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downstairs including the closets in case he’s hiding.”

  While Mary searched, she listened for sounds from upstairs that Hank had been found. Hope slipped away when Lou came down the stairs and shook his head. “No sign of him,” he said.

  She wanted to vomit. “I’m calling the cops,” she said.

  Lou nodded. “I’ll call work to tell them I’m not coming in.”

  A Philly PD blue and white pulled to the curb with its lights going. Two officers climbed the steps and Mary had the door open for them before they reached the landing. They came in and listened as Mary and Lou recounted the events of that morning. The older of the two, Officer Gomez, did most of the talking. He was tall and slender and devoid of emotion. From his sullen and world-weary demeanor, Mary got the impression Gomez had seen it all. His brown eyes measured her, probed for information, and weighed what she said. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Gomez thought she was lying. The other, Officer Wettle, scribbled notes on a pad while Gomez questioned them. “Which room is your son’s?” Gomez asked. Mary led them down the hall. “Do you mind if we take a look around?”

  “No of course not,” Mary said. She stepped away from the door to get out of their way. Gomez gave an upward jerk of his head and Wettle left the room. Mary heard him climb the stairs to the second floor. Gomez checked windows, searched closets and under beds. Mary waited with Lou in the living room already sure of the result, though inside, a small twinkle of hope burned.

  The two policemen rejoined them looking grim. “Were your doors locked last night?” Gomez asked.

  Mary nodded. “Dead bolted. I had to unlatch it to let you in.”

  “Do you have a recent photo of your son?” Gomez asked.

  “Somewhere in this mess,” Mary said. She sifted through the boxes stacked against the wall. “We just moved and haven't had a chance to unpack everything.” She found an album and pulled a photo of Hank from under the protective plastic sheet. Mary passed it to Gomez.

  “Do you mind if we take it with us? We’ll be putting out an Amber alert and a photo will be very helpful.”

  “No, of course not. It’s yours,” Mary said.

  “Does your son have any distinctive birthmarks or scars?”

  Mary glanced at Lou who shrugged. “He has a burn on his right forearm,” Mary said.

  “How did he get that?” Gomez asked.

  “He bumped up against the barbeque last summer.”

  Gomez gave his partner a look and said, “I think we have everything we need.”

  “What do we do now?” Mary asked.

  “You wait,” Gomez said.

  Wait! The utter helplessness implied by the word crushed Mary. Her eyes stung and brimmed with tears. She managed to tough it out until the officers left and the door closed before she started to sob. Lou tried to comfort her, but there was no way he could. She ran to Hank’s room and curled up on his bed. She could still smell his presence on the sheets.

  The doorbell rang at two in the afternoon. Lou answered it. Mary sat at the kitchen table, her eyes swollen and head sore. She felt tired and wrung out. Two men dressed in slacks and sport coats followed Lou into the kitchen. Badges hung from their lapel pockets. They were Mutt and Jeff, one tall, white, and balding; the other short, heavy-set, and black. When she made eye contact, she sensed them practically cringe in anticipation of the question permeating the air.

  “Did you find my son?”

  “Not yet, ma’am,” the shorter one said. I’m Detective Jackson and this is Detective Mandell. We’d like to ask you a few questions.” Mary remained seated and kicked out the two chairs on the opposite side of the table. Mandell glanced at his partner and they both sat. “We realize this is a difficult time for both of you,” Jackson said, “and we’ll make this as brief as we can. When did you realize your son was missing?”

  “About seven-thirty this morning,” Mary said.

  “And when was the last time you remember seeing him last night?”

  Mary turned to Lou, her face twisted in confusion. “We answered these same questions this morning. Don’t you guys talk to each other?”

  Jackson gazed at her a moment, his face unperturbed, heavy lidded eyes unblinking. “Ma’am, sometimes when we ask the questions again, people remember something new. It also gives us a chance to reconfirm our information. That’s why we do it.”

  Mary propped her elbows on the table and settled her chin on her hands. “The last time I saw him was nine o’clock last night.” Jackson nodded and Mary recognized a trend. Jackson took the lead and did all the talking while his partner remained silent and took notes, much like the uniformed officers earlier that day.

  “Are you both light sleepers?” Jackson asked.

  “I am. Him, not so much.”

  “Did you hear anything during the night or have any reason to visit your son’s room?”

