The two story house appeared empty. And starkly distasteful, it was.

Claude stepped out of his purring car to regard it closely, leaving Nadia, his guide, inside where it was warm and safe.

He glanced at his watch and set his jaw. Two thirty in the morning. He glared back at the poorly maintained stag house and felt his stomach twist with pain. The yard was near bare with lawn chairs toppled and scattered about. Random items were lodged in the shrubs by the porch, ranging from footballs to shoes and beer cans. An American flag, tattered and faded, hung lifeless from its pole.

Clearing his throat, Claude gathered the collar of his pea coat to stave off the biting chill. He began his investigation around the property. Prowling the porch, looking through the windows and checking for unlocked doors, he returned to his car when he was certain the house was empty.

"No one is here." His voice came over the soft hum of the car once the door shut.

Nadia leaned over, craning her head so that she could take a look into the shell of a dwelling from the driver's window. "Then I don't know where else to check." She sat back into her seat and crossed an arm over her chest while chewing on the thumb nail of the other. A singular leg began to bounce as she rifled her memory.

Claude had his hands resting along the steering wheel as they waited. For whatever reason, Claude didn't believe Nadia could see how dire this was to him. Tightening his grip, he closed his eyes and sighed deeply. He placed the car in drive and turned around.

Nadia was silent at first.

Claude was hoping she would not attempt at conversing with him. Frankly, she took this entire transgression far better than he had, he thought. Perhaps, they weren't as good of friends as he presumed.

"There's one other place," her voice whispered into the dark interior as they left the neighborhood.

A muscle in Claude's jaw set as he waited for her to continue.

"However, it's out of state. Upper New York, I believe." Nadia shifted in her seat for a more comfortable position. "The house we were out belongs to a friend of mine, that's how I knew about it."

Claude maintained his silence. He was at his wit's ends with a head full of turmoil and nightmarish results should he not find Esmeralda in time. His dream, he realized now, had been a premonition. Something he'd never done before.

A moment's pause came and went for the two strangers and it was awfully uncomfortable for Claude. He thought about how relieving it would be to drop her off at the dormitory and head home so he could think. What he needed was a glass of wine, he mused internally, something to loosen the tightness along his shoulders.

Ahead, a traffic light switched to yellow.

Claude eased off the gas and brought the vehicle to a gentle stop. Now that the voiceless hum of a passing road vanished, Claude was left with a hammering anxious heart and the last person to see Esmeralda.

"What can you tell me about this place?" He asked carefully, hoping to hide the desperate tremor that hid beneath his inflection.

"It's far," she began quietly. "I don't know where it is exactly. I mean, I don't know the address at all. I've never been there."

"Then how did you come to the knowledge of it?"

She paused, almost struggling to find the words. "Someone I used to know likes to visit up there."

He could tell that was all she could say on the matter.

"Upstate New York," Claude echoed softly. The light turned green, at last, and the drive continued.

For the second time that night, Claude found himself back on campus. He hadn't stopped conjuring plans to gain Esmeralda back, despite having so little to work from. Nadia was still proving herself useless. He needed more.

As he parked outside of the very dorm Esmeralda had once stayed, Nadia quietly unbuckled herself.

She reached for the door, but paused. Through the corner of his eye, Claude knew she was regarding him. Suddenly, she was stretching over the center console, reaching for him. Her arms snaked themselves around his shoulders, pulling him into an uncomfortable embrace where she whispered, "I hope we find her."

Initially, Claude froze, but eventually, an arm disconnected from the steering wheel and found a nearby shoulder. He patted her gently, long enough to conclude the hug. She let go and quickly got out.

Remaining parked, he watched her head inside until she disappeared behind the doors before placing it in drive and returning home.

The drive was quick. It helped that Claude was not interested in following the speed limit or keeping watch for stationed cops around bends or speed traps. It was also his lucky night when he reached his homestead without hang ups or flashing lights.

Throwing the car in park, he hurried out and marched across the sidewalk leading to his front door. The night ended unsatisfactory and it would continue to remain so, so long as the answers were without reach. He knew sleep was out of question for him. Shoving the keys in, he stepped into the warm confines of his estate and stopped short.

Lina was still awake, eyeing him from the living room and the fire was still going, brightly too. Someone was sitting next to her.

With Claude's current plight, he feared the worse, that whomever had Esmeralda, had also found him and thus, found Lina. His stomach dropped as he faltered at the entrance of his home. He remembered where he hid his rifle, but it was not within reach.

The newcomer stood, allowing Lina's shadow to slip away and the fire's light to reveal his countenance to Claude.

