A warm sea breeze slipped into the quiet, dark house. It skimmed over the rumpled pillows on a couch whose bright floral pattern was just beginning to fade. It drifted into the kitchen, over the two empty bowls in the sink—evidence of a pre-bedtime ice cream snack. It sniffed around the TV and computer, the pair of child's shoes left out at the foot of the stairs, before swirling up the staircase and into the bedroom at the top of it. It ruffled the sheer curtains hanging in the bay window before skimming over the two figures slumbering in the queen bed. One occupant of the bed was tangled in mounds of sheets and blankets, snuggled up to her chin in gray and yellow bedding, her blonde hair an untidy halo around her head. The other was curled around his pillow, knees tucked up to his chest, his bare feet twitching slightly as the breeze wafted over them once more before disappearing into the quiet night.
Shawn started awake, lying still on the bed, his mind already sprinting. What had woken him? His feet twitched again and he glanced down at them, then across the bed at his wife. He rolled his eyes and uttered an exasperated huff.
"Jules," he hissed, tugging at the blankets, trying to locate her in the pile. "Give me a blanket, you cover hog."
She responded with an incomprehensible mutter and pulled the blankets tighter around herself.
Shawn tugged for another moment, then tsked and threw up his hands. He crawled to the edge of the bed, reached down into the basket sitting at the foot of it, and pulled out a white fleecy throw. He wrapped it around himself, mumbling about inconsiderate bed-sharers, before grabbing his pillow again and tucking it underneath his head and chest.
He lay still for a moment, his eyes closed, listening to the even breathing of his wife beside him. Then he sat up again, frowning. Something was nagging at him—something his sleep-fuzzy head couldn't quite grasp.
Then it brushed past his cheek again—that breeze. Had Jules left a window open?
A quick glance to his left confirmed that they were closed. Then what….?
He closed his eyes again, this time in concentration, listening for anything out of ordinary in the still house. For a heartbeat, nothing. Then the sounds of the night began filling his ears. A dog barking several streets over, branches from the tree out back creaking in the breeze, a car in the distance, the gentle tinkling of his neighbor's wind chimes...
Wind chimes...should not be hearing those…Shawn's frown deepened as he opened his eyes. Glancing back at Juliet, he crept out of the open bedroom door and down the hall. He descended the staircase just far enough to peer around the wall into the living room.
The front door was wide open.
His eyes darted around the room, his heart beginning to pound. Just when he was considering going back for some kind of weapon, he heard Juliet's soft tread on the stairs behind him.
"Shawn?" she whispered, arms folded around herself and squinting in the darkness. "What is it?"
He turned, one hand at his lips shushing her, the other gesturing around the corner. The door's open, he mouthed.
Juliet's eyes widened. She spun around too quickly and stumbled back up the stairs. As Shawn turned back to the open door, he heard her footfalls scurrying along the upstairs hallway, into their son's bedroom. He heard her voice, low and tight, calling their son's name. Shawn waited to hear the boy's reply, but instead he heard some rustling around and then his wife's footsteps running back toward him. As she came back into view, he was startled to see her gun in her hand.
"Shawn," she breathed, her brows knitted together, voice catching slightly, "Nolan is not in his room."
For a moment he stared into her face, trying to calm his racing heart. He cleared his head with a little shake, held up his hands to her.
"Maybe he got a craving for some banana pudding, fell asleep on the couch?"
Juliet was already pushing past him on the stairs, gun up, checking around the corner as if she were expecting a masked bandit to appear. Which, Shawn realized, trailing after her, she probably was.
It only took them a minute to confirm that Nolan was nowhere in the house. Juliet quick-footed to the front door and hopped out onto the porch. "Nolan!" she called into the night. Shawn ushered her back into the house, closing the door behind him. Juliet already had her gun down and her phone out, searching her contacts with trembling hands.
"Jules, what are you doing?" Shawn asked.
"Calling the chief," she replied, not looking up at him.
