by Kelly Jensen
“Might have run away.”
“Sure picked a good night for it.”
Mal lifted his shoulders against the chill wind at his back. “You’re telling me.”
“Has anyone notified the police?”
“Probably the next step if we can’t flush him out in a few hours.”
Leo nodded. “Let me close up and I’ll head down to the park, check the sports sheds and so on. Where we all used to hole up when we ditched.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Let’s get him found so we can all go home and stay warm.”
Mal retreated to the parking lot and found Donny pulling at a loose board in the fence running around the yard behind the bar. “Upstairs is locked up tight, but if I was smaller, I’d be able to get through the fence.”
“And sit in a cold yard?” Mal put his eye to the gap and spied on the landscape of snow covered tables and chairs. He leaned away from the fence. “I don’t think Josh is here. It’s too open, too cold, too dark. Leo’s going to check the park, the sports sheds at Cauldwell.”
“I lost my virginity there.”
“I don’t think we’re going to find Josh having— You know what? I don’t care if we find him with his jeans around his ankles. So long as we know where he is.”
“If we find him having sex in the snow, we’re going to have to talk to him about several life choices.”
Though Mal managed a grin, it didn’t go all the way down. Inside, he was still cold and worried. “Wait!” The park, the park . . . “Remember the old boathouse?”
“At the top of Elliott, yeah. I—”
“No more sexual history. Some of the students in the GSA go there sometimes to hang out.”
“I thought they knocked that place down after that girl drowned . . .” Even in the meager light behind the bar, Donny managed to lose color. “Get in the car.”
“I’m getting, I’m getting.”
Once Mal got in and belted, he pulled out his phone. He called Leo first. “We’re going to check out the old boat ramp at the end of Elliott.”
“The lake house? Good idea. I’ll come up there if I miss at Cauldwell.”
He dialed Brian next. “Hey.”
“Heard anything?” Brian’s voice stretched over a rushing sound.
“Where are you?”
“In my car. I was going to head toward Newark in case he caught the train.”
“A couple of weeks ago, one of the students in the GSA mentioned that some of them hang out at this old boathouse at the park.” A cold finger traced Mal’s spine. “It’s about two miles along the Patriots’ Path, at the end of Elliott Street.” About a quarter mile from where he’d had his legs knocked out from under him. To think he’d run past it nearly every day and not realized kids might be hiding inside. “We’re going to check it out.”
“Do you think Josh might be there?”
“I honestly don’t know, but if he knows about the place and if he’s been there with some of the kids from the club, then it’s a strong possibility.”
“I’m turning around. See you there.”
There were two other cars in the Elliott Street parking lot. Brian nearly sideswiped the closest as he swung into the next available spot—which was marked only by a smooth and uninterrupted swathe of snow. Of all the nights.
He jumped out of the car. The snow seemed to have eased a little. Only a few flakes drifted past the white halos of light surrounding the lampposts. Tugging his coat closed, Brian looked for tracks and found them leading away from the parking lot in a line past the lumpy white shapes of the playground and into the woods. There were a lot of tracks. More than a single teenager and one limping man would leave. Frowning, Brian pressed on.
Though the snow was tapering off, he shivered as he jogged through the trees, cold snaking down his spine, regardless of his coat. He’d left his scarf in the car. A sense of defeat made him colder. After watching the train depart, he’d stood on the platform for nearly ten minutes, rooted by indecision and memory, convinced that Josh leaving was his fault.
It was his fault, wasn’t it? He shouldn’t have shared his story. Had Ellen needed to know what had happened after he’d been kicked out? Was it really her fault?
Hunching his shoulders up under his coat, Brian tried not to think about it.
He heard voices before he emerged from the forest onto a wider path and found a cluster of tall figures pointing in three different directions, phone screens flashing. “I thought it was this way?”
“There are footsteps going this way.”
“And that way.”
“They’re facing this direction, dip shit.”
