by Nicole Snow
That bell means it’s over. Deep sixed. You’re dead.
So, no, I’m not ringing that fucking bell.
I’ll tear my own hand off before I do.
And I’m not letting Felicity or my son ring it, either.
The next time I dial and her voicemail picks up, I make myself speak, pacing back and forth, dragging my fingers through my hair.
“Felicity, I...” I stop. What do I say? Finally, I manage, “If you get this, if you get a chance—call me. ASAP. Tell me you’re okay.”
She’s all right, I tell myself.
She’s fine.
She’s busy at The Nest.
She has to be.
I make myself a fresh cup of coffee—bracing, but even if it’s Felicity’s blend it doesn’t taste the same without her special touch—and head to my Jeep.
The search crews are already gearing up at the trailhead where Eli and Tara disappeared by the time I arrive.
Without a word I take a compass and a map with my grid marked out, though whether I follow it or not depends on if I see any clues I can track that might lead me down the same path as the kids.
They’re out there, I tell myself.
Despite the silence that trails me as I pass people—despite their pitying looks—I can tell they think we won’t find them in one piece.
Like hell.
We will.
I will, or I’ll die trying.
Warren and Haley Ford look just as wrecked as I feel. Can’t blame them when Tara’s their niece and they’ve been through this song and dance once before.
Warren’s talking to Langley, bent over a cardboard box stacked with steaming fresh paper cups from The Nest. Some of the horrible dread in my chest eases when I see them.
Sure, the part-timers could’ve dropped off the coffee supplies, but I know they didn’t.
It’s too much like Fliss to be there making sure everyone has the caffeine rush they need to get through the day.
I head over to steal another cup, and nod at Langley.
“Thanks for bringing these out.”
“Miss Randall insisted,” he says, giving me a hangdog look that I think means sympathy. “She wouldn’t have it any other way.”
She’s okay.
Just like that, I can breathe again and focus fully on Eli.
The call goes out a minute later, and we all spread off in a branching pattern, fanning out and slowly beating the brush to our assigned points on the map.
Over and over again voices call Eli! Tara!
They grow smaller and quieter as people fade deeper into the woods. They’re just background noise, though in the back of my mind I’m alert for the sound of my phone chiming with good news. Or better, a distant voice belting out We found ’em!
No.
Nothing.
Only the creak of rustling brush, leaves crunching underfoot, small animals darting through the woods as my noisy passing startles them out of their hiding spots.
I catch sight of a fleet-footed rabbit, just the white of its tail and the underside of its paws. I wish like hell critters could talk.
Have you seen my son and his friend?
Can you show me where?
In mocking answer, the sky overhead rumbles.
I look up in disbelief.
It’s not fucking fair.
We’ve only been at it for a little more than an hour.
In no time, the clear morning blue turns a mottled grey-white, giving way to sooty darkness that’s closing in too fast.
Lightning cracks across the sky with an echoing boom and the rain starts a minute later.
Shit!
It’s cold running down the back of my neck, soaking my clothes and cutting me to the bone. I’m shivering, but I’ve had worse. I’ll be damned if I’m stopping now.
Moving will keep me warm, and as long as I’m focused on how miserably cold I am, I’m not dwelling on all the terrible things that could happen to my son, letting my imagination run wild and go racing away from me faster than that rabbit into the brush.
I feel like I’ve been out here for days.
When I glance at my phone again, only a few hours have passed, my steps growing slower and heavier as I fight my way through deepening mud, raising my voice to call Eli’s name.
I’m almost to the far end of my grid, and then I’m supposed to hang west and trace the perimeter, before zigzagging back and forth, up and down, making sure I cover every last inch of dirt in this space without overlooking a single thing.
I’m no longer human, just a machine running on desperate inertia.
Just a father facing every dad’s darkest nightmare, and swearing I’ll be dead before I give up without bringing him home alive. Today.
As I’m pulling my compass out, my phone vibrates.
