In the police station, Ron rubbed his eyes and stared at the cup of coffee. He knew that the others were sitting around him, murmuring, crying, and fazed, but he couldn't focus on them. His vision had narrowed down like a microscope to the glaze on the ivory coffee mug, which was so old it looked like a gross yellow, the swirls of false brown on the particle board table, and the chips missing from the edges. He stared at the carpet squares, so familiar to him at work, yet never having paid attention to the details in the uneven beige pattern. A little smear on the rug from when Pete had spilled coffee years ago.

He had done this many times for other parents - assuring them, taking control. He was the one rubbing shoulders, of passing tissues, of microwaving mugs of water for tea, always with the slight twinge of guilt that he felt relief it wasn't his son missing, or assaulted, or murdered.

But he had felt this before.

Grief like this was a black pit and he hoped never to feel it again. The power of those words that draped a dark curtain over your surroundings and your mind, suffocating your body in its folds.

When Tara died, it was not a sudden accident or unexpected event. She had been declining, had been sick for years. He had mused on her coming death for a long time, knowing that she did not have decades left, yet he still knew she was there, in the hospital, or at home - stabilizing, getting treatments, lingering between life and death and struggling to move in one direction or another. He had drifted between his home and Brian's school and the hospital room, the nurses and doctors becoming as familiar as family.

Ron said his final goodbyes to Tara six, seven, eight times over the course of four years. She would suddenly decline and the doctors warned that he better come and see her one last time. And then, she would improve.

But alive, like this, was still no comfort to Ron. He was starting to drain and wilt from the stress of being in the in-between, of talking to her with listless responses, of staring at her waxy face and hairless head, and knowing that though she was technically alive, she was not the person he knew. And so he began to feel guilty that her death would be a release for him, and a way of letting go and grieving properly.

Still, when the phone call came, and he went to visit his final time, Tara did indeed look like she was already a dead woman. She did indeed look worse than all the times before. Something had changed and her body was shutting down. She was going to pass in a few days. It was unquestionable now. And when the call came hours later that she was dead, Ron still felt that tunnel close in, with its terrible curtain swallowing him and pressing him on all sides. He still had to hear Brian's screams and sobs from upstairs after he received the news. He had to deal with family swarming the house, hugging him, saying things, bringing food, asking about plans. He had been in his bed alone now for a long time, but he felt truly alone for the first time as he lay in the dark, crying, the other side cold and empty. He had felt her presence and place in his life flicker out at last, and he sobbed against the relief and the horror all at once.

As Ron stared at the coffee mug, the liquid inside tasteless and useless, he made the connection that his panic attack earlier had a lot to do with the realization that Brian was missing, gone - and that having a missing child was a lot like being back in that in-between, a place he never wished to revisit. The void of a missing child prevented true grief from setting in because even after years - and he had seen it with many parents - despite the odds being against them, the hope that their child might return still persisted. The parents of missing teenager Bethany Norman still hoped their child -missing since 1998- would return home, and her missing posters, now faded and stiff with age, still hung in bars and grocery stores and in the police station.

There was even one hanging up right now in the station that he saw every day at work - the poster read, "HAVE YOU SEEN ME?" with that year's school photo, taken only a month before she vanished Halloween weekend. Bethany was fifteen, with blonde hair cut in highlighted layers, dressed in a light pink polo shirt and white bead choker. She was smiling brightly at the camera, showing off her dimples, and her silky, collarbone-length hair had been textured with her heated crimper. A poster next to Bethany's showed a five-year-old boy, Adam Hendrick, missing since 1987, and seven-year-old Polly Green, missing since 1991.

Ron rubbed his eyes and stared into his palms.

Several weeks earlier, Brian had asked him to go to a Halloween party while Ron was cooking goulash on the stove. Ron immediately thought of Bethany.