“The boathouse is this way!” That was Mal, recognizable by the sweep of his cane and his yell. He turned and spied Brian. “Hey. You caught up fast.”
“I hadn’t left town yet. What’s all this?” He couldn’t see who the others were. Whatever moonlight there might be was muted by clouds.
Someone flashed a lit phone past the blur of faces. “Leo, Kelsey, Mal, and Donny.” It was Donny doing the flashing and talking. “We’ll find your boy, Brian. C’mon. Mal says it’s up here.”
“I jog past it every day. Or I used to.” Mal sounded rueful.
The group turned in the direction Mal had indicated and started off. Brian fell in behind, even though he wanted to run ahead. Actually, he just wanted to run. Somewhere. Hopefully in the same direction Josh had gone. Why were they all here?
Mal glanced over at him. “You doing okay?”
Rather than voice his questions and all the other bullshit rolling around inside his head, Brian nodded and put his chin down. Shoved his hands into his pockets and followed them through the snow and trees until a gray outline appeared out of the gloom.
Donny handed out directions. “Leo, Kelsey, take that side. Mal, you check the doors. Brian and I’ll check the lake side.”
Mal called out, “Josh!”
The other adults picked up the cry, and Josh’s name echoed through the night. A sense of unreality plucked at Brian as he picked his way through the snow-covered mulch and hidden clumps of dead twigs and branches, following Donny toward the slope of ground between the house and the lake. Off the path, the trees were more numerous, but they opened up again, allowing more ambient light to filter through. The sound that had been pricking his consciousness for the past ten minutes swelled into a rush of water. Brian glanced at the lake, the quiet blackness that barely appeared to move, and frowned.
“What’s that sound?” he asked.
“Run off. This is a catchment area. Part of the town water facility. There’s a big pipe upstream. Interferes with the current, which is part of why they don’t use this boat launch anymore.”
Brian eyed the square shape looming over them. “And this building?”
“Closed up.”
Brian couldn’t see Donny’s expression, but he could hear a note of concern in his tone. “Did something happen here?”
“Don’t worry about it. If Josh is here, we’ll find him.”
The urgency in Donny’s tone reflected the alarm pinging in Brian’s middle. This was wrong. All wrong. Josh shouldn’t be out here on his own. Not now, not ever. Brian started toward the slope, shoes slipping in the snow, and put a hand down to brace himself. Josh’s name rang through the woods again, accompanied by banging as various folk pulled at boarded-up windows and shook doors.
Leo called out from halfway around the side. “Doors are all chained shut. If he’s here, he didn’t get in that way.”
“Check the basement windows,” Mal called from close by, before rounding the building and limping toward them. Brian paused to wait. Mal would regret the exertion tomorrow, no doubt, but Brian didn’t send him back to the car.
He needed Mal here.
Was so damn grateful to have someone at his back.
A break in the clouds allowed moonlight to strike the ground, finally illuminating the scene. Spread out before them
was the flat black surface of the lake, disturbed here and there by clumps of debris, piled with snow. Closer to the shore, the water churned, the current visible. The slope between them and the lake was too even to be just ground.
Right as Brian figured out it was a boat ramp, Donny said, “Are those tracks on the ramp?”
“Oh shit.”
“Josh!” Brian jumped onto the slope and cursed as his feet flew one direction, the rest of his body another. He landed in a jarring heap, facedown in the snow.
“Brian!”
“Mal, don’t!” Donny called.
Someone yanked at Brian’s arm. “Up you get,” said Mal.
Stunned by the landing and cold pressing across his face, Brian struggled to get upright. His shoes kept slipping away from him. “Fuck.”
“Mal!”
“I’m fine, Donny. Give me a hand.”
“You shouldn’t be out here.”
“None of us should be, but I’m not sitting on the sidelines while you all slide into the lake.”
Brian had managed to push up to his knees. “Donny’s right. You could wreck your knee again.”
“Can we all stop worrying about me and concentrate on finding Josh?”
