One of the problems with us was that she was always so careful. She never wanted to say anything that would hurt anyone’s feelings. I hated that. I prefer to tell it like it is whenever possible. It saves future headaches and cures foot-in-mouth disease, when it’s not causing it. She couldn’t stand that. Sometimes, when she knew I couldn’t say anything nice about something, she’d give me this withering look that shut me right up.

She slipped once. I’ll never forget it.

We were sitting in this park, and there was a family of four sitting at a picnic bench not too far away. The youngest among them, a girl of about four, was prancing around in a plastic tiara, waving a sequined magic wand, singing to her parents and casting spells meant to turn her brother into a toad.

She came running up to her, waving that cardboard wand around. Magic words and a tap on the shoulder, and the girl laughed and twirled around us, looking at her sweetly.

“And Bibbity-Bobbity-Boo! You’ll be stuck like glue on this bench forever!”

Her face fell, darkened like a storm.

“I’ll be damned if I’m gonna stay here forever, honey.” She hissed. “Now, scat!”

The girl’s eyes widened. She ran back to her mother.

---

The boy, Greg, grabbed the sleeve of my shirt before I could follow Mason. I stopped, turned around to face him. I could hear Mason’s steps stop midway out the door. The boy turned to look at Mason, blue eyes completely reflecting the brawny form, head to toe. Those eyes saw everything; saw through the whole rest of the world. And, you know what? I think he might’ve scared Mason a little. From what I could see.

“He’ll be just a second, Mr. Mason.” The words slipped from his lips coolly, unwavering. Mason looked at him strangely. But, of course, an imploring eye from the red-headed boy, and he backed off. The other officer, I never did get his name, followed quietly.

I turned back to the boy to find him gazing out the door with apprehension. Finally, he turned to me with a sad, angry, heartbreaking face. A tiny crack of desperation foiled the sky blue of his eyes, and he pulled me into a tight hug, burying his face in the crook of my neck, breathing angry, as though he’d just been sobbing. I didn’t know what to do, what to say. There are times when I’m just not sure of anything. But, then, with Myer, that was every second and then some.

As soon as I wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders, his fingers dug into my shirt, gripping it like he wanted to tear it open. Words, I felt them rather than heard them. The soft hiss against my neck became a tremor of vibration until it reached my ear.

“You know my mother…” He hissed, his breaths suddenly slow and calm, as though he was asleep. “Where is she?”

I blinked, looking down at his back. He gripped my shirt and pulled a little. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her in thirteen years.”

He sighed low against my throat, his grip loosening a little. “Fine.” he whispered again. I wish I knew how he got his voice so low. “Doesn’t matter. Just get me out of this damn police station. Tell them you know my mother, but you haven’t seen her in two years. You’re a family friend, but you only ever knew my mother. Just my mother. Don’t say a word about my father.”

I looked down at his back incredulously. I had, literally, no idea what was going on. He continued. “They’re going to want to talk to me before I leave. Sit in with me. Don’t let them kick you out. If they say something I don’t like, I’ll squeeze your hand. Cut them off, tell them we gotta leave. Understand?”

I blinked, shaking myself out of the confused daze I’d fallen into. I patted him once on the back. He took that as an affirmative. Releasing his hold on my shirt, he made a movement, somewhat like wiping his eyes, and looked toward the door. Mason was still there. I turned back to Greg, acting like my life depended on it.

“I’m just gonna talk to him for a minute. Will you be alright, kid?”

He nodded solemnly, leaning back against the plastic seat he’d taken before I came. I turned away, the red of his hair still catching the corner of my eye, almost suspiciously. In any case, Mason stepped away from the door, letting me through. He took long, quick strides, and I had to jog to catch up.

The grey, poster-plastered walls danced by my vision as I followed him down hall after hall. It seemed to take hours. Finally, he stopped and opened a creak wooden door. This, I’m sure, was meant to unnerve me.

He smiled, teeth glinting white in the darkness. Turning on the lamp on his desk, he sat down across from me, laying into his chair like he owned the place. “So, Mr. Gen.” He grinned at me, as though something about my name was funny. “I take it, from your actions, you do know Greg Myer?”

“Yes.” I tried to sound convincing. It worked. “But, I didn’t know his name was Myer. His mother and he used to come to my restaurant every week. Never ordered anything much, just sort of hung around. I liked them. Talked to them so much, I barely got any work done. We were all close.” I cleared my throat, gazing around his office, then back at him. “Haven’t seen them in a long time, though. Two years, maybe…” I trailed off, hoping he’d believe me. He did. I think.

“You know, I was surprised to see him get so close like that.” Mason assessed me with careful eyes. “He barely let Malcov touch him when they found him at the library.”

I blinked. “Malcov?”

“The man who assisted you in the lobby.” I thought a minute, then nodded.

“He seemed friendly enough.” I tried. “Greg’s just a little touchy.”

“Understandable, after tonight’s events.” He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “He’s quite calm, for a ten-year old boy.”

I blinked. Something clicked in my mind. The kid didn’t look ten. He didn’t sound ten, or act ten. I took a risk.

“I’m not sure, Mr. Mason,” I tried. “But, I think he’s twelve. I’m really not sure, mind you.”

His eyes lit with something interesting, something I couldn’t put a label to. “Twelve. Yeah, you’re right. He is twelve. Sorry, buddy. I keep forgettin’ things like this. Must be gettin’ old.”

You look about forty-five… I shook my head and smiled. “Happens to everyone.”

“Anyway,” He went back to his normal self, looking me in the eye placidly, not really threatening. “We wanna ask him a couple questions, but he requested a guardian be present. Specifically, you.”

Me? “Alright.” I kept my face calm, and stood. “But, it’s late. I’m not letting you keep him long.”

He looked at me strangely, then stood. I followed.

We went back through the hallways, finally reaching the plastic room again. The boy’s red hair fell into his face as his head bent over the blue notebook in his lap, spidery fingers working diligently, pen flowing across the paper with ease. He looked up as I entered the room. I gave him a half-smile, hoping he took the hint. He did.

“Can I go home, now?” He asked softly, artlessly. I shook my head.

“Sorry, kiddo.” Walking toward him, I rested a hand on his shoulder. “These guys wanna ask you a few questions. Then, you’re comin’ home with me.”

He only nodded. Picking up his notebook, he took my hand and pulled me along, not even looking at me. We followed the men into a bland room where they felt at home. Myer clutched my hand in his. It felt like he was going to break it.