The ride to the police station felt endless.
Ann sat in the back seat of the patrol car, her hands locked together so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Oliver sat beside her, one arm wrapped firmly around her shoulders as if he could physically keep her from breaking apart. "What did they find?" she asked again, her voice thin and trembling. "Why won't anyone tell me what they found?" The officer in the front seat didn't turn around. "We'll explain everything once we arrive, ma'am." "I don't want explanations," Ann snapped suddenly, her restraint cracking. "I want my son."
Oliver tightened his hold. "Ann… please."
She leaned into him immediately, her anger dissolving into sobs. "He's just a child, Oliver. He's only four. He doesn't even like sleeping without the lights on." "I know," Oliver said softly, his voice steady. "I know."
When they arrived, the station buzzed with activity. Phones rang. Officers moved briskly. A few heads turned when Ann entered, their expressions softening with pity. She hated that look. They were led into a small room with gray walls and a narrow table. Ann refused to sit. "Please," she said, gripping the edge of the table. "Just tell me." The lead officer cleared his throat. "Earlier this evening, we found the abandoned vehicle used in the attempted school pickup."
Ann's heart leapt painfully. "Attempted?"
"Yes. The driver was forced out of the car a few blocks away. He's alive. Shaken, but unharmed." "Where is my son?" Ann demanded. The officer hesitated for just a second too long. Oliver spoke calmly. "Officer… please. "We're still searching," the man said carefully. "But this gives us something. We're expanding the search radius." Ann sank into the chair at last, her legs giving way. "So you don't have him." "No," the officer said quietly. Ann laughed suddenly , a broken, hollow sound. "Then why did you make it sound like you did?"
Silence answered her. Oliver knelt in front of her, taking her hands. "Ann, look at me."
She did. Tears streamed freely down her face. "We're not giving up," he said. "Not for one second." "I can't breathe," she whispered. "Every minute feels like he's slipping farther away from me." "He's strong," Oliver said. "Just like you." The hours that followed blurred together. Ann answered the same questions over and over.
"What was he wearing?" "What time did he leave home?" "Does he have any medical conditions?" "Any enemies?" "Enemies?" Ann repeated weakly. "He's a child, just a baby." She replied irritated. By morning, exhaustion finally dragged her home.
The house felt wrong without Davis.
Too quiet. Too empty. His shoes still sat by the door. His toy truck lay where he'd left it the night before. Ann dropped to her knees, clutching the toy to her chest. "I should've walked him to school," she sobbed. "I should've insisted." Oliver crouched beside her. "Ann, stop. You'll destroy yourself."
She looked up at him desperately. "What if he's scared right now?" Oliver swallowed. "Then we'll find him fast." She shook her head. "What if he's crying for me?"
Oliver pulled her into his arms as her sobs turned violent, racking her body. "I need to see him," she cried. "I need to hold him."
"You will," Oliver promised again, even as his jaw tightened. Days passed. Still nothing. Ann barely slept. She sat by the phone constantly, jumping at every sound. "Eat something," Oliver begged one evening, placing a bowl of soup in front of her. She stared at it blankly. "If Davis hasn't eaten… why should I?" "Because he'll need you strong when he comes home." "When? Tell me when Oliver?" she asked softly but he had no answer. "Oh my poor baby" , she kept saying and clinging to the word, she wept bitterly . That night, she crept into Davis' room and lay on his small bed, inhaling the faint scent of his shampoo. "I'm here," she whispered into the darkness. "Mommy is here." Oliver watched silently from the doorway, his face unreadable. On the fourth day, the police called again. Ann answered on the first ring. "Yes?" "Mrs Author," the officer said slowly, "we need you to come in."
Her heart seized. "You found him."
"We found… something." The room spun.
Oliver took the phone gently from her shaking hands. "We're on our way." Ann barely remembered the drive. At the station, the officer's face was grave. "We discovered personal belongings," he said. Ann's lips trembled. "Belongings?" "A shoe. A school badge." Her scream tore through the room.
"No," she cried. "No, no, no. That doesn't mean anything." "It could have been discarded," Oliver said quickly. "It doesn't mean" Ann clutched her chest, gasping. "Please. Please don't let it mean anything."
The officer hesitated. "We're continuing the search." Ann collapsed into Oliver's arms, her body trembling violently. That night, she didn't cry. She stared at the ceiling, eyes wide open. Something inside her had gone frighteningly quiet. Just before dawn, Oliver stirred beside her. "Ann?" he whispered.
She turned her head slowly. "If he doesn't come back…" Oliver stiffened. Ann continued, "If my son doesn't come back," she continued, her voice eerily calm, "I don't think I'll survive it." He pulled her close. "Don't talk like that. "I'm serious," she said softly. "A mother doesn't outlive that kind of pain." Outside, the sky darkened with heavy clouds. And somewhere far away, the truth waited , cold, merciless, and irreversible.