Page 68 of Wicche Hunt

A much younger Bracken, his dark hair beginning to gray at the temples, stands like a deer in headlights.

“Well? Can you at least take him so I can pee?”

Bracken stands frozen. I can see exactly what’s happening, but she can’t. Too bone weary to pick up on nuance, she interprets his lack of response as a lack of caring, when it’s quite the opposite.

On a scream of frustration, she places the crying baby in his swing and stomps off to the bathroom. The door slam seems to startle the infant into momentary silence. Bracken approaches his son as though he’s a highly unstable bomb.

Crouching, Bracken reaches out to touch Ben’s hand. His son wraps his whole tiny fist around Bracken’s finger and holds on.

“Hello,” he whispers. “I’m sorry your tummy is so upset. I researched colic and it sounds dreadful.”

The child stares wide-eyed, one hand still clutching Bracken while the other plucks at his giraffe.

“The good news is that it doesn’t last forever. Of course, a baby probably has a different understanding of that word. As far as you’re concerned, it has lasted forever. But, as someone who is much older than you, I can confirm that it will be of short duration. Unfortunately, you’re still in the thick of it right now, so that’s probably not of much comfort.

“You have Corey eyes. Did you know that? I thought perhaps you’d have your mother’s Booth brown, but you have mine.” He paused, studying his child. “It’s quite odd to recognize my father’s chin on a brand-new face. He’s passed now, but I can tell you about him. He was a good man.”

The flush of the toilet breaks the spell. Ben takes a breath and then resumes his squalling. When the door opens, Bracken is backing away to the door of his study. His wife won’t look at him. She picks up Ben and resumes walking laps around the living room. Knowing he’s failed miserably, Bracken retreats to his magically soundproofed study and his books that quietly wait for him.

The image goes dark and then…

Bracken opens his study door. Different day. Different clothes. His expression more worn. The house is quiet. He remembers a pediatrician appointment and wonders if that’s where they are. He’d thought it was the following day, but perhaps he’s gotten his days confused again. He walks into the kitchen to check the calendar and is surprised to find the usual mayhem of breakfast missing. It looks as it did when he finished cleaning last night.

He can’t say why, but a stone begins to form in his gut. Feeling sick, he walks down the hall and looks in the baby’s room. It’s been stripped. The crib and changing table remain, but the toys are gone, save for the giraffe forgotten in the crib. He checks the closet and finds it empty.

White noise roars in his head as he walks to the bedroom he sometimes shares with his wife. The closet is empty. Suitcases are gone. His knees give out and he collapses onto the bed. He fumbles in his pocket for his phone, tapping his wife’s contact. There is a high-pitched beep and then an electronic voice is telling him that the number has been disconnected.

Like a zombie with a black hole where his heart had been, he retraces his steps to his study and shuts the door.

When the image begins to go dark, I think,Show me Ben now.

A young man with dark hair and Bracken’s eyes shelves books in a dim, quiet shop. A bell rings and he walks to the aisle and greets the man entering, asking if he can help him find what he’s looking for. The man explains he’s looking for a first edition of an American Renaissance writer for his grandfather. He doesn’t know much about the topic and is looking for recommendations, so Ben walks him through the shop, explaining what they have that his grandfather might enjoy.

When the man leaves, he steps out onto a bustling street. The brass sign above the door reads Chadwick & Sons, Rare Books.

Blinking, I found Bracken watching me, expression intent. “Is he all right?”

TWENTY-SEVEN

Did You Say a Shark?

Inodded. “Yeah. He’s good. He takes after you.”

He let out a slow breath and stared down at the desk. “He’s alive,” he said to himself.

I brought him the giraffe and explained what I’d seen. I wasn’t sure if he was aware of how tightly he was clutching his son’s toy.

“He likes books?” He gave his head a little shake and took in all the books surrounding him. “I could show him all… but, no. He doesn’t know me. Probably doesn’t want to know me.”

“Only one way to know for sure,” I said.

He slid out his bottom drawer and lifted a laptop computer. He opened it and began typing. “It wouldn’t hurt to look up the bookstore, would it?” And then he paused and checked with me. “This is all right, isn’t it? This isn’t invading his privacy?”

My heart broke for him. He wanted so much to have the life his brain wouldn’t allow. “You are a man who collects books. He works in a rare bookstore. You could have just stumbled upon him while searching for a book.”

He lifted one eyebrow.

“Well, it’s true. Besides, I don’t think looking up a business name to know what city your son works in would be considered stalking.”

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