Langley.
I swipe it several times, fighting against the water beading on the screen, cursing in frustration. My heart threatens to stop as I finally hit the icon to answer and nearly glue the phone to my ear.
“Sheriff? Did you find them?” I gasp.
“Unfortunately not,” Langley says, and he actually sounds sorry, to his credit. He’s a good guy, just not the smartest or the most competent. Even so, he’s doing his damnedest. “This rain’s getting dangerous, Mr. Charter. People are gonna be stumbling into sinkholes and breaking bones if they don’t get washed away first in a mudslide. I can’t risk anybody slipping and falling into a damn ravine. I’m gonna have to call the search party in. I’m sorry. We can’t risk more injuries or loss of life.”
The harsh fuck under my breath tastes like a gunshot.
Closing my eyes and rubbing my temples, I know what I want to say.
Trouble is, I know he’s right.
I know.
I don’t have to like it.
I also don’t have to listen.
“Go ahead, bring ’em in,” I say quietly. “I’m staying.”
“Mr. Charter, I don’t think that’s wise. If you’ll just pack it in for a few hours, the storm might pass, and we’ll see if we can get right back at it by nightfa—”
“No. You warned me, and that’s fair enough,” I clip off. “I know the dangers. Look, I won’t put anyone else in danger for my family’s sake, but you’ve gotta understand—I’m not leaving my son. You’ve done your duty. Anything that happens to me, that’s my problem.”
There’s an uneasy silence, and then he says slowly, “Keep your phone on. I’m gonna call you in an hour just to make sure you’re all right, and then...”
His voice trails off.
Not because he stopped talking, but because I’m not listening anymore.
I hear something.
My attention zeros in on a faint sound past the steady plinking of the rain on the leaves and the forest floor, completely tuning Langley out, my breath frozen in anticipation.
There it is again.
A tiny squeak.
“Hold up,” I whisper at Langley. “I think I hear something.”
“What? But it could be—”
“I’ll call you back.”
I hang up on him mid-sentence, stow my phone, and close my eyes, shutting out every other sense and straining to hear that sound again over the sound of my thundering pulse.
There!
Not a squeak.
A cat’s wailing meow.
Sure, Heart’s Edge has a few strays, but I doubt any of them would be out here, mewling sad demands to no one.
I can only hope.
I can’t even let myself finish the thought.
Opening my eyes, I pivot toward that sound and go plunging into the brush. If it was a bobcat or even a feral stray, I’d catch a snatch of fur streaking away, the flash of reflective eyes, but that sound just grows louder.
It tells me the beast I’m charging toward must be used to humans.
I’m betting it has to be Mozart or Van Gogh.
And considering how much that overfed pumpkin loves my son, I’m po
unding the dirt, dashing onward, catching myself a few times before I slip.
Sure enough, I glimpse orange-creamsicle fur before I fully break out of the clinging, scratching brush.
There he is: scraggly, wet, his fur stuck to him in soggy tufts.
Mozart’s hunched into himself under a thick tree canopy that lends him some small protection from the rain. He’s huddled in the pit where two spreading roots meet at the base of a tree. Underneath the matted layer of loamy rotting ground cover there’s a sort of shelf overhanging a hole in the ground.
There’s something in there.
It’s just a kaleidoscope of colors from here, but I catch skin, pink cloth, the reflective stripe of a sneaker.
A harsh sound nearly brays out of my throat.
Stumbling across the clearing, I fall down on my knees next to a hollow collapsed into the ground. Looks like its walls are held together by the sunken roots of a leaning, ancient fir.
And inside?
Eli.
Sound asleep, curled up into a boyish knot and wrapped protectively around Tara, who sleeps with her head against his chest and one leg stuck out. I notice right away it’s unnaturally straight and stiff with the torn hem of Eli’s shirt wound tight around it.
Christ, maybe animals can talk.
Because Mozart damned well led me to my son, and when this is over, that cat’s gonna end up so stuffed on fish he won’t be able to walk for a week.
