“The boathouse. Tomorrow is the thirtieth. I tried to get him out. But I couldn’t fix it.” George started crying. “I’m so sorry, Mom. I tried to get him out.”
“What?” George’s mom was quickly interrupted by the older officer’s hand, as he held it up to silence her.
“Let me guess, you’ve been talking to Frank Miller.” The officer who’d been walking around the room had stopped and walked over toward them. “That crazy old man told the same story ten years ago. We checked out the boathouse. There’s nothing magical about it.”
“Maybe we need to go see if this creep has a bunch of kids stuffed in his basement,” the younger officer said with a huff.
“I hardly think that’s appropriate.” George’s dad jumped to his feet. “Our son is missing!”
“We apologize, Mr. Morgan. I promise you that we intend to investigate this matter fully.” The older officer shot a silencing look at the younger officer.
“He hasn’t done anything wrong!” George protested. “He just wants to get his daughter back, and no one believes him. He would never hurt anyone!”
“George, calm down, baby. Talk to me. Do you know where Eddie is? Have you talked to that man?” She said the words ‘that man’ as if he was a vicious murderer. George knew he shouldn’t have said anything. He should have lied.
“He’s in the boathouse!” George screamed out, almost in a tantrum. He tried, but he felt it was useless. Everyone just ignored what he had said, just like they’d dismissed Mr. Miller.
George watched his mother set her coffee cup down and then move across the room to sit beside him. She wrapped her arms around him as he cried. He didn’t want her to. She didn’t believe him. None of them did.
George noticed that she now had tears in her eyes as she spoke to the officers again. “Do you really think that man had something to do with Eddie’s disappearance?”
“We will be talking to him, ma’am. That is if we can locate him. The Miller property has been vacant for years. George, where exactly did you see Mr. Miller last?”
George covered his face with his hands. He knew everyone would be mad that he wasn’t answering their questions, but he was angry, too. No one believed him.
“I’m going to ask you one last time, young man. Where did you see Frank Miller last?” Both police officers now stood over him. His parents were both glaring at the domineering officers.
“In town. I saw him in town yesterday in front of the hardware store.” George hoped the lie would be enough to make them stop asking questions. It wasn’t. It was followed by many more questions. What was he wearing? What time of day did he remember seeing him? His answers didn’t matter because George knew none of it was true.
George watched the older officer scribble on his notepad with every false answer he gave them.
The officer then asked what Frank Miller had told him about the boathouse. For the first time in the list of questions, he gave accurate answers, and he also noticed for the first time, the officer didn’t bother writing down his responses, either. He watched the younger officer whisper something in the other officer’s ear. George knew that they didn’t believe him, just as they never believed Mr. Miller. They were just going through the motions, or humoring him.
“Well, I guess we have enough. We’ll be in touch.” The two officers stood up to go, handing George’s father a business card. “If there is anything else you think of, please give us a call.” The young officer didn’t break eye contact with George the entire time they were wrapping up. He kept his eyes narrowed and focused, and his mouth drawn. The look on his face told George that he knew his story was fake. George just tried to look anywhere but at the officer.
They all sat in silence for a moment as the cruiser pulled away. Helen took the tray back to the kitchen before rejoining them.
“You have to believe me. The boathouse is real.” George looked pleadingly at his father.
“George, if you know where your brother is, you need to tell me right now. Please, son,” his father pleaded with him.
His eyes were desperate, and George hated that he couldn’t make his father believe him. His father sat across from him on the couch, trying to coach the answer he wanted to hear out of him for twenty minutes.
When he couldn’t produce a different answer, his tone changed from desperate to furious. “For the last time, George, where is your brother. His life could be in jeopardy.”
“He’s in the boathouse, Dad. I swear.”
“Enough with the boathouse!” George had never seen his father so angry. His eyes were closed and he paced back and forth, rubbing his temples. “Go to your room.”
“But, Dad!”
“Not another word. Go to your room!” As George went upstairs, he could hear his mother asking about the story behind the boathouse. Having family from Brunson, his father knew the history behind the disappearance of Emily Miller, and the rumors about the boathouse. But his mother apparently had not heard any of it. George wondered if in ten years people wouldn’t know who Eddie was, either.
George sat in his room, angry with himself again for telling everyone about the boathouse. Every time he shared the secret, it only seemed to make things worse. He wasn’t sure what to do now. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to get out of the house that night. His parents would be watching. Maybe he would have another dream and figure out what to do.
He crept down the hall to his brother’s room, stopping to make sure his dad wasn’t coming up the stairs. Once in the room, he closed the door behind him. He found Eddie’s phone and looked to see if he had Jake’s number saved as a preset. Jake was number two, right after Sarah.
“Jake, this is George. Can you meet me tomorrow night? At the boathouse, after dark. If we don’t get him out tomorrow, it will be too late. No, I don’t have a plan yet, but I have to do something.”