This Word was from the first in relation with God.
In the next frame, there I was, a boy again, looking up and full of hope. But, of course, that wasn’t me. The boy was too young. And in that instant, I realized who had come and why.
Tess came in and laid her hand on my back. “Shall we call the police? Is there anything missing?”
I could not answer, for my heart was pounding wildly and an overwhelming dread fixed me to the spot. We had not checked on our son. I sprinted up the stairs to his room. He lay asleep, knees drawn up to his chest, dreaming as if nothing had ever happened. Watching his innocent face, I knew at once that he was blood of my blood. He almost looked like the boy I still see in my nightmares. The boy at the piano.
I tucked her letter into my book and went to look for Speck. Panic overwhelmed logic, and I ran out onto the library lawn, hoping that she had left only moments before. The QOW had changed over to a cold rain, obliterating any tracks she might have made. Not a single soul could be seen. No one answered when I called her name, and the streets were curiously empty, as church bells began to ring out another Sunday. I was a fool to venture out into town in the middle of the morning. Following the labyrinth of sidewalks, I had no idea which way to go. A car eased around a corner and slowed as the driver spotted me walking in the rain. She braked, rolled down the window, and called out, “Do you need a ride? You’ll catch your death of cold.”
I remembered to make my voice understandable—a single stroke of fortune on that miserable day. “No, thank you, ma’am. I’m going home.”
”Don’t call me ‘ma’am,’” she said. She had a blonde ponytail like the woman who lived in the house we had robbed months before, and she wore a crooked smile. “It’s a nasty morning to be out, and you have no hat or gloves.”
”I live around the corner, thank you.”
”Do I know you?”
I shook my head, and she started to roll up her window.
”You haven’t seen a little girl out here, have you?” I called out.
”In this rain?”
”My twin sister,” I lied. “I’m out looking for her. She’s about my size.”
”No. I haven’t seen a soul.” She eyed me closely. “Where do you live? What is your name?”
I hesitated and thought it best to end the matter. “My name is Billy Speck.”
”You’d better go home, son. She’ll turn up.”
The car turned the corner and motored off. Frustrated, I walked toward the river, away from all the confusing streets and the chance of another human encounter. The rain fell in a steady drizzle, not quite cold enough to change over again, and I was soaked and chilled. The clouds obliterated the sun, making it difficult to orient myself, so I used the river as my compass, following its course throughout the pale day and into the slowly emerging darkness. Frantic to find her, I did not stop until late that night. Under a stand of evergreens crowded with winter sparrows and jays, I rested, waiting for a break in the weather.
Away from the town, all I could hear was the river lapping against the stony shores. As soon as I stopped searching, the questions I had kept at bay began to assault my mind. Unanswerable doubts that would torment me in quiet moments for the next few years. Why had she left us? Why would Speck leave me? She would not have taken the risk that Kivi and Blomma had.
