First, to all those who left reviews – they were a pleasure to read, and held some startlingly accurate guesses as to what has been going on in the last decade or so of the boy's lives. The long ones are always such a wonderful surprise and encouragement—it's fascinating to hear what you all are seeing I this story so far. Thank you, thank you for taking the time to write feedback, to present your thoughts, and to give some support.
Second, heads up—I am working and completing an internship, so my time is stretched a little bit thin. I apologize for any and all delays that that causes in updating!
Chapter 3
"Did you—uh—order yet?" Joe asked, looking from Nancy to the boy, unsure of who, exactly, he was addressing.
"No, we were waiting for you", Nancy spoke with a smile, but her eyes were watchful as she glanced at the boy at her side. "I've almost decided…Mike, do you know what you want?"
With eyes so dark they were almost black, the boy-Mike apparently—stared up at Nancy before giving an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
"Mmhmm" Nancy nodded thoughtfully, as if the boy had just explained to her the Pythagorean theorem instead of giving a response that could barely qualify as a "no", and Joe had to smother an unexpected smile. "It's not an easy choice. Hmm. Well, let's see, which one of these pictures looks good to you?" Pulling the menu closer to herself, Nancy flipped between glossy pictures of a ham roll, a sticky looking cinnamon roll, and a club sandwich. By keeping the menu in front of her chest, facing outwards, it was clear Nancy was trying her best not to crowd Mike, and finally the boy's hand crept along the table towards the picture of the ham roll. Seeming to take that as a "yes", Nancy nodded again, humming in approval.
"A ham roll. Mm, that does look good. Joe, can you get us two of the rolls? And grab me a coffee?"
"You've got it," Joe turned, catching a glimpse of the boy's hand shooting back into his lap as he did so, and walked to the front counter to place the order. Various specialty items were written in chalky white on the blackboard positioned behind the young man working the counter, the drinks written in a loopy scrawl mingled with small drawings of flowers and somehow still legible in a glance.
"Could I please get two of the ham rolls, a club, two coffees, and…" scrambling slightly, Joe peered at the blackboard again. "Maybe an apple juice?"
The man nodded, ringing up the order with practiced efficiency, filling two black mugs with coffee, pulling a carton of apple juice from a mini fridge tucked behind the counter, and handing them off to Joe along with a number for the table and a brisk, "the food will be ready shortly".
Slowly making his way back towards the window, Joe kept his hands carefully wrapped around the handles of the mugs, twisting his arm a bit to tuck the apple juice into the crook of his elbow. Gingerly setting the drinks down, Joe grabbed a chair from an empty table beside them and placed the small wedge of wood holding their order number in the middle of the table.
For a moment they all sat there silently. The table was round, and they were positioned around it like points of a triangle, equally separated, equally together. Now that Joe had more time to study the boy, he took in the dirt and scratches on his face. Black hair poked out from under a red, tattered hat. The name "Laymand's auto" stretched across the brim in worn stitching that must have once been white but was now more grey than anything else. The shirt the boy wore was the same one that he had seen in the photo, Joe noticed, but up close he could see holes worn through the collar and across the hem that hung around Mike's knees. At least there was also a jacket draped over the boy's lap. November in New York was not kind at night—he shouldn't be outside without one.
As Joe took in these details, trying to decide whether the boy was homeless or just neglected, the boy's eyes shifted sideway to meet his. He seemed to shrink in on himself as he met Joe's stare and Joe coughed, swiveling his head. "So, uh, Nancy. How—how are things?"
Giving a small smile, Nancy lifted a shoulder, blue eyes flicking up to his. "Well, like I said over the phone, I'm here because of a story. Or rather, rumblings of what might be one." At Joe's raised eyebrow— "I'll tell you about it later though", Nancy quickly continued, darting a glance from Joe to Mike, as Joe looked down and noticed wide eyes watching beneath the brim of the hat.
"Of course, sure." Taking a sip of his coffee, Joe swallowed and took in the new lines around Nancy's eyes. Her hair was shorter, her eyes bright in a way that was carefully gentle, but her head tilted in a familiar fashion as she grabbed a sugar packet, flicked it twice, and tore it open to dump into her coffee. He and Nancy had never been particularly close but seeing her brought a bittersweet rush of memories. Life when he was 17 and so much younger than he knew at the time. A time when cancer was just a word he stumbled across in other people's stories, and heartache was the crack of a car bomb ringing in his ears. Before he knew how a world could come to an end without anyone dying at all.
