Forgotten

“Crying children late at night… in a business registered as a pawnshop,” he says quietly. “The squad has done routine checks twice now and there’s no sign of wrongdoing. But like I said, they’re keeping an eye out.”

Captain Moeller stops talking a moment and clears his throat.

I’m confused. My mom might be, too. I can’t be sure.

“What does all this mean, Jim?” she says aloud. “Why did you want us to come back down here?”

“Well, that’s the thing. It’s touchy, and maybe I’m wrong, but this new information piqued my interest,” the captain says, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through what hair he has left. He checks the clock and continues.

“You never did an autopsy on Jonas’s body, did you, Bridgette?”

The question slugs my mom in the gut, and she looks visibly hurt for a split second. Then she recovers.

“No, you know that, Jim,” she says. “There were his clothes—definitely his clothes—and with the decomposition, we decided it was enough.”

My mouth is ajar now. Hasn’t my mom seen a single crime drama? Maybe she just wanted it to be over. Maybe she just needed to believe, to bury him and move on.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Mom asks, seeming agitated now.

“I don’t know. Kids late at night… at a pawnshop that the locals say isn’t open in the daytime. It’s just suspicious.”

“Say what you mean, Jim,” my mom barks, and suddenly Captain Moeller sits straight in his chair.

“It’s possible that the pawnshop is a front for an illegal adoption agency. I think they might be stealing and selling kids.”

My mom’s jaw drops. “Selling kids?” she asks, clearly horror-stricken.

Captain Moeller rubs his eyes. “It happens more than you’d think. People can’t have them on their own, and they get impatient because regular adoption takes too long. They turn to illegal baby brokers and fork out thousands to buy Junior, no questions asked.”

My mom is quiet for a full two minutes before acknowledging the possibility. Finally, she dares to say it aloud: “You think they stole Jonas and sold him to new parents.”

“It’s possible,” Captain Moeller replies. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, but if that were the case…”

Mom grabs my hand before interrupting.

“Jonas could be alive.”

43

My eyes are still closed, but I’m awake now. The air in the room has shifted.

“London?” my mom whispers. I ignore her. She whispers again, but not to me. The sound is softer, as if she’s turned to someone in the hallway.

“I guess she overslept.”

“Guess so,” the voice whispers back. I wish everyone would shut up. It can’t be time to get ready for school already.

“London, it’s time to get up, honey. You’re going to be late for school,” my mom says in a singsong voice.

Finally, I let loose a long, audible groan and open my eyes.

My room is bright with the morning sun; apparently I forgot to shut the shades last night. The clock reads 7:00. Ugh. My mom stands in the doorway with a funny look on her face, blocking another person from view.

“What are you doing?” I ask, showing my displeasure.

“Good morning, London,” she says awkwardly, ignoring my question. “Do you want to read your notes?”