Chapter three

The Taylor household was a mixture of festivity and melancholy that Christmas, the air heavy with the familiar ache that lingered through every holiday season. Lights twinkled on the tree, filling the room with a warm glow, but even this warmth couldn't mask the absence that had carved a hollow space in their lives. Earlier that week, as Jill sorted through the boxes of Christmas decorations, she stumbled upon an ornament—a glittery mess of glue and paint that Randy had made when he was just three. She remembered how he'd proudly held it up, grinning as he'd announced, "I made it all by myself, Mommy!"

But this Christmas was different. There was an unmistakable tension in the house, a subtle shift, as though something was about to change. None of them could have anticipated what would come knocking at their door that snowy Christmas Eve.


It was early evening when the doorbell rang. Brad was sprawled on the couch, flipping through a magazine, while Mark sat on the floor, carefully placing ornaments on the Christmas tree. Jill was in the kitchen, preparing cookies, and Tim was in the garage, attempting to untangle a stubborn string of lights. The ring of the bell was unremarkable, yet somehow, it reverberated through the house, drawing each family member's attention.

Mark glanced up, a slight frown creasing his face. "Who would come over on Christmas Eve?"

Brad shrugged but got up to answer it. He swung open the door, expecting a neighbor or perhaps a delivery, but stopped short at the sight of a boy standing there, bundled in an oversized coat and scarf. The boy looked younger than he probably was—short, with sandy-colored hair that framed his face and piercing blue eyes that shone with a mix of anxiety and quiet determination.

"Can I help you?" Brad asked, feeling a strange, inexplicable sense of familiarity.

The boy hesitated, looking down as he took a shaky breath. When he lifted his gaze, his eyes were filled with an emotion Brad couldn't quite place. "I'm… I think I'm Randy," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I think I belong here."

Brad's mouth went dry, his heart pounding in his chest. For a moment, he couldn't move, couldn't speak, as his mind reeled, trying to comprehend what he was hearing. "Mom! Dad! You… you need to come here!" His voice broke the silence, ringing through the house.

Jill's heart jumped at the urgency in Brad's tone, and she wiped her hands hurriedly, making her way to the door with a frown. Tim came in from the garage, a confused expression on his face, while Mark, hearing his brother's voice, joined them, standing just behind Jill.

As Jill reached the doorway, her breath caught in her throat. The world seemed to narrow to a pinprick, all focus on the boy standing in the doorway, a slight figure bundled in an oversized coat. His sandy hair framed a face that looked achingly young, almost out of place on a teenager, and his piercing blue eyes—so familiar, so vulnerable—searched their faces as if he were trying to anchor himself in a memory.

Jill's heart pounded as she looked at him, her emotions a tangle of fear, hope, and disbelief. She couldn't trust herself to speak, afraid that one wrong word would shatter the illusion, send this boy—this Randy—disappearing into the night. Tim, beside her, wore a guarded expression, his gaze flickering with emotions he was trying hard to control.

Finally, she managed to find her voice. "Come inside," she whispered, her tone soft, almost pleading.

The boy nodded, a faint, grateful smile flickering across his face as he stepped inside, bringing with him a blast of cold winter air. Tim shut the door behind him, his movements stiff, like he wasn't sure what to do with his hands. Jill felt that same uncertainty ripple through her as she led the boy into the living room, each step feeling surreal.

Now that his coat was off, Jill could see just how small he was. He looked almost fragile, the same slight frame she remembered but somehow even more delicate, his face a mixture of childlike innocence and a haunted wisdom that shouldn't belong to someone his age.

"Would you like something to drink?" she asked, her voice barely steady. She kept her gaze on him, studying every movement, every detail, as if she were afraid she might forget.

The boy nodded. "Um… yes, please." His voice was soft, almost shy, with a hesitancy that was both heartbreaking and strangely familiar.

She slipped into the kitchen, and Tim followed her. "What are we doing?" he whispered urgently, his voice barely above a murmur. "Jill… this can't—"

"Just… let's see," she whispered back, glancing over her shoulder to where the boy sat quietly on the edge of the sofa, his gaze drifting over the room. There was a look in his eyes—a mix of caution and wonder, as if he were stepping into a dream he wasn't sure he'd be allowed to keep.

Jill returned with a cup of tea and handed it to him, her fingers brushing his slightly. He looked down at the cup, and as he took it in both hands, she felt her breath catch. He cradled it just like Randy had when he was little, wrapping his fingers around the cup as if soaking up its warmth. The gesture was simple, innocent, but it hit her like a wave.