Clearing his throat abruptly, Joe straightened, pushing back at the feelings sweeping in, but he froze when he saw the boy flinch at the noise. Slowly, so that the boy could see exactly what he was doing, Joe let his shoulders relax forward and placed clasped hands on the table.
"Well, I guess, if you have time, I'm wondering what you may have found out about my missing dog?"
Nodding, Nancy shifted in her seat, reaching into her purse and grabbing out a photo that was instantly recognizable as the one she had sent Joe the night before. "Well, I found this young man here about an hour ago, when I looking for Buddy, and I asked if I could talk with him about the dog he was walking yesterday. But before we could talk much, I realized I was hungry and asked Mike," inclining her head towards the boy as her mouth tilted up in a smile, "if he would mind coming with me while I got something to eat. He very kindly agreed."
Cautiously, the boy raised his eyes to meet Nancy's and Joe saw the way her smile seemed to break through some of the tension in his body as Mike sat up straighter in his chair. His shoulders became painfully outlined, thin and frail, through his shirt at the movement and it caught Nancy's eyes the way it caught his, Joe knew.
A waiter called out, "Number 13?" and Joe grinned.
"Well, I'll grab the food and then we can talk business."
Grabbing the tray of food with a quick nod to the waiter, Joe edged his way past the lunch crowd that had piled around the counter until he reached their table, setting one ham roll in front of Nancy and another in front of Mike. Joe's club had come with thick sliced French fries, and Joe quickly grabbed the little triangles the club had been cut into and stacked them precariously on the saucer that had come with his coffee, shoving the plate of fries casually back to the center of the table. If Nancy noticed, she didn't say anything, but as she reached for some pepper, he caught her elbow scooting the plate of fries closer to Mike.
For some time, there was just the sound of their eating as they dug into their meals. Nancy tore her sandwich in half, eating it a small bite at a time and smiling any time Mike glanced her way. Gulping down the club triangles, Joe watched as Mike's face lite up with every bite of his roll. After finishing, the boy ran a finger along the plate, collecting all the crumbs with a deliberation and care that was somehow much older than his years. Between the two of them, Nancy and Joe had gradually managed to scoot the plate of French fries so far in Mike's direction that they were almost in his lap, and Joe studiously kept his eyes on his sandwich as he felt a glance across his face and watched from the corner of his eyes as small hands reached out for a fistful of the fries.
When he finished the last bite of his sandwich, Joe took a sip of his rapidly cooling coffee, and cleared his throat, "So I heard from Frank that you were in the area."
He'd caught her mid bite, and Nancy took a moment to finish chewing, before swallowing and answering. "Yep. Still had his number from the college years. How has he not changed it in all this time?" The half smile in Nancy's voice brought another spike of nostalgia and Joe rolled his eyes.
"You know Frank – consistency is key." Grinning at Nancy, Joe gave a shrug, and took a long pull at his coffee. "I'm surprised you still had it though."
"Mmhmm." Nancy hummed a bit, shrugging a shoulder of her own, "He sounded…tired. How's-" she paused, "Callie doing?"
So she did know—it wasn't really surprising, but Joe cocked his head questioningly.
"I heard, a couple months ago." When Nancy didn't explain further, Joe nodded, fiddling awkwardly with the handle of his mug.
"Well, it's been hard. But, you know, Callie-she's strong. So is Frank, of course. But yeah, it's—" Joe floundered, unsure of what to say with Mike still carefully raising his eyes to study Nancy's or Joe's face whenever they spoke. "It's hard," he finished lamely.
"Mm", Nancy's blonde hair brushed at her shoulders as she rested her chin in her hand and studied him. "I can't imagine. I'm so sorry. I know it's been tough on all of you. Frank told me what a help you've been."
Shaking his head, Joe felt the worry straining at his face as he looked out into the bustle of the street outside, remembering Frank's eyes this morning when he brushed a hand across Callie's, how his hands tugged her beanie down carefully. "I try where I can. They're my family." Shifting slightly in his seat so that his hands rested against the table, Joe leaned forward slightly, mouth opening to ask Nancy a question when-
"He's yours?" The boy's words burst out so suddenly that while they were no louder than a whisper, Joe struggled not to jolt.
