Chapter 7 - The Boy in Philadelphia
Forty-eight hours later, August found Daniel.
Not because of dreams.
Because of blood.
The dead intruder carrying Daniel's pendant was named Michael Serrano. He had spent six months in a Philadelphia halfway house and, three years earlier, had been employed by a private residential facility outside the city.
The facility had changed names twice.
Ownership records led to a shell company.
The shell company led to another.
That one led to a trust whose attorney had once worked for Vincent Marr.
August drove to Philadelphia himself.
Ruth found out by accident.
Walter was arguing with him beside the car.
"You're walking into a trap."
"Probably."
"Then send men."
"I am sending men."
"You are not a soldier anymore."
August looked at his cane.
"I was never a soldier."
Walter lowered his voice.
"Daniel may not be there."
August's jaw tightened.
"I know."
"And if he is—"
"Don't."
Ten years of grief had taught August not to hope.
Hope was simply another way to create something that could be taken.
Ruth stood in the doorway.
"Let me come."
Both men turned.
August's answer was immediate.
"No."
"I wasn't asking permission."
"You work for me."
"So did the men who shot at your house."
Walter coughed to hide a laugh.
August glared at him.
Ruth crossed her arms.
"If Daniel is alive, you may need someone who isn't carrying a gun."
"You have a daughter."
"Who's staying with Mrs. Alvarez."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
Ruth stared.
August knew instantly he had chosen the wrong sentence.
Twenty minutes later, Ruth was in the car.
The facility sat behind chain-link fencing in a wooded area outside Philadelphia.
Officially, it housed troubled adolescents.
Unofficially, August's men discovered it accepted cash to keep people unregistered.
The administrator tried denying access.
That lasted until August placed a folder on the desk containing evidence of tax fraud, illegal sedation and unreported deaths.
The administrator's face collapsed.
"There was a boy," she admitted.
August could barely speak.
"Name."
"He came without one."
"What did you call him?"
"David."
August's hand tightened around his cane.
"Where is he?"
The administrator looked terrified.
"He ran away six months ago."
August stared.
"You're lying."
"I'm not."
"Where?"
"Philadelphia."
"Where in Philadelphia?"
"We don't know."
August leaned across the desk.
"Then begin remembering."
She gave them a file.
Thin.
Too thin.
But inside was a photograph.
A teenage boy around fifteen.
Dark hair.
Gray eyes.
A scar along his forehead.
August sat down.
Ruth had never seen a man collapse without falling.
That was what happened.
His body remained upright.
Everything else gave way.
He touched the photograph.
"Daniel."
Walter had been wrong about his age.
Daniel would have been fifteen, not sixteen.
August had stopped counting accurately because counting hurt.
Ruth sat beside him.
"He's alive."
August stared at the photograph.
"He was alive six months ago."
"Then we find him."
August looked at her.
"What if he hates me?"
The question came from somewhere very young.
Not the mafia boss.
Not the feared heir.
A brother.
Ruth answered quietly.
"Then you let him hate you until he learns the truth."
For two days, August's organization searched Philadelphia.
Shelters.
Bus terminals.
Abandoned buildings.
Clinics.
Police contacts.
Nothing.
Then Ruth noticed something in the file.
Daniel—David—had repeatedly asked to visit a church called Saint Matthew's.
The facility refused.
Why?
No explanation.
Ruth searched an old city directory.
There were three Saint Matthew's.
One stood near the Delaware River.
They arrived just before evening mass.
The church was nearly empty.
A priest sweeping leaves outside looked at the photograph.
His face changed.
"Yes."
August stopped breathing.
"You know him?"
"He sleeps here sometimes."
"Where is he?"
The priest glanced at August's men.
"Who are you?"
August answered:
"His brother."
The priest studied his scarred face.
Then understanding arrived.
"Oh."
"What?"
"He spoke about you."
August's fingers went cold.
"What did he say?"
"That you burned."
August closed his eyes.
The priest continued.
"He remembers very little from before. Fire. A blue horse. A man carrying him. And another man going back into the flames."
August opened his eyes.
"Where is he?"
The priest pointed toward the cemetery behind the church.
"Usually there."
They found him beside an old stone wall.
Fifteen.
Thin.
Hooded sweatshirt.
A backpack at his feet.
He was feeding pieces of bread to pigeons.
August stopped twenty feet away.
Ruth stayed behind him.
Daniel looked up.
His gaze moved to August's cane.
Then his scars.
Then his face.
Nothing happened.
No recognition.
August's voice failed.
He tried again.
"Daniel."
The boy stiffened.
"That's not my name."
"It was."
"Who are you?"
August held out the blue wooden horse.
Daniel stared.
The bread fell from his hand.
His face drained of color.
"No."
August took one step.
Daniel backed away.
"No."
"Daniel—"
"Don't call me that."
August stopped.
The boy's breathing accelerated.
Ruth saw panic.
Trauma.
Memory.
August slowly placed the horse on the ground.
"I won't come closer."
Daniel stared at it.
His eyes filled.
"I had one."
August's voice broke.
"I know."
"Who are you?"
August swallowed.
"Your brother."
Daniel looked at his scars.
Then his eyes.
A memory seemed to slam into him.
He staggered backward.
"The fire."
August whispered:
"Yes."
Daniel's face twisted.
"You left me."
"No."
"You left me!"
"I went back."
"Vincent said you left me."
August went still.
Ruth felt cold.
Daniel's eyes widened as though he had said too much.
August took one careful step.
"Vincent told you that?"
Daniel grabbed his backpack.
"Stay away from me."
"He lied."
"Stay away!"
Daniel ran.
August followed.
His damaged leg failed after six steps.
He fell hard onto the pavement.
Ruth rushed toward him.
But August shoved himself upright.
"Daniel!"
The boy reached the gate.
A black SUV turned the corner.
Its door opened before it stopped.
Two men jumped out.
Daniel saw them.
Too late.
One grabbed him.
August drew a gun.
Ruth screamed.
Shots cracked through the cemetery.
The SUV door slammed.
May you like
Tires screamed.
And Daniel disappeared for the second time in August Howerin's life.