Brian, with backpack on one shoulder and football uniform in his duffel bag on the floor, was standing, head cocked, asking earnestly if he could go to a big party tomorrow. He had never gone to a party before. He was in Honors classes and was excelling in them, was one of the best players on the football team - in fact, was continually brought up to sub on Varsity from the JV team - and Ron knew he had a crush on one of the kids in his class.

"Where is it?" Ron said.

"Oh, uh...we're going to Spooky Sam's Ghost tour and then, you know, just hanging out.."

"And who's going to be there?"

"Melissa, Carissa, Dylan…my other friends from football…just a small thing with people from my class."

"What do you mean, 'just hanging out?'"

"Like a bonfire at the Tarjanians after! Dad…"

"What?" Ron said, looking at his son over his glasses.

"I don't want an interrogation." Brian shuffled the duffel bag onto his shoulder. "Okay?"

"I'm not interrogating," Ron said, his hands outstretched in a peace offering. "I just need to know that it's safe."

"It's safe, Dad. Just a low key thing with friends."

"Brian," Ron said, eyebrows raised. "You know that-"

"Dad!" Brian was getting flustered, his face turning beet red. "Why can't you just trust me, for once?"

"I do trust you, Brian," Ron said. "It's just…I want to call Carissa's parents and talk to them first."

"Ugh!" Brian said. "Forget it. I'll get a ride from Cliff."

Cliff was one of the kids on his team, who had just gotten his license.

"No, you won't. Brian-" Ron said, but Brian was stomping upstairs to his room.

Brian sulked in his room all night, and didn't leave his room the following morning until it was time to get to his bus. He grabbed a piece of toast from Ron's peace offering and wordlessly left the house.

"Brian!" Ron thundered, but his son was stomping outside.

"Dammit," Ron snapped. He dialed Candy Rotterdam's number.

"Hi," he said shortly.

"Helloo?" Candy said silkily. "Mr. Huxley! Is everything all right?"

"No. Well, yes, it's fine," he said, realizing she might be worried Carissa was in trouble with the police. "I'm actually calling about the party tonight."

"Yes," Candy said. "All the kids are so excited."

"Right. Well, I'm just a little concerned." To be honest, Ron was taken aback that Candy was so in-the-know about it already.

"Concerned?" Candy's voice took on an empathetic tone. "Hey, honey, it's okay. Brian's a good kid. They're all good kids. They just want some wholesome fun, away from the 'rents. They're growing up, you know?"

Ron did know. He had been to a Halloween party or two with Bradley back in the day.

"I know," he sighed.

"We'll be on call all night in case Carissa needs us," she said. "We'll keep an ear out for Brian, too."

"Okay," he said.

After getting off the phone, Ron breathed out slowly. Something still didn't feel right, but he couldn't pinpoint what exactly. His gut was telling him to hold Brian back, but he also felt that would push his son away, enough to do something drastic. Ron had refused him the last couple outings he had requested. So, he texted Brian while he knew his son was in class: Hey kiddo, OK to go to party. Drive you later. Love you.

Brian was in a much better mood when he got home. "Thanks, Dad!" he said gleefully, throwing his arms around his father like a little kid.

Ron guffawed. "Okay, okay," he said. "You're getting a bit strong for me, son."

"I can't wait!" Brian said. "Melissa says that Spooky Sam's is totally lit this year."

"Oh, I'm sure," Ron said. "It's a Greely Valley tradition."

Whooping with excitement, Brian ran upstairs to change while Ron fried bacon for BLT sandwiches - Brian's favorite - with spicy mayonnaise and potato chips.

His son reappeared with his favorite shirt (that year, anyway) - a pink plaid flannel under a zip-up brown hoodie. Brian loved light pink and it went well with his dirty blonde hair.

"I see we're channeling springtime today," Ron said with a chuckle.

"Yeah, but I have the brown too," Brian said. "For fall." He showed off his brown loafers.

"Looks great, son."

Brian beamed.

"So, who's the lucky classmate?"