“We need to get closer to the water. He might not be able to hear us over the noise of the runoff.” Donny got onto his butt and started scooting down the ramp.
Brian mimicked him until his shoes finally caught in a deep furrow beneath the snow. The old concrete was buckled and broken in places. He dug in and waited for the others to catch up.
“Josh!” Donny called.
“Crap.” Mal slipped, and Brian grabbed him as he passed.
“Dig a foot in. The concrete is broken underneath.”
Mal stopped his slide, grunting with either the pain or effort. Then another sound floated over the top. A soft cry.
“Josh!” Brian called.
A feeble voice answered. “Brian?”
Brian’s heart pushed upward inside his chest. “Josh!” He got to his hands and knees and started back down the slope, crawling backward.
“Uncle Brian! I’m caught.” A whimper cut through Josh’s shaky words. “I fell and I’m caught on something. Help me, please.”
Relief, anger, confusion, and outright panic warred for dominance as Brian pushed faster down the slope. “Josh!”
“Shit,” Donny cursed. He started climbing back up the slope. “Guys! He’s down here. Call 911. Let them know there’s a kid in the lake at the old boathouse.”
Brian didn’t hear anyone reply as he slid forward toward Josh’s voice.
“Brian!” Mal called out. “Wait up. You don’t want to fall in as well.”
“I need to get closer.” The concrete furrow he’d been following down seemed to disappear. “Shit.” Brian clutched at the snow.
“Hold up,” Mal called from just above him. “We should wait for emergency services.”
“I can’t wait. Josh, how deep are you?” Brian could see where the ramp disappeared into the water, but not Josh. The sound of the runoff was much louder. He checked that direction, then downstream. There! A small shape bobbing against the shore, half hidden by a clump of low branches. “Josh!”
Brian let go of the ramp and slid. Snow burned his palms. His jacket snagged, yanking him backward, and then he was rolling, face slamming down into the snow again, smacking something colder and harder. His head spun, and he thought he could hear a scream. The world seemed to turn over and over, and then the dark water caught him, slicing up through his legs like sharpened blades. His teeth clacked together and he tasted blood. Then cold blackness swallowed him.
Breaking the surface of the water felt like pushing from one vacuum into the other. Brian bit back a yell as he reached for the side of the ramp and scrabbled against the current. He quickly discovered he couldn’t reach the bottom, and the icy water was cutting through his clothing, knifing his legs and groin. Every moment seemed to make the water colder.
“Brian,” a voice breathed next to him.
“I’m here.” Brian grabbed the gnarled branches that had snagged his nephew, and Josh flailed through the dark, his arms knocking against Brian with enough force to push him back under the water. Fuck, it was cold. Brian managed to surface, though he was rapidly losing contact with his legs and wasn’t sure how long he could keep treading water.
“What’s caught?” he asked.
“My coat. I can’t get the zip down.”
Brian yanked Josh a few times before agreeing the coat was hopelessly caught. He had little hope that his fingers would work better than Josh’s, but tried the zip anyway. He got it halfway down and then yanked, tearing the tab free of the sides. “Okay, one arm out.”
“So cold.” Josh’s voice was thick now.
“Mal?” Brian called. “Other arm, Josh. Stay with me.”
Mal was near the edge of the lake. “Right here, you . . . Jesus. Have you got Josh?”
“Yes. His coat is stuck. I’m going to get it off him and then pass him up. Are you secure?”
“Mal, get out of the way.” Donny’s voice.
“No, I want to help. I’ve still got two working arms.”
“Barely.”
Brian hoisted Josh up. He was damn heavy, and Brian imagined it was the weight of the black water, clinging to his clothes, running over Brian’s hands. The coldness of it. Josh jerked in his arms and was then hauled upward, both Donny and Mal saying soothing things as they pulled his nephew out of his hands.
“Now you,” Mal said, his face floating out of the darkness above.
“Get Josh warmed up, quickly. Did someone call 911?”