Tim noticed it too, his eyes narrowing, and he exchanged a glance with Jill, a glimmer of hope flickering between them despite the years of grief that had hardened around their hearts.

Jill's heart ached as she looked at the boy sitting on her couch, this frail young man who could be—had to be—her son. His blue eyes, those same piercing eyes she remembered from years ago, were haunted, weighed down by shadows far darker than any boy his age should carry. He sat hunched over his cup of tea, hands trembling slightly, looking painfully small in clothes that seemed to hang off his slight frame.

Taking a deep breath, Jill sat beside him, reaching out carefully, as if one wrong move might cause him to vanish. Her voice, soft and steady. "Randy… where have you been?"

The boy looked down, his fingers tightening around the cup. His voice was barely a whisper. "I don't remember everything. It's… it's all jumbled, like a bad dream. I remember being in a shopping mall, it was Christmas, there were lots of people. After… after the mall, I got really sick. It's a blur, but I remember coughing and feeling so cold. I was too tired to move. When I woke up, there was this woman looking after me. She said… she said she was my mom."

Jill gasped softly, her hand flying to her mouth. Tim, standing nearby, crossed his arms, his expression hardening with suspicion but mixed with a flicker of something more—concern.

"She… she told me you didn't want me anymore," he continued, his voice cracking. "That you'd left me there because you didn't want me back. She kept saying it… over and over, that I had to stay with her." He looked up at Jill, his eyes pleading for understanding. "But I knew. Deep down, I just knew she wasn't my mom. I could still remember… you. And… and Dad." He glanced at Tim, his expression a mix of fear and tentative hope.

Tim's jaw tightened, his skepticism warring with the undeniable pang of recognition he felt. But before he could respond, Jill placed her hand on the boy's shoulder, her voice soothing.

"She told me my name was Ethan, even though I knew it wasn't!" he murmured. "She made me call her 'Mom,' and if I ever mentioned you or asked to go back…" His voice trailed off, his hands gripping the cup tightly, his knuckles turning white.

"She hurt you," Jill whispered, her voice filled with equal parts sorrow and anger.

The boy nodded, his face pale. "Yeah. And she… she had boyfriends. Some were… not kind. They'd hit me if I… if I got in their way." He paused, glancing around the room nervously, as if expecting one of them to appear. "We moved around a lot. But most of the time, we stayed in this small community in South Dakota. Isolated. No one around to ask questions."

The silence that followed was thick with disbelief and horror. Tim clenched his fists, a simmering anger beginning to build as he absorbed the boy's story. Jill, however, moved closer, gently placing a hand over his. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I'm so sorry for what you went through."

The boy's eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but he continued. "I kept having this… this memory of another family. Of laughter and… a place where I felt safe. But every time I said anything, she'd…" He looked down, unable to finish. "I learned to keep quiet."

A long pause settled over them, and then he took a shaky breath. "One day, after another fight with one of her boyfriends… I couldn't take it anymore. I'd kept this old ticket that I'd found in the pocket of the jacket I was wearing the day I went missing—a ticket to a Christmas show in Detroit so I knew I had a connection to the city" He looked up, meeting Jill's gaze. "I knew I had to come back. I didn't know if you'd… if you'd still want me. But I had to try."

Jill's heart broke as she pulled him close, her arms wrapping around him as he let out a small, trembling sigh of relief. She could feel how fragile he was, the toll of his years away etched into his thin frame.

"Where have you been staying?" Tim asked, his voice softer now, though a guardedness lingered in his gaze.

"I've been… I've been sleeping rough," the boy admitted, his cheeks flushing. "Asking around, trying to find… find you. Some people knew about the case. Told me about the missing boy, Randy Taylor. Suddenly it all… it all seemed to fit. I remember the name. And… and the house." He looked around, recognition flickering in his eyes. "I think I remember this place. I do."

Taking in his pale complexion and flushed cheeks, Jill gently placed a hand on the boy's forehead, frowning. "You're burning up," she murmured, worry flashing across her face. "Tim, he's got a fever."

Tim hesitated, his face a mixture of concern and resistance, but when he saw Jill's pleading expression, he nodded. "Let's get him to bed."

With Jill's help, the boy staggered to his feet, his strength waning. Jill led him to the spare room, where she tucked him into bed, brushing the hair back from his face, noting how vulnerable he looked, like the little boy she'd lost so long ago. Her heart ached to see him so thin and exhausted, his eyes fluttering closed as he drifted into a restless sleep.

(To be continued)