"Um…" Mind scrambling a bit, Joe tried to keep his voice casual as he shot a helpless glance towards Nancy's widening eyes.
Evidently the boy caught his confusion, because though Joe could see his throat bob with a hard gulp, he hesitantly whispered after a beat, "the dog."
"No"-Joe said slowly, lowering his voice, and shaking his head. "But I think I might know who he belongs to."
No response followed for almost a minute, and Joe quirked a brow at Nancy, who paused, before gently edging away her plate to make space for her folded her arms on the table. "Do you think you can help, Mike?"
Maybe it was the way that Nancy leaned in, curving carefully into his space, but this time Mike hesitantly nodded. "He lives with me".
A half hour later, the three of them were walking through some of the dirtiest alleys Joe had ever seen—and he had seen his fair share while living in New York City. Trash was piled in heaps at every turn and while it was too cold for flies to be buzzing around them, almost every one rustled suspiciously whenever they walked by. Joe could smell the familiar stench of rat urine that he'd become far too acquainted with during a particularly nasty case that involved a short stint in a county jail and his nose wrinkled in reflex.
Mike's steps became more sure the deeper they walked towards the edges of Reston. They had left behind the gloss of downtown with its rusty brick store fronts painted to patchy perfection and coffee shops too intentionally shabby to be anything other than carefully revitalized. Here, run down stores and abandoned factory buildings with graffitied boards covering up broken in windows replaced them. At the end of the alley they were currently following, Mike stopped suddenly, crouching down and disappearing straight into what looked like the back of a hallowed out drugstore. Nancy tossed a look over her shoulder at Joe, who nodded as she bent down, and edged forward after Mike.
The interior of the building was in even worse shape than its exterior, and Joe could hear Nancy coughing as they made their way through a crumbling hole in the wall that had been invisible from the alley. It was clear that the drugstore had been ransacked months ago, shelves empty on their sides, broken windows lining the back of the store as branches from trees grew through them. Broken ceiling beams lay on the floor in scattered clumps that vaguely reminded Joe of beaver dams, plaster and broken ceiling tiles in the place of mud and leaves. Spiders had evidently found a haven from human interference and cobwebs lined the corners, stretching large between what must have once been the check out counter and bulbless light fixtures hanging from what remained of the ceiling.
As Joe and Nancy paused, taking all of it in, Mike picked his way over to a corner of the room, weaving around toppled shelves. A tarp was slung across two beams protruding at right angles on the floor, making a small tent, and Mike stopped at a tear in the plastic. The blankets Joe spotted through the opening of the tarp answered his question as to Mike's living situation, as did Mike's quick crawl through the tear.
When after a beat Nancy sent a questioning glance his way, Joe took a cautious step closer to the tent. As he opened his mouth to call out, Mike reappeared. Beside him, quiet and somehow relaxed despite the chaos around them, was the golden dog from Nancy's picture. Bending over, Mike whispered into the dog's small ears, and Joe could have sworn the dog nodded, obediently following Mike back to where Nancy and Joe stood staring.
When the dog reached them, he pulled up, sniffing curiously at the space between them. Slowly, Joe offered a hand, palm up. There was a momentary pause as a muzzle briefly brushed against his hand, and then a snout was bumping against his legs with polite friendliness and Joe grinned.
"Well hey there." He kept his voice low, even though he had a feeling the dog before him wasn't one to be easily frightened, and ran a hand along the dog's back. Waving his tail in approval, the dog pushed against his hands, and nosed towards Nancy, who promptly sank to her knees and rubbed at the small ears. Almost immediately, so swiftly that Joe gave a start, the dog slumped to the floor and both Nancy and Joe laughed as he rolled onto his back, clearly awaiting a belly rub. That was when Joe saw it. There, on dog's belly, was a thin, four inch scar, the end of it tapering off into a small patch of white fur. It was right where the man had said Buddy's was, the result of a lawn mower accident.
"I think it's him". There was no small amount of surprise in his voice, Joe knew, but he couldn't help it.
Dark eyes shot up to his, and Mike's fists clenched. "Buddy?"
The dog's response was immediate. Rolling back onto his stomach, he leapt up to sit directly at Mike's feet, head cocked to the side, clearly awaiting further instruction. Joe's stomach sank as he took in the stricken look on the boy's face as he looked down and studied Buddy's alert expression.
