Forty-Five

Chadwick

Bursting into the police station, I looked around frantically, searching for someone who could help me. I was sweating so badly, and Ken rushed behind me.

A uniformed officer at the front desk was on a call. Breathless and panicking with fear almost eating me alive, I demanded his attention.

"Please help me. My son is missing," I said.

The officer looked up and frowned. He was a middle-aged man with a mustache and stern expression. My frantic energy drew the attention of officers stationed at the front desk.

They were accustomed to handling distressed people and remained professional.

"Sir, please lower your voice and take a deep breath," he said. I gasped for air, trying to control my panic, and felt Ken's hand on my shoulder squeezing tightly.

Ken, who was behind me, explained that my son was missing and his window was found open.

"Sir, you'll have to fill out a missing person report," they said, "and provide as much detail as possible about his appearance and any distingui