“I’ve got him,” Gideon says. “He’s fine.”
Then he closes the call, and it’s only Wyatt and me. I fight the temptation to say something pointless, like I’m sure it’ll be okay or Javier’s grown, he’s fine.
“He’s never been gone this long,” Wyatt says. “Thirty-six hours, maybe.”
I swallow against the cold dread in my chest, the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I want to run five miles and punch through a wall and charge through a river and fight a bear. I want to find Javier’s dad and scream in his face.
“He’ll turn up just fine,” I say, and I hate myself for the platitude. “He always has before.”
Wyatt presses his knuckles to his mouth and looks away and I know it means no, he hasn’t, but he doesn’t say that. Instead he says, “I’m gonna make some calls.”
And I say, “Yeah, me too,” and then we both hang up.
I make more calls. No one knows anything.
An hour later, Gideon calls back.
“Sorry it took me so long,” he says, his voice fuzzy and crackled. “Had to get back down to Deep Creek before I had any signal.”
For Gideon to get from his house to Wildwood and back to Deep Creek he must have been driving like a bat out of hell, but I don’t say that.
“His car’s there,” Gideon says, and cold dread clenches my stomach. “He’s not.”
“I’m coming up,” I say, and grab my keys.