Kyle?

Through the window she shouted for the figure who’d awakened her . . . if there had been a figure. She wasn’t quite sure whether he had been just a hallucination.

But he was there, and he turned. Denise blinked . . . he was making his way toward her. A moan escaped her lips.

Later she’d remember that she wasn’t frightened right away, not the way she should have been. She knew Kyle was okay; it didn’t even register that he might not be. He’d been strapped in-she was sure of it-and there wasn’t any damage in the back. The back door was already open . . . even in her bewildered state, she felt certain that the person-whoever he was-had helped Kyle out of the car. By now the figure was at the window.

“Listen, don’t try to talk. You’re pretty banged up. My name is Taylor McAden, and I’m with the fire department. I’ve got a radio in my car. I’m gonna get you help.”

She rolled her head, focusing on him with blurry eyes. She did her best to concentrate, to make her words as clear as possible.

“You have my son, don’t you?”

She knew what the answer would be, what it should be, but strangely, it didn’t come. Instead he seemed to need extra time to translate the words in the same way that Kyle did. His mouth contorted just a little, almost sluggishly, then he shook his head.

“No . . . I just got here. . . . Your son?”

It was then-while looking in his eyes and imagining the worst-that the first jolt of fear shot through her. Like a wave, it started crashing and she felt herself sinking inward, as she had when she’d learned of her mother’s death.

Lightning flashed again, and thunder followed almost immediately. The rain poured from the sky, and the man wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

“My son was in the back! Have you seen him?” The words came out clearly, forcefully enough to startle the man at the window, to awaken the last of her deadened senses.

“I don’t know-” In the sudden downpour, he hadn’t understood what she was trying to tell him.

Denise struggled to get out of the car, but the seat belt across her lap held her fast. She unbuckled it quickly, ignoring the pain in her wrist and elbow. The man took an involuntary step backward as Denise forced the door open, using her shoulder because the door had crumpled slightly from the impact. Her knees were swollen from smashing into the console, and she almost lost her balance as she stood.

“I don’t think you should be moving-”

Holding on to the car for support, she ignored the man as she moved around the car, toward the opposite side, where Kyle’s door stood open.

No, no, no, no . . .

“Kyle!”

In disbelief, she bent inside to look for him. Her eyes scanned the floor, then back to the seat again, as if he might magically reappear. Blood rushed to her head, bringing with it a piercing pain that she ignored.

Where are you? Kyle . . .

“Lady . . .” The man from the fire department followed her around the car, seemingly uncertain of what to do or what was going on or why this lady who was covered in blood was suddenly so agitated.

She cut him off by grabbing his arm, her eyes boring directly into his.

“You haven’t seen him? A little boy . . . brown hair?” The words were tinged with genuine panic. “He was in the car with me!”

“No, I-”

“You’ve got to help me find him! He’s only four!”

She whirled around, the rapid movement almost making her lose her balance. She grabbed hold of the car again. The corners of her vision faded to black as she struggled to keep the dizziness at bay. The scream came out despite the spinning in her mind.

“Kyle!”

Pure terror now.

Concentrating . . . closing one eye to help her focus . . . getting clearer again. The storm was in full fury now. Trees not twenty feet away were difficult to see through the rain. It was absolute darkness in that direction . . . only the path to the highway was clear.

Oh God.

The highway . . .

She could feel her feet slipping in the mud-soaked grass, she could hear herself drawing short, rapid gasps as she staggered toward the road. She fell once, got up again, and kept going. Finally understanding, the man ran after her, catching her before she reached the road. His eyes scanned the area around him.

“I don’t see him. . . .”

“Kyle!” She screamed it as loud as she could, praying inside as she did it. Despite being nearly drowned out by the storm, the sound prompted Taylor into further action.

They took off in opposite directions, both shouting Kyle’s name independently, both stopping occasionally to listen for sound. The rain, however, was deafening. After a couple of minutes Taylor ran back to his car and made a call to the fire station.

The two voices-Denise’s and Taylor’s-were the only human sounds in the swamp. The rain made it impossible for them to hear each other, let alone a child, but they continued anyway. Denise’s voice cut sharply, a mother’s scream of despair. Taylor took off at a lope, shouting Kyle’s name over and over, running a hundred yards up and down the road, firmly caught up in Denise’s fear. Eventually two other firemen arrived, flashlights in hand. At the sight of Denise, her hair matted with clots of blood, her shirt stained red, the older one recoiled for a moment before trying and failing to calm her down.

“You’ve got to help me find my baby!” Denise sobbed.

More help was requested, more people arrived within minutes. Six people searching now.

Still the storm raged furiously. Lightning, thunder . . . winds gusting strongly, enough to bend the searchers over double.

It was Taylor who found Kyle’s blanket, in the swamp about fifty yards from the spot where Denise had crashed, snagged on the underbrush that covered the area.

“Is this his?” he asked.

Denise started to cry as soon as it was handed to her.

But after thirty minutes of searching, Kyle was still nowhere to be seen.

It made no sense to her. One minute he was sleeping soundly in the backseat of her car, and in the next minute he was gone. Just like that. No warning at all, just a split-second decision to jerk the wheel and nothing would ever be the same again. Was that what life came down to?

Sitting in the back of the ambulance with the doors open while the flashing blue lights from the trooper’s car illuminated the highway in regular, circular sweeps, Denise waited, her mind racing with such thoughts. Half a dozen other vehicles were parked haphazardly as a group of men in yellow raincoats discussed what to do. Though it was obvious they’d worked together before, she couldn’t tell who was in charge. Nor did she know what they were saying; their words were lost in the muffled roar of the storm. The rain came down in heavy sheets, mimicking the sound of a freight train.

She was cold and still dizzy, unable to focus for more than a few seconds at a time. Her balance was off-she’d fallen three times while searching for Kyle-and her clothes were soaked and muddy, clinging to her skin. Once the ambulance had arrived, they’d forced her to stop. A blanket had been wrapped around her and a cup of coffee placed by her side. She couldn’t drink it-she couldn’t do much of anything. She was shivering badly, and her vision was blurred. Her frozen limbs seemed to belong to someone else. The ambulance attendant-though no doctor-suspected a concussion and wanted to bring her in immediately. She steadfastly refused. She wouldn’t leave until Kyle was found. He could wait another ten minutes, he said, then he had no choice. The gash in her head was deep and still bleeding, despite the bandage. She would lose consciousness, he warned, if they waited any longer than that. I’m not leaving, she repeated.

More people had arrived. An ambulance, a state trooper who’d been monitoring the radio, another three volunteers from the fire department, a trucker who saw the trouble and stopped as well-all within a few minutes of each other. They were standing in a sort of circle, in the middle of the cars and trucks, headlights on. The man who’d found her-Taylor?-had his back to her. She suspected he was filling them in on what he knew, which wasn’t much, other than the location of the blanket. A minute later he turned around and glanced at her, his face grim. The state trooper, a heavyset man losing his hair, nodded in her direction. After gesturing to the others to stay where they were, Taylor and the trooper both started toward the ambulance. The uniform-which in the past had always seemed to inspire confidence-now did nothing for her. They were men, only men, nothing more. She stifled the urge to vomit.