Page 33 of Finding Noah

Were they going to be okay? And if they weren't …

Oh my God, if they aren’t okay …

How was I ever going to be?

CHAPTER SIX

BOGEYMAN GONE

“Your mom is okay,” one of the cops, Officer Mike, said, sitting down on the bench next to me.

“What?” I gasped, turning to look into his serious gaze.

He smiled kindly. “Your mom, Noah. She's okay.”

Tears filled my eyes and spilled down my cheeks before I could stop it from happening. “Oh my God,” I cried out, burrowing my hands in the scratchy blanket and lifting them to cover my face. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

He patted my shoulder gently. “Can I get you something, kiddo? Some hot cocoa or water maybe?”

The cops had given me a bunch of cups of water since I’d arrived. It must've been two hours ago now, but I wasn't sure. Time was passing strangely here. Every second felt like a whole day, every minute felt like a year, but somehow, time was also flying, and it was hard to believe that, just a few hours ago, Soldier had broken the window in my bedroom and dropped me out into a torrential downpour.

He saved me.

Did someone save him?

“Is Soldier okay?” I asked, realizing Officer Mike hadn't said anything about him.

“Ah …” He cleared his throat and did a funny thing with his lips, like he was trying to smile, but didn't want to. “We … we're not sure yet, kiddo. We're still waiting on the updates. But good news: Officer Kinney is gonna be bringing you to your mom soon. So, you just sit tight. How about that hot cocoa?”

I swallowed and managed to nod, but I didn't want hot cocoa. I wasn’t even sure I wanted my mom, although I'd be lying if I said I wouldn’t be happy to see her.

What I wanted was Soldier.

With the scratchy blanket, I wiped my face as Officer Mike stood up and walked toward the little table where they kept coffee and tea and water and some other stuff. There was a box of doughnuts, too, and on another day, maybe I would've been interested in having one, but not tonight.

I hung my head, imagining Soldier's face. Remembering when I’d first met him, when he’d taught me to fight, when we had gone fishing, the birthday party he’d wanted me to have, and all the other memories we'd created over the last several months since Mom and I had met him … and I started to cry again.

Because I knew.

I knew he wasn't okay.

He had saved Mom and me, but he hadn't saved himself, and, oh my God, my chest hurt so much at the thought of never seeing him again.

“Hey.”

A gentle voice surrounded me like a warm hug, and I slowly looked up to see the prettiest face I'd ever seen in my whole life.

Curly blonde hair and soft blue eyes. Her lips were rosy, and her cheeks were pink, and she looked like she belonged on TV or in one of the clothing catalogs Mom got in the mail. But she was here instead, wearing a plain yellow T-shirt and jeans and white sneakers.

I swallowed against my tears and said in a small voice, “Hi.”

“Are you Noah?” she asked, and in an instant, I realized who she was.

Meg.

The woman from the 911 call.

She was here.