“We didn’t have names for all the problems kids have now. But the boy wasn’t right. Never was. You only had to look in his eyes to know something inside him had gone all wrong.”
“Why do you think he set the fire?”
“Lots of theories on that one. Could have been that the other kids were teasing him and he was acting out. Could have been that he wanted some attention. Could have been that he just got it into his mind that he wanted to see something burn.”
“Should we tell the FBI, too?” Ben asked.
“We can. But, to put all the cards on the table, I don’t think they sent their best and brightest to work this one.”
“Really?” Ben had thought they were sharp enough.
“When they’re good, they’re the best, but they’re stretched like everyone else these days. If it is JoJo, well, we know these mountains as well as he does. The feds know it, too. That’s why they left it to us to search the woods. Those FBI agents can send out their APBs and Amber Alerts and keep tabs on the staties, but send them trudging through these woods in this snow and they’ll just ruin their shoes.”
“It’s in here,” Ben said, ducking into the trees. He followed Charlie’s and his footsteps to the rope ladder. When he found it, he handed it to the chief. Ben waited as the man lifted himself up to the platform. After a few moments the chief had his feet back on the ground. He’d seemed exhausted on the walk over, and the climb had winded him.
“What do you think?”
“Charlie built this himself?” the chief asked.
“Yeah, he loves it out here, the animals and trees and everything. He’s sort of obsessed.”
“He ever mention anything strange about the Drop? Or about the village?” the chief asked. They started to walk back to the Crofts.
“Well, I thought him having clandestine contact with a large man dressed in animal skins was pretty strange.” Ben sensed that the chief was watching him closely. “If it was JoJo, what do you think he meant by carving run into the tree?” he asked.
“Sounds like he’s taunting Charlie.”
“Or could it be a warning?” Ben asked. “The man in the smoke kept telling Charlie to leave, then said he was going to die. But what if it wasn’t a threat but a warning? As if he thought it wasn’t safe here.”
“Sounds to me that he wanted you folks out so that he could have the Crofts to himself.”
“Yeah,” Ben said. “I guess it could mean anything.” They began to work their way out from the trees. “But it’s not safe for Charlie here. My brother’s coming up to take him back to the city.”
“When’s he coming?”
“Hoping to get here tomorrow.”
“Charlie would be just as safe at our place. There’s plenty of room, and it’d give us the chance to repay your hospitality.”
“Thanks, but a change of scenery would be good for him right now.”
“Not sure that teaching a boy to up and run when things start getting hard is a good lesson,” the chief said.
Ben had to look at him to realize that he was serious.
“It’s not safe for him here,” Ben repeated. He wondered if he’d offended the chief by declining his offer to take Charlie in, but he couldn’t possibly generate the energy to care about the man’s feelings.
“You know best,” the chief said. But Ben could hear the clench of the man’s jaw in every word.
“The FBI is operating as if this is a conventional kidnapping, right?” Ben said. “But if it’s JoJo, we don’t understand his motives. What does that mean for us? What should we do differently?”
“We’re gonna try our best to find the baby, Ben. But not every story can have a happy ending,” the chief said. “You gotta prepare yourself for that. It’s a hard life up here for most folks in the village, always has been. And you’re one of us again. But hard things happen to good people because the Lord knows they can take it.”
“What are you talking about?” It sounded like something straight from one of the village church’s dour sermons.
“It’s life and death, Ben. Does it get any bigger than that? Man does what he can, but in the end, it’s not our will that matters any.”
“Chief, you need to get some rest,” Ben said.
They were still a long way from the Crofts, and Ben began to pick up the pace.
42
The Crofts was cold and filled with sounds. Charlie imagined each creak as a footstep; every howl as a scream. He didn’t want to be here anymore.
Dad had gone outside with the chief. While they were out there, Charlie helped Mom by breaking holes in the walls of the third-floor bedrooms so that they could hear Bub better. Charlie didn’t know why the man would put Bub in the wall, but Mom was sure he was here, and Charlie did what she said, like a good son. If he’d been a better son—if he’d been a better brother—Bub would be playing in the kitchen right now instead of being stuck in the walls or cold in the snow.
Mom had used an ax to open a tear in the hallway at about Bub’s height. When she called into the walls, she and Charlie were quiet so they could hear Bub answer.
Charlie had given Mom the sandwich he’d made for her, but she took only a bite. She looked as tired and hungry as Dad did, but she didn’t stop or slow. She attacked the walls and the floors like an opossum caught in a trap. It was scary, but Charlie thought it was good, too. If he was ever taken like Bub, he would want Mom and Dad to look just as hard. He thought Bub and he must be very lucky to have a mom and dad like this.
“Did you hear that?” Mom asked, turning to him. This time he had heard something, a bang that came up from their feet. Mom got a crowbar to pry loose the planks that were where the floor had been. At first she had been tearing at the walls and floors with her hands, but Dad had brought her gloves, an ax, a crowbar, and a big hammer. Still, Charlie could see red where the blood from her hands had soaked through.