Page 77 of Stabby Little

"I'd love for you to come inside." I hold the door open. "I haven't had breakfast yet, so I can whip you up something. Or coffee if you'd like."

"I don't need to eat." Ollie follows me into my home. I shut the door behind him. “I had a muffin before I came.”

"Wow." He blows out a breath as he looks around. He takes in the bookshelves, high ceilings, potted plants that I water every Friday morning, the sunlight breezing in through the picture window. His eyes drift to the sofa, the same dark maroon sofa that he and Miles watched TV on as boys while they smuggled bites of buttery movie theater popcorn and drank forbidden energy drinks. A red sheen settles into his cheeks when he sees the kitchen counter and eyes the seats where he sat so many times. He ate breakfast there, drank the hot chocolate I slaved over in the kitchen that I made from real dark chocolate imported from Belgium, stirring religiously, ensuring it didn't burn, and played cards there, too. And past that lies the countertop on which I patched his knee. "Nothing's changed."

"Some things have changed." I instruct him to sit. "The house is emptier now. I wake up and work instead of spending time with my son, but that's it."

Ollie stares at me. "It's been a long time. I didn't know something changed with Miles and Linda. I would've spoken to him first if I'd known."

"It's not your fault." I pull out his chair and help him into the seat. His feet don't touch the floor, which takes me aback. "You wouldn't have known. Sometimes, people drift apart and no one's at fault."

Ollie tucks a strand of hair over his ear. He stares out the window into the backyard. "I had so much fun here. Miles and I would play cops and robbers while we chased each other with cap guns."

"I remember. You were the cop, right? "

"Yep." Ollie nods. "I had a weird notion that cops protected you. I wanted to be on the side of truth and justice, the good guys. Miles got a thrill out of running from me, but it wasn't more than a silly game for him. I genuinely felt like I was making the world a better place when I picked up my cap gun and put on my sheriff's badge. I felt like I could help anyone, people whose purses had been stolen, old ladies whose homes had been robbed. Boys and girls who'd disappeared and were never heard from again."

I pull out a bar of Belgian chocolate and break it over a stainless-steel pan. After filling it with whole milk and bringing the mix to a near-boil, I sit next to Ollie with his fresh hot chocolate.

"I looked for you for years." My eyes lock on his as I hand him his cup. "What happened, Ollie?"

Ollie takes a long, slow sip of cocoa. His eyes don't move from the center island. "I don't want to talk about it. I only recently managed to accept what happened to me."

"Tell me." A bolt of anger slams into my being. "I want to know."

"Men took me. They kept me somewhere for seven years. I finally broke free."

"Where did they keep you?"

"I don't know."

"Why did they take you?"

"I don't know."

I place my hand on Ollie's. "I want to help you. I've devoted the last seven years of my life searching for you, but I couldn't turn up any clues. I was fumbling around in the fucking dark. I can't assist you if you're not honest."

Ollie shakes his head. "Not today."

I pick up my mug of hot chocolate and take a sip. We drink in silence, tasting the rich smooth sweetness of our comfort drinks as our conversation weighs on us.

At last, Ollie lifts his head. "So you really looked for me?"

I stare into his deep, blue eyes, those same eyes that contained so much joy and love seven years ago. I stave off the emotion in my chest. Goddamnit, I was right to think someone trafficked him. The FBI, NYPD, and every other fucking alphabet organization let this boy down.

I run my thumb across his hand. "Let me show you something. Do you mind?"

"No."

After I help him out of his seat, I lead him to my secret room on the second floor.

"Here it is." After sliding my custom key into the lock, I push the door open. "This is where I looked for you."

Ollie's jaw drops as his eyes flit around the space that I reconstructed after Linda destroyed it the first time. Pictures of Miles and Ollie playing in my backyard adorn the walls. Computer simulations of Ollie a few years older than he was when he vanished sit on my desk. Red yarn spanning the walls connects various parks and locales throughout the city. Images of convenience stores, restaurants, and even bars that are notorious for human trafficking that I examined for his case are plastered to the windows.

This room contains evidence of dead ends. Years of my obsession with finding him. Nearly a decade of lost time.

"Oh my Gosh." Ollie brings his hands to his cheeks. "You really didn't stop searching for me?"

---