Her throat hurt. She coughed and that made her ribs ache. She wondered what Quincy was doing now. Probably driving the case detective crazy, she decided, which at least made her smile.

Her hands moved on the bench. With one finger, she traced the only words he needed to know: I love you, too.

Then a sound came from overhead. Door opening. Footsteps on the stairs.

She stiffened, tried to swing herself off the bench, tried to prepare herself to defend.

There was a soft thud, followed by an immediate moan.

“Brought you something,” the man said, then his footsteps retreated back up the stairs. The door slammed shut, she heard a lock click shut. Then, silence.

“Hello?” Rainie tried.

Slowly she crossed to the stairs, her hands groping out in front of her, her fingers feeling in the dark. She found the body at the bottom, curled up against the floor as she had been not that long ago. Smaller frame than she expected, encased in wet jeans and an even wetter sweatshirt.

Her fingers moved, determining the welt at the back of the head, then discovering the face.

“Oh no. Oh no.”

She rocked the boy up onto her lap. She cradled his still form against her, stroking his chilled cheek and willing some heat from her own cold frame into his body.

“It’ll be okay, it’ll be okay,” she murmured over and over again. But she didn’t know who she was trying to convince anymore, herself or Dougie Jones.