“My mom might get mad…”
“I won’t hurt you,” he begged. “I just need to know.”
She hesitated—then nodded.
“Okay. Follow me.”
Her name was Ellie. She walked ahead barefoot, navigating puddles like she owned the street. Warren followed, feeling his heart climb into his throat.
“Sometimes he talks about a red swing,” Ellie added. “And a loud black car.”
Warren stopped.
The red swing. His backyard.
The black car. His.
“It’s him,” he thought, tears burning his eyes.
The alley narrowed until Ellie pointed at a small house with cracked walls and faded blue windows.
“We live there.”
Warren’s breath shook as she led him inside.
A woman waited in the living room.
Marilyn.
At first, she looked like any tired working-class woman. But when she saw him, something snapped in her expression. Her eyes widened. Her fingers clenched.
“Good afternoon,” Warren said carefully. “I think… my son might be here.”
Marilyn laughed tensely.
“Your son? No. No children live here except my daughter.”
“Mom, the boy—” Ellie began.
“Ellie, inside. Now.”
Her voice was sharp as a blade.
Warren tried again.
“Please. Just one minute. If I’m wrong, I’ll leave.”
“I already said no.” Marilyn slammed the door in his face.