CHAPTER ONEThe Boy in the Book LadyBrad was browsingthe Mystery section in Book Lady on Liberty Street when he noticed the boy staring at him. Well, not a boy exactly. He was probably in his early twenties, more of a young man. The older Brad got, though, the younger everyone else looked to him.Jesus, you’re only thirty-six, stop casting yourself in the role of a geriatric. Although you are closer to forty than twenty. Hell, you’re closer to forty than thirty ... Blocking out his own inner voice, Brad glanced back toward the staircase lined with stacks of books. The young man still stood there, practically in the children’s section, still staring at him. He wore a pair of capri pants and a gray hooded sweatshirt, his black hair done up in meticulous bed-head, ample time spent to make it appear he spent no time on his appearance. Mild amusement marked his face. Instinctively, Brad reached up and brushed at his chin, wondering if a bit of his lunch had gotten st
CHAPTER TWOThe Runaway NectarinesAs Brad made his way back across Crenshaw Square, he silently berated himself for not taking his car. He hadn’t thought he’d need it since everything in the Historic District—scratch that, downtown—was within easy walking distance, but what seemed like a few short blocks when you were unburdened suddenly felt a lot longer when you hauled six plastic bags full of household supplies.Weary as he was, he still paused across the street and surveyed his new home. He remembered standing in this exact spot ten years ago, fantasizing about owning the house. At the time, it had seemed nothing more than an impossible dream, but here he was, literally living the dream.The house was no longer the dilapidated beauty it had been before. No more mold creeping down the masonry like a rash, no more broken glass, brand new shutters and roof. The restoration hadn’t been cheap, but 324 Abercorn was once again the grand manor Brad had known all those years ago. He co
CHAPTER ONE: The AccidentBernie Wilson cursedsoftly under his breath. The Walmart had ten different checkout stations but only three of them were currently open, the lines at each stretching back half a dozen long. Bernie gripped the handle of his cart, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, a kinetic personification of impatience.He had half a mind to simply abandon his groceries instead of waiting, but the cupboards were nearly bare at home and he didn’t want to end up like Mother Hubbard. A supply run was not only necessary but imperative. If he had only himself to worry about, he still may have left, but as it was he had his family to consider. He had to take care of them.Family.The word brought a rush of warmth to Bernie’s skin, as if his body housed a small furnace somewhere in his gut. Thinking of the love that waited for him at home acted as a balm to soothe his edginess. He took several deep breaths through his nostrils and willed his body to stillness.
CHAPTER TWO:It’s a BoyPatrick Young wanderedthrough a dark tunnel, lost and cold and blind. Every so often a brief flash of light would reveal images that he recognized but could not connect in any way that made sense to him. A dirty cement floor, a rusted metal bucket, a water-stained ceiling, a single dim bulb behind a wire cage. He didn’t have time to adequately ponder these images because the light flares lasted only seconds and then he was plunged back into utter blackness. Not just an absence of light, but a treatise against the very concept of light. A declaration that light had only ever been a myth, something imagined but not anything real. The darkness was so total, in fact, that he began to doubt he had an actual body, believing that he merely floated in an abyss that had swallowed the world.And there had once been a world, hadn’t there? And he had been a part of it? Yes, he’d been a young man with a rich life, a sophomore in college with a boyfriend he thought h
CHAPTER THREE:WaitingOfficer Sanchez steppedthrough the automatic doors into the lobby of the Pelham Medical Center Emergency Department. A bored-looking nurse sat behind a desk straight ahead, alternately reading a paperback and scrolling on her cell. She didn’t even glance up at the sound of the doors whooshing open. Sanchez scanned the chairs in the waiting area. He saw an Asian couple, the woman cradling a crying toddler; an elderly black man holding a bloody towel to his forearm; a young woman with stringy hair hugging herself and rocking back and forth in one of the plastic seats; and a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a large nose chewing on his nails. Sanchez walked over to the nail-chewer.“Mr. Neil Baker?” Sanchez said.At first, the man continued to stare down at his feet, gnawing at his fingers like a dog with a rawhide bone. He seemed to notice Sanchez’s shoes first then let his eyes trail up the officer’s legs and torso before landing on his face.
CHAPTER FOUR:Patrick’s AbductionThe sun had only begun to peek up over the horizon, manifesting as little more than a pink line shading to an arch of deep purple, when Patrick Young stepped out of the back exit of Geer Hall. He did a few hamstring stretches in front of the building before jogging off toward the back end of campus.He saw no one else as he made his way past the other dorms toward the library, which was precisely why he liked to run so early in the morning, before the campus had truly come to life. He felt that he moved through an empty world, a post-apocalyptic landscape, but instead of leaving him with a sense of loneliness and desolation, there was only tranquility.Of course, he mused as he ran around the left side of the library, passing the bronze statue of the father with his child propped on his shoulder, there was at least one person Patrick wouldn’t mind surviving and sharing this solitude with him. Adam to his Steve.Patrick had been trying for the last
CHAPTER FIVE:Exploring the EnvironmentPatrick sat inthe far corner with his head against the plaster wall. Halfway along the back wall sat the bucket filled with dog food, just to the left of the spigot. The empty bucket he’d placed all the way in the opposite corner.Only it wasn’t empty any longer.He’d held out as long as he could, but eventually it had been go in the bucket or in his pants. Both options were humiliating, but he went with the one that would allow him to keep at least a tattered shred of dignity. Clare must have heard, just as he’d been able to hear her when she went earlier, but she had the tact not to say anything. In fact, they hadn’t spoken since, as if perhaps she was sensitive to his discomfort and embarrassment. Or maybe she’d simply fallen asleep.Now that he had eliminated, his body told him it was time to fill it back up again. His stomach cramped and gurgled, the hunger pains starting out as mere twinges but gradually building to sharp jabs. H
CHAPTER SIX:Missing PersonRobert McAfee sat up in bed, on top of the covers still wearing his clothes from the day before, as the window across from him lightened with the dawn of a new morning. His cell phone was nearby, and every few minutes he picked it up and checked Patrick’s Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, hoping for some new post, anything to indicate Patrick still existed in the world and hadn’t simply evaporated into the atmosphere.Nothing. The last appearance from Patrick on social media was a Tweet from two days ago that simply read, “Enlightenment comes not from denying your emotions but from understanding them.” He’d concluded with the hashtag #BuddhaKnowsBest.Robert smiled as he read the Tweet for the zillionth time. It was exactly the kind of philosophical-sounding nonsense his boyfriend loved to post online. Robert often teased him about it, calling him Dali Lama. Not with any spite, but with good-natured affection. The way Patrick sometimes called Robert Mr. Slot