I don’t know if I sob so much as the sound gets punched out of me, relief as potent as shrapnel wrecking my entire body, my feelings, my head as I reach for them, grasping their arms and shaking them gently.
“Eli? Eli! Tara, you awake? You’re okay, guys. You’re okay, Eli, Eli...”
Tara starts awake first, slowly, groaning and rubbing sleepily at her eyes.
Eli rockets up with a gasp a second later, blinking, his arms tightening around her as he looks around. Then his eyes land on me, clearing in recognition.
“Dad!” he shouts, flinging himself out of the hollow at me.
Suddenly I’ve got my arms full of a very upset boy, both of us getting drenched in the rain while Tara pushes herself up on her arms and watches us with a small, tired smile.
I press my face into Eli’s wet hair, hugging him so tight I’m fit to snap him in half.
His nails dig into my shoulders.
I can feel him shaking, trying to be brave, trying not to cry.
I don’t have those kinds of reservations.
Fuck, what happened? What happened to my boy and his friend?
I’m not ashamed of a few hot tears slipping out in sheer relief, blending with the rain spotting my face.
My son’s fine—they’re both fine—and he’s here in my arms again.
Tara’s looking none the worse for wear except maybe a sprain.
“Dad,” he keeps repeating. “Dad, Dad, Dad...”
“Hi, Mr. Charter,” Tara says shyly, waving. “Sorry if we scared you.”
Eli jerks away from me, looking back at her, then at me with burning desperation. “Dad, Tara’s hurt. She needs a hospital—”
“I don’t need a hospital,” Tara says primly. “I would’ve been fine if you’d have let me make a crutch with a branch.”
I almost want to laugh. The joy inside me is so big, threatening to burst out.
“What happened?” I ask. “How’d you guys wind up this far out? Why didn’t you call?”
Eli looks down sheepishly.
“Um...my phone died from taking too many pictures and video clips,” he says. “And then we couldn’t get a signal on Tara’s, and without GPS, we got turned around. The maps don’t show anything out here unless you’ve got data. So we tried climbing high in a tree to get like a signal or figure out where we were, but...”
He winces.
“I fell, and my ankle’s twisted. But it’s not broken,” Tara finishes matter-of-factly. She seems to have a good, clear head on her shoulders. “It just hurts to walk.”
“Yeah, so we looked for a place to wait where it wasn’t so wet and animals couldn’t find us,” Eli adds. “We were okay, Dad. We brought snacks and drinks and we’re barely even hungry, just cold. I had my big jacket so we were wrapped up in that.”
That’s when I realize Tara’s lying on the big old Army green weatherproof jacket I used to wear on fishing boats. Eli loved it, he always said it looked like, so dystopian-punk, so I’d let him have it even though you could fit his entire body into one sleeve.
Now, I’m glad I fed his little obsession.
Looks like they’ve been using it for ground cover and a blanket with his backpack settled at the top for a pillow.
“I knew you’d come,” Eli says with certainty, looking up at me with his eyes shining. “I knew we just had to stay calm and wait.”
Nothing wrecks you like knowing your kid has that much faith in you.
Like knowing he trusts you to protect him. To find him. To do anything to keep him safe.
I’m so damned glad I didn’t break Eli’s faith today.
I’m so damned glad I found him.
Found them both.
Swallowing the tension in my throat, I reach in, offering Tara my hand. “C’mon. Let’s get you two back into town so the doctor can get a look, and then we’ll get a hot meal into you and some proper rest.”
Tara holds out both arms to me and lets me scoop her up.
I brace my knees and settle her on one shoulder, waiting for Eli to gather his things and stuff them in his bag before I scoop him up, too. He perches easily on my other shoulder.
What can I say?
Sometimes being as big as an adolescent polar bear has its benefits.
Eli lets out a little yelp as I rise, clutching at my head, while Tara keeps her poise like a queen.