Shawn approached her, gently removed the phone from her hands. "Let's not jump to conclusions," he said. As her eyes snapped up angrily to meet his, he gestured to the white alarm box next to the door, the screen glowing faintly green in the shadowy room.
"The alarm, Jules," he said. "Look—the alarm hasn't been triggered. The locks are all intact. Nobody came in from the outside. Nolan knows the alarm code—he had to have left the house on his own."
He watched her chest rise and fall jerkily, eyes still not convinced, then added, "It wouldn't be the first time he's walked in his sleep. Or the first time he's wandered off on his own. Let's face it, that boy is as slippery as a skinned pineapple when he wants to be."
"He's never wandered out of the house in his sleep before," she retorted, but the lines of her body were softening, her brows smoothing slightly.
"Well, there's a first time for everything," he said, sliding his arm around her waist. "Let's see if we can find him ourselves, before we go calling for reinforcement."
Juliet narrowed her eyes at her husband's pleading expression, before snapping, "Fine, but if we haven't found him in ten minutes, I'm making the call."
"I'll make it myself," Shawn replied, guiding her back upstairs.
The gray of dawn was just starting to lighten the sky as they stepped onto the sidewalk a couple minutes later, shoes and jackets thrown over their pajamas. Pretty crappy way to start the day, Shawn thought, stifling a yawn. He peered up and down the street, and upon seeing nothing out of the ordinary, turned back to Juliet. He sniffed and rubbed his hands together.
"Okay. Where would an 8-year-old sleepwalking boy wander off to in the middle of the night?"
Juliet glanced upward and cocked her head slightly. "I'm guessing he went somewhere he is familiar with. There are only a couple places he knows how to get to on foot," she said. "The elementary school—"
"—and the Gusters," Shawn finished, already glancing up the street toward his best friend's house. He clapped, pointed at her. "You take the car and head over to the school. I'll run over to Gusters and see if he's there."
Juliet nodded and hurried back inside for keys as Shawn jogged up the street, eyes darting toward every movement, every shadow, every sound along the short route. Though he had managed to keep calm and collected for Jules, he could no longer ignore the hard, anxious knot that had lodged in his chest and was making it difficult to concentrate, to breathe.
He rounded the first corner and cursed under his breath as his acute observational skills yielded him no clues that his son had taken the same route. He paused for a moment and closed his eyes, unconsciously lifting finger to temple, searching the images flying through his mind. He saw Nolan, bounding down the stairs last night to give his mother one last good-night kiss, clad in the blue and red Superman pajamas he'd received for his last birthday. Bare feet, Shawn realized in dismay, and he said a silent prayer of thanks that the breeze lifting his hair now and again was more warm than cold.
He resumed his jog, hurrying down the street and turning one more corner before the Guster residence came into his view. His pace slowed but his heart quickened as he strode up the driveway, anxiously scanning the immaculate lawn and flower beds for signs of his child. His gaze lifted to the familiar porch. First: a planter box full of daylilies that were still tightly shut against the damp night. Then: a green painted front door with polished stained glass that Shawn intentionally smudged with his fingers every time he visited. And finally: a cozy blue-cushioned porch swing, complete with a pair of child-sized bare feet peeking over the edge.
Shawn scurried up the three porch steps and then stopped short, absorbing for a moment the image of his son, nestled into the cushions in a little ball, totally still except for his chest rising and falling rhythmically, and his bare feet twitching occasionally in the breeze. Shawn gripped his chest and sat heavily on the top step, eyes closed, trying to steady his breathing. After a moment he fumbled in his pocket for his cell phone, tapped the screen a few times and held it to his ear.
"Jules, he's here. Passed out on the porch swing. Must've walked over in his sleep. Yeah...wait, actually no. Just meet us at home. Get some hot cocoa ready. I'll bring him."
He slipped the phone into his pocket, scooted backward until he was eye-level with his sleeping boy. Shawn felt the anxious knot in his chest slowly loosen and dissolve as he took in his son's tousled brown hair, dark eyelashes, and smattering of freckles. Nolan mumbled something in his sleep, feet twitching again, and then rolled over—and dropped off the swing onto the smooth tiles of the porch with a muffled thump.