“Kelsey did. Donny’s carrying Josh up the ramp.”
Brian slumped against the tangle of branches. The pain in his legs had progressed from a burn to a weirdly numb ache. And he was tired. So tired. Heavy, like he wouldn’t be able to pull his own weight back up the hill. How long had Josh been down here? He’d still been responsive, so—
“Brian!”
Brian shook off his fatigue. “What?”
“Grab my hands.”
Brian reached up, and a warm hand closed around his.
“I got you,” Mal said.
Donny’s voice called out of the darkness. “Mal, let me do that. You can—”
“For fuck’s sake, Donny. I’m not leaving him in the water. Either help me or stand back.”
After more muttering, Mal’s hands seem to creep down to Brian’s wrists.
“This is such a bad idea,” Donny said, closer now.
“Where’s Josh?” Brian asked. Tried to ask. His tongue felt thick.
“Leo has him, they’re wrapping him up in their coats.”
“Hold on,” Mal instructed.
Brian tightened his grip around Mal’s wrists and started climbing up the ramp. At first it seemed like he was moving upward, and then he slid back, tugging Mal closer. Donny yelled. “Mal, no!”
“Pull me back, Donny. Drag us both up.”
“Mal.” Brian couldn’t let him get injured. “Just wait for the emergency crew.”
“No!” Emotion choked Mal’s reply. “I’m not leaving you down here. You understand? I’m not going to be the guy who leaves you in the goddamn water. Dig your feet into something and climb out of there. Donny’s got me. Now climb!”
Brian found a foothold, slipped, and heard Mal grunt as his full weight threatened to pull them both into the water. Thankfully, one hard yank from Donny got Brian back to the edge.
“Don’t—”
Donny cut in. “Hold on.”
“Donny!”
Dark splashing, and then another hand grabbed him.
Mal cried out once. Donny swore. Together, they pulled, and Brian felt himself being dragged out of the water. He wanted to lie down on the snow-covered concrete and rest, but they wouldn’t let him. Someone yanked at his arm or shoulder or . . . God, thinking was hard.
“Nearly there . . .”
“Grab his other arm.”
“Wasn’t in the water that long.”
“He hit his head.”
“I’ve got him, Mal. Just get out of here.”
“For fuck—”
“I know. I know.”
The world dipped and splashed, and sight and sound blurred into one indecipherable entity. Then a big white orb bobbed in front of him. Was that the moon?
More voices, flashing lights, someone patting his cheeks.
It was all too confusing. And tiring.
Brian closed his eyes.
Turned out letting yourself be used as a piece of rope left you feeling a lot like a piece of rope. Who knew? Mal scowled at the scrapes along the insides of his upper arms, not even remembering how they’d gotten there. From the edge of the concrete under the snow, probably. He had a similar set on his hip bones.
Pulling down the sleeves of the wonderfully warm and dry shirt Donny had brought to the hospital for him, Mal checked the double doors leading from the waiting part of the emergency room to the business part. His head wasn’t high enough to peer through the small windows at the top of the doors, and his legs sent a sharp warning about standing. In a row beside him, Donny, Leo, and Kelsey all sat in a similar posture: legs spread out, arms folded across their laps, heads back against the wall. Eyes shut. Kelsey might even be snoring.
It was a quiet night at Morristown Medical Center. Only a few other people littered the waiting area, all pale and tired. The overhead TV was set to CNN, and the story unfolding in bad captioning across the screen felt farther away than two states down and to the left. Mal checked the doors again.
The important stuff was happening through those doors.
Pushing to his feet, legs wobbling and complaining, Mal grabbed his cane and tried to walk more than hobble over to the reception desk.
The nurse seated behind it greeted him with a tired smile. “I promise I’ll let you know if there’s any news.”
“Can’t you look on a screen or something?” Mal asked.
The double doors opened, disgorging another tired nurse. “Malcolm Montgomery?” she asked, gaze flicking among her variously reclined audience.
“Here,” Mal said.