Chapter 9 - The Second Boy
His name was Caleb Ross.
He had disappeared from Vermont two weeks before Noah.
His case never made national news.
His mother struggled with addiction. His father was unknown. Authorities believed he ran away from foster care.
He was four.
Four-year-olds do not run away successfully.
They get lost.
Or taken.
Margaret had seen Caleb once at the Christmas house.
“I thought he was Noah’s friend.”
“You saw another missing child and said nothing?”
“I didn’t know.”
“You never wanted to know.”
That landed.
Margaret looked down.
“Yes.”
Noah remembered Caleb differently.
“Wade called him C.”
“Was he with you long?”
“Maybe a year.”
“What happened?”
Noah’s face closed.
“He got sick.”
“Then?”
“Thomas took him.”
We found Caleb’s mother.
Rachel Ross was living in recovery housing and had spent years believing her son was dead.
When I called, I recognized the sound she made.
It was the sound a mother makes when hope is painful enough to feel dangerous.
Police searched medical records connected to Thomas’s aliases.
One clinic.
One boy admitted five years earlier as “Caleb Mercer.”
Transferred to a private residential school.
The school had closed.
Records showed Caleb was later adopted.
Alive.
His new family lived in Maine.
Rachel cried for twenty minutes.
Noah listened.
“Is she like you?”
“Yes.”
“She looked?”
“Every year.”
He swallowed.
“Good.”
Christmas morning came quietly.
We were in a protected house with paper decorations taped crookedly to the walls.
Eric cooked eggs badly.
Lucy opened presents loudly.
Noah sat before one wrapped box for ten minutes.
“You don’t have to open it,” I said.
“What if I don’t like it?”
“Then we return it.”
“People get mad.”
“I won’t.”
He opened it.
Inside was a red fire truck.
Not the original.
A new one.
One wheel had been intentionally removed.
Noah stared at me.
“Why is it broken?”
“Because apparently that’s how you like them.”
He laughed.
A real laugh.
Eric turned away to hide tears.
Then Noah reached into his pocket.
He gave me the silver airplane.
Both halves together.
“You keep it.”
“Are you sure?”
“I know where you are now.”
I could not speak.
I put it around my neck.
For one morning, we let ourselves pretend the nightmare had ended.
Then Detective Alvarez arrived.
Thomas had been arrested at a private airfield.
He had passports.
Cash.
A drive containing copies of the archive.
He was finished.
Or so we thought.
During interrogation Thomas requested to speak with Noah.
Denied.
Then with me.
I agreed from behind glass.
Thomas looked old.
Smaller than the monster I had built in my mind.
“You found him,” he said.
“Yes.”
“You should thank me.”
I stared.
“For what?”
“He survived because I needed Eric cooperative.”
“You kidnapped a four-year-old.”
“Wade did.”
“You kept him.”
Thomas smiled faintly.
“Courts care about verbs.”
“So do prisons.”
His smile vanished.
“Your mother was clever.”
“Clever enough to beat you.”
“She hid one file.”
“What file?”
“The only one I actually need.”
“Then keep needing it.”
I stood.
Thomas said, “Ask Eric what happened the night Noah disappeared.”
I stopped.
“I know.”
“No. You know Wade took Noah.”
I turned.
Thomas leaned toward the glass.
“You don’t know why Eric was at the preschool early.”
My stomach tightened.
“He was picking up our son.”
“He was running.”
“From you.”
“From the police.”
I looked toward Alvarez.
Thomas smiled again.
“Your husband wasn’t just my victim, Katherine.”
May you like
He lowered his voice.
“He was my partner first.”