The boy's eyes snapped open as he hit the deck, and a ear-splitting shriek tore out of his throat. Caught off guard, Shawn gaped at his son—now rolling onto his stomach, hands flailing in front of him, feet scrambling for purchase against the tiles, eyes shining with terror—before snapping forward and grabbing the boy's hands in his own. He deftly wrapped Nolan's arms around his chest like a straitjacket, pulled his son onto his lap while avoiding Nolan's kicking feet. He lowered his head until his lips brushed against Nolan's ear.
"Hey, hey, hey," he whispered, holding the boy tightly against his chest. "It's okay Kid, I'm here, I gotcha."
Almost immediately, Nolan's body stilled, and he relaxed against his father, eyes fluttering closed. Shawn sighed and eased his grip. He wasn't surprised to hear scurrying movements from inside the house behind him.
The door jerked open to the length of the chain lock, and half of Gus's scowling face appeared in the crack. Shawn twisted around and nodded at his friend. "S'okay Buddy, it's just us," he called. The door closed and Shawn heard the chain rattle, then it swung open again and Gus stepped onto the porch, dropping a high-heeled shoe into the house behind him before pulling the door closed.
Shawn cocked his head up at his flannel pajama clad friend. "What were you planning on doing with that? Giving me leg cramps?"
"It was a 5-inch stiletto, Shawn," Gus countered. "You could do some serious damage with that!"
"Man, why can't you just keep a baseball bat by your door like a normal person?"
Gus tsked and put his hands on his hips. He nodded toward Nolan. "What are you guys doing here anyway? It's 5:30 in the morning!"
Shawn glanced down at his son, frowning slightly. "Kid decided to take a midnight stroll I guess. Ended up on your swing."
"How long has he been there?" Gus asked, sitting down next to them.
"I have no idea. We didn't realize he was missing till about half an hour ago. He fell off the swing just after I got here and started freaking out." Shawn paused, then added, "Hope he didn't wake the baby up."
"Nah, just me," came the reply.
For a moment they sat in silence, watching the sky shade into a golden-pink as the sun announced its imminent arrival behind them. Shawn winced and shifted Nolan in his arms. "We better get going; Jules is expecting us back at the house. She'll probably put out an APB if I don't show up in the next thirty seconds."
Gus nodded, stood up, and yawned. "I'm going back to bed. It's the first night the girls haven't gotten us up before dawn, and I am taking full advantage of it. Good night, Shawn."
"Night," Shawn nodded at Gus as he stepped back inside, then turned and was surprised to see his son's hazel eyes staring up at him, bleary and disoriented.
"Where are we?" Nolan asked.
"Well," Shawn said, helping his son sit up, "we're at Uncle Gus's house."
Nolan wrinkled his nose. "Why?"
"It's a long story," Shawn replied, rising to his feet and stretching. With a yawn, Nolan clambered to his feet as well, and then looked down at them with a grimace.
"Dad, my feet are cold."
Shawn glanced down too. "I bet they are," he said. Then, with a slow raise of his eyebrows, he added, "You know what would warm them up quick?"
Nolan shook his head.
Shawn grinned, a mischievous twinkle sparkling in his eyes. "Running."
Nolan's eyes lit up and he returned the grin as he watched his father inch toward the Gusters' front door, finger extended toward the doorbell.
"Get ready," Shawn whispered. He took a breath, and then jammed his finger into the doorbell several times. "Go go go go go!"
As they leapt off the porch together, a cacophony of noise echoed from the house behind them, the cries of a baby mixing with a woman's raised voice, followed by Gus's unmistakable roar: "SHAWN! I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!"
Shawn didn't stick around to see if the stiletto would make another appearance. He and Nolan rounded the corner, both gasping with laughter as the sun finally cracked the sky over the city, headed toward the promise of hot chocolate and Juliet.
Not such a bad start to the day, after all.