  “No,” Mary said.

  “What about you, sir?”

  Lou wagged his head. “I went out like a light and didn’t wake up until seven.”

  “Is that true, ma’am?”

  “Yeah, if he gets out of bed, I know.”

  Jackson paused. His eyes shifted between Mary and Lou. Mary could feel he was building to something. “Did either of you find an unlocked window or door first thing this morning?”

  Mary looked at Lou who was staring back at her. Lou shook his head. “Me either,” Mary said. “I locked the doors last night before heading to bed. And they were still locked this morning when I let the officers in.”

  Jackson sat back and let out a heavy sigh. “See, that's where I have a problem.” His eyes settled heavily on Mary. “How could someone break in here and take your son, and then deadbolt the door behind them. It just doesn't seem possible, now does it?”

  Lou's mouth hung open. His eyes glazed with confusion. “What are you trying to say, Detective?”

  “I'm not trying to say anything. It's just that unless I'm missing something, whoever took your son was inside this house last night. So I figure there must be some detail you haven't told us. Maybe if we talk it through, I can fill in the missing pieces.”

  “Missing pieces?” Mary smacked her hands down hard on the table. The two detectives flinched. “What missing pieces? We told you everything. Our son is missing and instead of looking for him, you’re here accusing us. Out! Get out!” She felt Lou's hand on her shoulder and jerked away. She pointed to the door, “Go!”

  Detective Jackson begrudgingly lifted his bulk from the chair, his mouth set in a tight line. “Maybe we picked a bad time. But we do need to talk. You'll be seeing me again, count on it.”

  Lou led the detectives out. When he returned, Mary saw something on his face that scared her. Doubt. “What's eating you?” she asked. “Go ahead and spit it out.”

  “What happened here last night, Mary?”

  She closed her eyes. “Not you too.” She felt weak and weary, betrayed. She wanted to cry but tears wouldn’t come. “I don't know what happened. The only thing I'm sure of is that you and I would never hurt our son.”

  “But the locks, how do you explain that?”

  “Do you understand what you're saying?” Mary shook her head in disbelief and pushed past Lou to get out of the kitchen.

  “Where are you going?” Lou demanded.

  “Leave me alone. I can't talk to you right now.” She rushed down the hall to Hank's room and closed the door. Where was her little man? His Teddy bear rested near the head of his bed. She sat, picked up the bear and hugged it in her arms. The front door slammed. Lou had left. She wondered if he'd ever come back. She settled onto her side and breathed in the scent of Hank's pillow. It had only been hours and already small details of his face were fading.

  Night had settled over the house when Mary woke. It was dark and she was disoriented. When she realized she was clutching Hank's Teddy bear, it all came back. She pushed herself up and sat on the edge of the bed.

  Locked doors. Detective Jackson was wron
g about she and Lou, they could never hurt Hank. But he was right too. It did seem impossible that someone else took their son. How could it have happened? It didn't make any sense.

  She heard a voice calling to her from the hall, faint and indecipherable. Mary stood and opened the door. She waited in the hall, listening. She heard it again and recognized a single word - “Mommy.” It was Hank's voice.

  “Where are you, baby?”

  “Help me, Mommy,” Hank pleaded.

  Had he hidden and somehow become trapped? How long had he been calling for her, waiting for rescue. She honed in on the sound.

  “Help me Mommy, it's hurting me.”

  “What's wrong, honey?”

  “Help, Mommy, help.” Hank screamed.

  “Mommy's coming,” She yelled. “Hold on Hank.”

  Mary rushed into the laundry room and flipped on the lights. The brightness stung her eyes. The room was empty. She was so sure. Had she been dreaming?

  “Hank?” she called.

  “Help me, Mommy.” Hank's voice echoed from the open dryer. Mary crouched down and peered inside. The back of the drum appeared to have been peeled away like a manhole cover to reveal an abyss. Hank floated in the void with his arms outstretched.

  “Help me, Mommy.”

  Hank started to fall.

  Mary lunged into the dryer and snatched his wrist. Something was sucking her son down like a whirlpool. “Give me your other hand, Hank.” Mary stretched out her free hand and Hank took it. The pull of the whirlpool grew. Hank's expression changed. His fearful eyes turned mean and a leer exposed jagged teeth. This wasn't