But it was so much worse for Cassie. No amount of bleach could scrub the smell of death from the air. There was something oppressive about hospitals, too. The building had seen an indescribable amount of death, and even though some had been accidental or even anticipatory, each soul left its mark until it felt as though the hospital took on a life of its own.
Areas like this—waiting rooms and doctors’ offices—were nothing compared to the emergency room, but Cassie could feel the darkness reaching out to her like icy fingers running their nails down her back. The ambient temperature was always a few degrees colder here, and she never could quite get warm.
A young father and his son walked into the waiting room, glanced in her direction, then sat in a pair of chairs about ten feet away. The boy was about eight, with dark hair and curious eyes. He stared at Cassie until his father took out a toy train and let him play out all the adventures living in his head.
Sebastian Thomas was about the same age when he went missing.
When he died.
There was no mention of Sebastian’s father in the newspaper article—just his babysitter and mother—and Cassie wondered if he had been in the picture, if he even knew his son was missing. Did he help? Did he do it? After all, Sebastian hadn’t made a scene. If his father had told him to come with him, the boy would’ve obeyed.
The irony of cases like this is that it is inconceivable a parent would kill their own child, and yet, they are often the first suspect. And for good reason. They would have the victim’s trust, ample opportunity, and even motive. And yet we never want to believe they would be capable of such a crime.
Cassie thought of Connor Grayson. From what she’d gathered about the mother, the police would clear her as a suspect. Senator Grayson, however, would have more to prove. His poor relationship with his son and his political aspirations would undoubtedly come back to bite him in the ass.
But was he capable of killing his own child? Cassie didn’t know enough about him to make that determination. Over the years, she’d seen the lengths to which politicians would go in order to secure their futures, but their victims were typically strangers or colleagues. Not their own kids.
The little boy made train noises as he pushed his toy around the room and over to where Cassie was sitting. When he got close enough, he stopped, looked up at her, and handed the train over. Cassie took it with a smile on her face.
“Thank you very much.” The metal train was hand-painted. Perhaps it was the boy’s father’s when he was growing up. “What’s your name?”
“Devin.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Devin. My name is Cassie.”
Devin looked at the empty seat next to Cassie, then back up at her. “Can Sebastian and I play together?”
Cassie’s breath caught in her throat. She looked on either side of her but didn’t see the ghost of the little boy who had haunted her for months. Why did he seem to always be by her side, but choose to be invisible? Why was he showing himself to Devin and not to her?
“Please?” Devin asked. His big brown eyes were hard to resist.
She handed the train back to him. “Of course.”
“Thank you.”
Devin bounded away, and Sebastian presumably followed him. When Cassie looked up, her eyes met the father’s, who stood and walked over to her with a sheepish smile on his face.
“Sorry about that. He’s pretty friendly.”
“Oh, it’s no problem at all. He’s adorable.”
“He’s a handful, that’s for sure.” The man looked at his son, then back at Cassie. He lowered his voice. “Did he say anything strange to you?”
Cassie’s eyes widened. There was no way she’d be able to explain what had just transpired.
The man held up his hands. “You don’t have to tell me what it is. It makes some people uncomfortable. I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on with him. I just want him to be okay, you know?”
Cassie’s throat was dry, but she forced herself to speak. “He might just have a big imagination.”
“I think it’s more than that.” The man smiled and shifted his weight back and forth a few times. “You’d think I’m crazy, but the things he’s talked about—the things he says he’s seen—would shock you.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy.” If he was, then she was, too. “And I think your son is very special.”
“Thank you.”
Cassie hesitated, but the pressure inside her built until she couldn’t hold it back any longer. “I think your son and I might share some interesting qualities.” The man raised his eyebrows, and Cassie scrambled for her words. “We’re different. It’s not always a bad thing.”
“I just don’t know if I should be worried about him.” He laughed. “You know, more than I already am.”
“Worrying doesn’t make things better, though, does it?” She found it ironic that she, someone laden with anxiety on a daily basis, was imparting this particular wisdom to a stranger. But he didn’t have to know any of that. “What he could really use is your support. And your love. No matter how weird things get, he’s still your son. It’ll be okay, as long as you two stick together.”
The door to the patient area opened, and a nurse led Cassie’s mom back into the waiting room. Cassie stood, not wanting to be rude, but not wanting her mom to ask what she and the stranger had been talking about.
“It was nice to meet both of you. I have to run.” She turned to leave but hesitated. “If I had one more piece of advice, it would be to trust him. Kids are more perceptive of the world around us than we give them credit for.”
“I’ll do that.”
Cassie waved goodbye to
