pajamas. A crew-neck pullover. About the right size for a five-year-old. Across the chest, in red and black letters, were the words
Jedi Knight
.
A sudden foreboding made my mouth go dry.
When I’d followed Orson away from Lilly Wing’s house, I had already reluctantly decided that her little boy was beyond saving, but subsequently, against my better judgment, I had allowed myself to hope too much. In this uncertain space between birth and death, especially here at the end of the world in Moonlight Bay, we need hope as surely as we need food and water, love and friendship. The trick, however, is to remember that hope is a perilous thing, that it’s not a steel and concrete bridge across the void between this moment and a brighter future. Hope is no stronger than tremulous beads of dew strung on a filament of spiderweb, and it alone can’t long support the terrible weight of an anguished mind and a tortured heart. Because I had loved Lilly for so many years—now as a friend; in other days, more deeply than one loves even the dearest friend—I had wanted to spare her from this worst of all calamities, from the loss of a child. I had wanted this more desperately than I’d realized, and consequently I’d been running across a bridge of hope, a high arched span, which now dissolved like gossamer and directed my attention to the chasm beneath me.
Clutching the pajama top, I returned to the corridor.
I heard the boy’s name,
“Jimmy,”
before I realized that I was the one who had softly spoken it.
I called to him again, not sotto voce this time but at the top of my voice.
I might as well have spoken in a murmur, because my shout drew no more response than my whisper. No surprise. I hadn’t expected a reply.
Angrily, I wadded the thin pajama top and stuffed it in a coat pocket.
With the illusion of hope dispelled, I could more clearly see the truth. The boy wasn’t here, not in any of the rooms along this hallway, not on the level below this one or on the level above. I’d thought it must have been difficult for the kidnapper to descend the maintenance ladder with Jimmy, but Jimmy hadn’t been with him. The yellow-eyed bastard had at some point realized he was being followed by a man—and a dog. He had put Jimmy elsewhere before carrying the pajama top—which was saturated with the boy’s scent—into the rat catacombs under the warehouse, hoping to mislead us.
I remembered how uncertain Orson had become after leading me so confidently to the warehouse entrance. He had wandered nervously back and forth in the serviceway, sniffing the air, as though puzzled by contradictory spoor.
After I’d entered the warehouse, Orson had remained loyally at my side as we had been drawn by the noises rising from deeper in the building. By the time I’d found the Darth Vader action figure, I’d forgotten Orson’s hesitancy and had become convinced that I was close to finding Jimmy.
Now I ran toward the elevator alcove, wondering why I hadn’t heard a bark or a snarl. I’d expected the kidnapper to be surprised when he found a dog waiting for him on the main level. But if he’d known that he was being tracked and had taken the trouble to use the pajama top to establish a false trail, perhaps he was prepared to deal with Orson.
When I reached the alcove, it was deserted. The shaft wasn’t aglow with the kidnapper’s light, which I had glimpsed just before I’d gone into the third room and found the pajama top.
I directed my flashlight up toward the warehouse, then down at the bottom of the shaft, one floor below. There was no sign of my quarry in either direction.
He might have descended. Maybe he was more familiar with this section of the Wyvern maze than I was. If he knew of a passage connecting the lowest level of the warehouse with another facility, elsewhere on the military base, he could have left by that back door.
Nevertheless, I intended to go upstairs and find Orson, whose continued silence worried
Jedi Knight
.
A sudden foreboding made my mouth go dry.
When I’d followed Orson away from Lilly Wing’s house, I had already reluctantly decided that her little boy was beyond saving, but subsequently, against my better judgment, I had allowed myself to hope too much. In this uncertain space between birth and death, especially here at the end of the world in Moonlight Bay, we need hope as surely as we need food and water, love and friendship. The trick, however, is to remember that hope is a perilous thing, that it’s not a steel and concrete bridge across the void between this moment and a brighter future. Hope is no stronger than tremulous beads of dew strung on a filament of spiderweb, and it alone can’t long support the terrible weight of an anguished mind and a tortured heart. Because I had loved Lilly for so many years—now as a friend; in other days, more deeply than one loves even the dearest friend—I had wanted to spare her from this worst of all calamities, from the loss of a child. I had wanted this more desperately than I’d realized, and consequently I’d been running across a bridge of hope, a high arched span, which now dissolved like gossamer and directed my attention to the chasm beneath me.
Clutching the pajama top, I returned to the corridor.
I heard the boy’s name,
“Jimmy,”
before I realized that I was the one who had softly spoken it.
I called to him again, not sotto voce this time but at the top of my voice.
I might as well have spoken in a murmur, because my shout drew no more response than my whisper. No surprise. I hadn’t expected a reply.
Angrily, I wadded the thin pajama top and stuffed it in a coat pocket.
With the illusion of hope dispelled, I could more clearly see the truth. The boy wasn’t here, not in any of the rooms along this hallway, not on the level below this one or on the level above. I’d thought it must have been difficult for the kidnapper to descend the maintenance ladder with Jimmy, but Jimmy hadn’t been with him. The yellow-eyed bastard had at some point realized he was being followed by a man—and a dog. He had put Jimmy elsewhere before carrying the pajama top—which was saturated with the boy’s scent—into the rat catacombs under the warehouse, hoping to mislead us.
I remembered how uncertain Orson had become after leading me so confidently to the warehouse entrance. He had wandered nervously back and forth in the serviceway, sniffing the air, as though puzzled by contradictory spoor.
After I’d entered the warehouse, Orson had remained loyally at my side as we had been drawn by the noises rising from deeper in the building. By the time I’d found the Darth Vader action figure, I’d forgotten Orson’s hesitancy and had become convinced that I was close to finding Jimmy.
Now I ran toward the elevator alcove, wondering why I hadn’t heard a bark or a snarl. I’d expected the kidnapper to be surprised when he found a dog waiting for him on the main level. But if he’d known that he was being tracked and had taken the trouble to use the pajama top to establish a false trail, perhaps he was prepared to deal with Orson.
When I reached the alcove, it was deserted. The shaft wasn’t aglow with the kidnapper’s light, which I had glimpsed just before I’d gone into the third room and found the pajama top.
I directed my flashlight up toward the warehouse, then down at the bottom of the shaft, one floor below. There was no sign of my quarry in either direction.
He might have descended. Maybe he was more familiar with this section of the Wyvern maze than I was. If he knew of a passage connecting the lowest level of the warehouse with another facility, elsewhere on the military base, he could have left by that back door.
Nevertheless, I intended to go upstairs and find Orson, whose continued silence worried
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