Great.
Wendy didn’t like cops. After what had happened to her in the woods, she didn’t trust them anymore. They had done nothing but scare her and ask her the same questions over and over. They never believed her when she said she couldn’t remember anything.
And they failed to get her brothers back.
Officer Smith had been one of those cops.
Wendy heard the clacking of their loaded belts and the squeak of their boots on the speckled linoleum. They came to a stop in front of her. Wendy tried to relax the muscles in her face and conjure up an expression of boredom as she continued to stare straight ahead. Her heart fluttered traitorously in her chest.
The officer she didn’t recognize spoke first. “Miss Darling?” His voice was too gentle. He was in the wrong profession.
Wendy hummed in acknowledgment.
“We just have a few questions for you,” he said. There was a rustling of paper as he pulled out a notepad.
“I already talked to the paramedics,” Wendy said flatly.
Officer Smith stepped forward. His handcuffs glinted from his belt. “Yeah, well, we have a few more questions.”
Angry defiance sparked in Wendy. “Shouldn’t you guys be out looking for those missing kids instead of bugging me?” She regretted saying it almost as soon as it left her lips.
“Yes, we should, Wendy.” She glanced up at his rough tone. Officer Smith scowled deeply, his fists propped on his hips. The other cop—young, with even, short-cropped hair—looked uneasy.
The name on his uniform read CECCO. Wendy knew it. She went to high school with a girl whose last name was Cecco. This must be her older brother.
Officer Cecco’s eyes shifted between Wendy and Smith.
“Which is why you should cooperate with us so we can determine if this boy was a victim,” Officer Smith added.
Wendy swallowed hard but raised an eyebrow expectantly. “Well?”
Cecco cleared his throat. “You said something fell onto the hood of your car?”
“Yes.”
“Like a tree branch?” he prompted.
“No—not a tree branch, it was like…” Wendy thought about the strange black thing she had seen. It hadn’t been solid enough to be a branch. It was murky and whatever it was made of swirled and shifted, like if you tried to touch it, it would just slip through your fingers.
But how on earth could she describe that to the police? “It dented my hood and scratched my windshield.”
“Like a tree branch,” Smith insisted, shifting moodily.
Wendy lifted her chin and tried to sound firm. “No.” Of course he didn’t believe her. “I don’t know what it was, but it wasn’t a branch.”
“The medics said there were no signs that the victim”—Wendy grimaced at the word—“was hit by a car,” Cecco continued. “And you said he talked to you. Did he say what had happened?”
“No.”
“You said he knew your name.” His voice went all soft again. “Do you know him?”
She opened her mouth to say no, but the word lodged in her throat. She hesitated.
Wendy’s eyes shifted to the nurse’s desk.
Nurse Judy was watching the two officers talk to Wendy, startled. Her face was splotchy red, and for a moment, Wendy thought she was going to stomp over and tell the officers off. Instead, she marched quickly in the direction of the break room.
Wendy’s grip around her legs tightened. Her breathing quickened. She hoped Smith and Cecco didn’t notice. “No.” But she didn’t sound nearly as confident as before. She couldn’t tell them that she thought she had almost run her truck over a boy she only knew from make-believe stories.
Wendy’s head gave a painful throb.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Smith’s cold gray eyes narrowed. “How did he end up in the middle of the street?” he asked. “Did he come from the logging roads?”
Wendy finally looked directly at the faces of the two officers. She smiled, squinting her eyes. “Maybe he fell out of the sky?”
Smith’s lips pressed into a hard line, the muscle in his jaw clenching. It gave Wendy a small feeling of satisfaction. Cecco uselessly rubbed at the back of his neck. After cutting Smith a nervous glance, he pinned his attention back to Wendy. “How does he know your—?”
“What’s going on here?” The voice was quiet but stern.
“Mom,” Wendy breathed.
Her mother appeared, standing between the two officers.
Mary Darling was in a pair of faded blue scrubs, her light brown hair done up in a messy bun. Her hands were at her sides, fidgeting, as her sharp brown eyes looked back and forth between the officers. The stern authority she’d once had was belied by sagging shoulders and dark circles under her eyes.
Wendy stood up, pushing past Smith and Cecco to get to her mother’s side.
“Are you all right?” Mrs. Darling asked, giving Wendy a sidelong glance. “What happened? Your father—?”
“No, I’m fine,” Wendy said quickly. Her mom could sort this all out, she could make sense of all this. “There was this boy—”
“Mrs. Darling, we need to talk to your daughter,” Smith cut in.
“And why is that, Officer Smith?”
He took off his hat, clearly ready to launch into an explanation.
“Wendy!”
Everyone turned. The blue drapes around the boy’s bed rustled. Nurses ran behind the curtains.
“WENDY!”
She couldn’t make out what the doctors were saying over the frenzied shouts of her name. There were two loud bangs as metal trays were knocked to the floor.
Everyone was staring at her. The nurses, the doctors, the officers, her mom.
“WENDY!”
Her head spun. All other sound became muffled and garbled, except for his piercing yells.
This felt like a nightmare. Her chest heaved up and down and her hands curled into fists. She walked toward the curtained bed.
“Wendy.” This time it was her mother, lightly placing a hand on her shoulder, but Wendy shrugged it off. She passed nurses who openly stared at her and moved out of her way.
“WENDY!”
She was close enough now to reach out and grab the cotton drape. She hesitated, noticing how hard her hand was shaking. Wendy yanked it back.
Nurses darted around. Men in blue scrubs on either side of the boy tried to grab hold of his arms. His legs thrashed under the waffle-knit blanket. There was a doctor with a needle and a small glass bottle.
But then everything stopped and it was Wendy looking at him, and him looking back. She could see now that his hair was a dark auburn, glints of red showing even in the dull hospital light. The color of late-autumn leaves. He was dressed in a blue hospital gown. They’d apparently cut him out of what he had been wearing.
“Wendy?” He wasn’t yelling anymore. His head tipped to the side as he squinted at her with those brilliant blue eyes.
Wendy couldn’t find her voice. She had no idea what to say. Her mouth was open, but nothing came out.
A wide smile cut across his face, revealing a small chip in his front tooth, and deep dimples. Those starry eyes of his lit up—the ones she’d never been able to capture in her dozens of drawings. But that wasn’t possible …