When Mike made no further noise, Buddy bowed his head down, nudging at Mike's knees with his nose. At that, Mike crouched down, knees cracking when he bent them, reminiscent of a much older man. Wrapped an arm around the furry shoulders that immediately leaned into him, the boy shifted behind the dog and looked up into Joe's eyes. It was so like the first picture Joe had ever seen of Buddy that Joe felt the urge to rub at his eyes, making sure the boy in front of him wasn't suddenly the young man in that photo. Beside him, he heard Nancy shift, crossing her legs and settling without concern on the dusty floor as she watched Mike.
"Is this where you have been staying?" It wasn't hard to catch the worry in her eyes, but Nancy raised a gentle hand to pat Buddy's back and spoke with a smile as she bent her head to meet Mike's eyes.
Nodding his head, Mike whispered, "Yes."
"Do you live by yourself?" Nancy asked, glancing behind him towards the small tent he'd crept from.
Again, Mike nodded.
Taking a breath, Nancy licked her lips, and then hesitantly asked, "Do you have any family?"
This time, Mike shook his head, quick and sharp. Then, so softly Joe instinctively bent down to hear, Mike muttered, "My parent's are gone. I have some of their stuff in there." Motioning towards the tent, the boy kept his eyes trained on Buddy, and Nancy furtively tilted her head to catch Joe's eyes.
"You mind if I take a look?" Joe knelt on one knee, patting Buddy's head, asking in as casual a tone as he could manage. When Mike gave a detached shrug of permission, his face oddly blank, Joe nodded, turning around and crawling through the tear of the tarp.
The smell of dog was strong inside the tent, and Joe caught sight of a small bundle of blankets covered in dog hair, roughly shaped in a circle at the end of a mattress that took up almost all the space in the tent. Eying the floor suspiciously for any unwanted spiders, Joe knelt onto the mattress, and clicked on his flashlight, shining it into the small space at the back of the tent that he couldn't quite make out in the light filtering through holes in the tarp. There, at the foot of the mattress, was a small plastic crate, holding what appeared to be a small picture frame, an old notebook, and a brown folder. Pulling the crate up onto the mattress, Joe examined the contents, wiping at the face of the photo and peering at it carefully before realizing it was simply a stock photo that the frame must have come with. Carefully laying the picture frame back into the bottom of the crate, Joe glanced at the title of the book, "The Horse and His Boy". After seeing there was no inscription in the front of the book when Joe leafed through the first several pages, Joe turned to the folder. "Case No. 132" was scrawled across the front of it in messy handwriting, and Joe studied it for a moment before carefully unwinding the string that bound the folder in loops between two small plastic circles.
The first paper contained in the folder was frail, but to Joe's surprise, when he pulled it out, he was met with bold letters declaring "Certification of Birth". It was for the city of New York, and the name printed neatly along the middle of the paper read "Michael Athelhorn. Male. Born 2010." Flicking his phone to his camera, Joe snapped a picture of the certificate and swiped into his messages, pulling up his conversation with Frank and typing quickly.
"Hey, can you look this boy up?"
The rest of the papers contained in the manila folder seemed to be a record of vaccinations and several newspaper clippings of personal ads, which Joe glanced over before grabbing the crate and scooting across the mattress and crawling out of the tent.
Mike still had an arm around the dog as Joe emerged from behind the tarp, and his face looked stiff as he continued to pat Buddy's back. Glancing up, Nancy raised an eyebrow at Joe, and he silently motioned towards the crate in his hand as he got to his feet, dusting at the knees of his jeans.
He felt a buzz in his pocket, and Joe fished out his phone, placing the crate before Nancy, who looked at Mike questioningly before hesitantly reaching into it. Frank's ID flashed across the phone and Joe frowned slightly, moving towards the hole they'd crawled through at the front of the store, swiping to the left and answering quietly, "Frank?"
"Heya Joe. Where the heck did you find that birth certificate?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Joe could see Mike's head raise and Nancy looked up from the book in the crate that she had been paging through.
"Um, long story. What can you tell me about him?"
"Well, unfortunately, there's not much to tell. I found that copy of his birth certificate online, and his death certificate. That's it."
Joe jerked his head up, and he felt a sharp tug in his nerve endings. "His what?"