"Hello, father." The young lad stood, towering over Lina, despite his disfigurement which brought one shoulder significantly lower than the other.

Quasimodo, Claude and Lina's adopted son, had returned from abroad.

Baffled initially, Claude was uncertain at just which news pulled him from his studies in France. But quickly dismissed the confusion. It could only be one thing.

"My dear boy," his managed, draping his peacoat along the rack. "What a pleasant surprise."

Quasimodo lurched forward with his perpetual limp, another affliction bestowed upon him from an unnamed mother too strung out to know better. A portion of Claude was pleased to see him. However, the remaining was furious that Lina would drag him into all this. He realized only until now that her comment from the earlier evening was only a foreshadow to what she had been devising. The boy, more of a man now, was well into his twenties with his own life at hand, but of course, this mattered not to Lina. She wanted an audience, it seemed. Quasimodo had moved away some years ago, perhaps, that's when Claude's marriage began to disintegrate. He and Lina no longer had something to distract themselves from one another.

Claude met Quasimodo with an outstretched hand, but was pulling into a firm embrace instead. With his arms around the broad shoulders, he realized the boy had definitely grown into a man.

"How are you?" He whispered into Claude's ear as they held each other. It was just enough affection and concern to wrap so tightly around Claude's chest, he feared he would break before Quasimodo. Severing the hug almost immediately, Claude cast his gaze to the plush floor rug beneath their feet should the fire reflect the glisten in his eye.

"I'm well," he patted the thick shoulder. "I'll be seeing myself to bed now."

It was ploy to leave them to themselves. No matter how much he cared for Lina at once, dealing with any further issues was suffocating to think about. There was so sleep in the matter and certainly not now that Lina was stirring more people into the brew that was their failed marriage. He squeezed the boy gently and left them.


Another night it was in the parlor where he spent much of his evenings away from Lina. A pillow rested on the settee and blanket strewn carelessly next to it. He had dressed down to his pajamas and a smoking jacket before he settled in for the night. He didn't light a fire nor did he pull the blanket over him. He stared into the ceiling and waited.

In minutes, a soft knock came from across the room and without giving word, it drifted open.

Reaching above his head, Claude switched on a lamp by the end of the settee and eyed the door.

The mop of red hair. The sheepish smile, those two uneven shoulders.

"What is it, Quasimodo?" Claude required, hoping the ice along his voice wasn't too deterring. If the discussion came anywhere near the question of his marriage, the night would certainly be long.

"Lina is concerned," Quasimodo replied, stepping into the room and shutting the door. "So am I."

Claude sat upright. A deep sigh filled the room as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please understand, I can't discuss this matter any further. I'm exhausted."

Quasimodo came to his side to sit along the settee. "Is this about the girl? Mother spoke of a phone call you made earlier."

"What girl?" Claude nearly spat.

"The girl you mentioned to me not too long ago. The one who called you."

A foreign sound came from Claude's chest, a chuckle. "This was far before the girl."

"Then what is it?" His son implored gently, "What's troubling you?"

Everything, he wanted to cry. Help me, I'm drowning in it!

Claude pursed his lips, working the muscle along his jaw. "Nothing I can't handle, child."

"You're lying." Quasimodo rebuked, "I can see it in your eyes."

Claude gave him a steady glare under the dim light. There was always an admirable passion about the boy that'd grown into a man before him. During Quasimodos' infancy, the crying and the doctor visits seemed endless and he wondered if parenthood was for him at all. Eventually, as he grew, so did Claude. Sure, he wasn't the father, brutish and rugged, as most. The type who could throw a football or swing a bat, he wasn't. But as the years passed, he realized that wasn't the father Quasimodo needed. Claude did his best, or so he thought. The lad was in good shape now, physically and mentally with the studying abroad and cultivation. Always putting forth his entire existence in something that meant anything to him at all. Claude wished he could have had a fraction of Quasimodo's fierce spirit. Perhaps it could have prevented most of his most recent mistakes. His mind had been nothing but a troubled cloud.

With a deep sigh, Claude gave up. "There is something."

Quasimodo stilled. His eyes trained onto Claude unwaveringly while he waited.

"I fear someone dear to me," he breathed as the ache took hold of his poor heart, "has been hurt, at the very least, taken. They're missing."

Quasi's brow furrowed in thought. "So it is the girl?"

Claude scoffed, "What does it matter to you, boy? Will you help me or not?"

Quasimodo took Claude by the shoulder, squeezing him firmly after a thought.

"Of course."