I can’t help chuckling and mutter, “Watch your heads, guys.”
We turn, ducking through the scraggly branches and trudge back toward the trailhead where I know the whole team will be waiting to cheer our arrival.
“Hey, Dad?” Eli asks tentatively, shaking out his jacket and wrapping it around him, me, and Tara, forming a makeshift umbrella between them to shield my head from the rain.
“Yeah, polecat?”
“You’re...you’re not mad at me?” He doesn’t even hiss at me not to call him that this time.
I grin like a fool.
“Nah, son. Not mad at all.” I give his hip a squeeze where I’ve got a grip on him to keep him balanced. “Just happy you’re safe. You ended up in a rotten situation when your phones didn’t work, and you did the smartest thing you could. You kept your heads on. You stayed put, you stayed safe, and you looked out for each other.” I squeeze my son again to drive the words home. “I’m proud of you both. You’re growing up fast.”
Eli lets out a choked sniffle, and it’s not hard to tell he’s using the rain to hide his tears.
He’s such a good boy.
I really am proud of him, but more than anything, I’m happy as hell to have my family back together.
Even if there’s an ache that says it’s still missing a crucial piece.
Yeah, when I get back, me and Fliss need to talk.
I need to get over my idiotic fears that every woman who comes near me might hurt my son.
That never happened here. None of it was her fault. I let my worst nightmares have free rein.
I just hope she’s okay and I haven’t torn up her heart too bad when I was piss-scared for Eli’s safety.
“Mr. Charter?” Tara asks.
“Yeah, kidlet?”
“...why do you call Eli ‘polecat?’”
Eli stiffens on my shoulder.
“Dad, no,” he whispers.
I grin, angling my head to see him.
“You really don’t want me to tell her? It’s a cute story.”
“Dad! I’m not cute!”
Tara pouts—and it’s deliberate enough that I can already tell she’s learned how to be a li
ttle heartbreaker.
“I think you are,” she says. “I want to hear a cute story about Eli.”
“Oh, God.” He groans, then smacks a hand into his face, probably to hide that burning red blush racing up to his scalp like a thermometer. “...whatever, but I’m not telling it.”
I bite back my laugh.
My son’s such a goner.
I’m thinking this story might be the perfect comic relief right now, and I don’t care if I sound like a soppy dad.
Not with how happy I am to have them in my arms, safe and sound and on our way back to civilization, a slow steady march where I’m ever mindful of the slippery mud.
“When Eli was five, he climbed trees like a cat,” I say, a grin plastered to my face. “Everybody was always begging him to come down because he’d get up just high enough where we couldn’t reach, and then he’d smile down, giggling like it was the world’s funniest joke while we were panicking. Little brat.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Eli says dryly.
“It’s true.” I chuckle. “But one day—I don’t know if someone snuck him sugar or what—he just got into everything. It was raining that day and the backyard was a mud pit, and he’d rolled around and gotten himself covered from head to toe. Little dirt baby, mud all over, and then he went climbing right up his favorite oak tree. While his mom was standing down there begging him to come down and I was looking for a path up that wouldn’t break under my weight, he decided he was coming down his way, on his terms. He came, all right, skidding down the trunk like it was a slide. Swiped all the mud right off his back till it was the only clean spot on his body. Just this one stripe right down his spine.”
“Ohhh,” Tara says. “Like a skunk. A polecat.”
“Exactly.”
“Sounds like I could learn a thing or two about climbing trees from you,” she whispers.
“Yeah.” Eli’s oddly quiet, though. Then he murmurs, “Mom was actually the one who first started calling me that, wasn’t she?”
I pause, turning the question over, my mind back in the distant past.
“Yeah,” I say finally.
A lot of times, I forget that.
My time with Katelyn ended in such flames I’ve spent years running from it, desperate to make sure the poison can’t creep back in my memories.
And I forget that once, there used to be good days. Warm days. Happy days. It’s easier to face that, now, somehow.