"Daaaad."

"Okay, okay," Ron threw his hands up. "Too much. You don't have to tell me."

"Well," Brian said, grinning. "Okay. There's this one person…who, is like, super funny and…I don't know." He blushed and took a big bite from the sandwich.

"Okay," Ron said with a smile. "Well they're lucky. I hope they think the same about you."

"Well I don't know if they know I exist," Brian said.

Brian, the popular football player, definitely was known by the school populace.

"Oh I'm sure they do," Ron said.

There was a sudden rapping on the screen door.

"Who…?"

"Uh, it's Cliff," Brian said suddenly. "I forgot. I asked him to drive me, and forgot to tell him I didn't need him anymore." He got up and stood behind his chair. "Sorry, Dad. I'll tell him to go without me."

"No, no," Ron waved his hand. "I don't need to waste the gas. Go on, and have fun."

"Thanks, Dad!" Brian grabbed the rest of his sandwich for the road and gave Ron a kiss on the head.

"Brian," Ron said. "Please text me if you need anything - anything at all. Okay?"

"I will! Bye Dad!"

Brian thundered out the door and shut the screen door, and the world was silent. Ron sat at the table with his half-eaten sandwich and loaded kitchen sink, and sighed.

Ron was awoken by the sound of his phone buzzing. He jolted awake to the sound of the TV, which was playing Where the Red Fern Grows. The hounds were howling as they raced through a thunderstorm.

A phone call was coming in from the station. Ron's heart suddenly skipped a beat, wondering if it was a coincidence. He picked up the phone, noting the time was just after midnight.

"Hello?"

"Ron! Thank God. Is Brian all right?" It was Fred Grady, one of his fellow officers.

"Well, yes, I think so. I'm on my way to get him." Ron grabbed his coat and keys, suddenly awake. "Why?"

"I don't know, something happened at the kids' party. I'm on duty tonight so I'm heading there now."

"The kids' party?"

"Yeah, they had gone on the ghost tour and then had a bonfire out in the woods by the lake," Officer Grady said. "I just wanted to know he was safe. Thank God. I'll fill you in."

"Wait-Grady-" but Grady had hung up.

He rang Brian a few times, with no answer.

"Shit," Ron muttered. He sent a text: "coming to get you. Where are you"

And: "are you okay"

Ron's vision tunneled and he sprinted for the car, driving recklessly down the road to the lake. It was an old party spot, one he knew well. He prayed that he was right as he turned down the dirt road and sped through the woods past the Greely Valley Cemetery. Spooky Sam's was closed up for the evening.

As he got close, he smelled smoke in the air and charred wood, and saw the flicker of flames through the trees. He exhaled. Thank God.

When he arrived, Ron slammed the door and ran toward the clearing. "BRIAN!" He shouted. "BRIAN!"

"Ron-" Grady had just pulled up in his cruiser. "Hey-"

Ron waved him off. "In a minute, Fred!"

Something was strange. Kids were standing in small groups, whispering to each other. A couple were crying and hugging themselves. The sound of an ambulance was on the wind in the distance.

He suddenly spotted his son, hands in his pockets, talking with his friends. "Brian!"

His son turned, hearing his father's voice, and jogged to him. "Dad!"

Ron enfolded him in a hug.

"Dad."

"Why didn't you answer my texts?" Ron thundered.

"My phone died. I'm sorry. I was trying to use Rob's phone but I couldn't remember your number. So I called the station and they said you were coming here."

"Jesus," Ron rubbed his eyes. "Okay let's get you home."

"Actually, Ron," Grady ran to him. "I need a statement from Brian. Obviously you can come with him."

"A statement? Why?"

"Brian witnessed the, uh, incident," Grady said.

Ron's brain was still fuzzy. "Incident? What?"

Brian looked forlornly at his shoes.

"Yeah, a kid was shot. I need to get statements from all of the witnesses present, and test them for GSR."