The Missing Heir novel · Chapter 11 of 24

Chapter 11: Thursday

The storm came back on Wednesday night, harder than the first.

It hammered the roof of the rowhouse and ran down the windows in sheets.

I woke at three to find Micah sitting upright in the dark, soaked in sweat and breathing like he had run a mile.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey, it's me.

You're in my bed."

His eyes were open but he was not looking at me.

"The ledger," he said.

"What ledger?"

"June.

It's all June.

I can't make it add up."

"Micah."

He turned his head and saw me, and the strange fixed look slid off his face.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Bad dream."

"You said something about June."

"I did?"

He rubbed his face with his good hand.

"I don't remember.

I'm sorry."

I put my arms around him and he held on tight.

His heart was running like a rabbit's.

I thought he would tell me what he had seen.

He didn't, and I didn't ask.

We lay back down together with the rain drumming on the roof.

When I woke again it was gray dawn and the bed was cold on his side.

His shoes were gone from beside the door.

So was the six-dollar coat.

There was no note.

I called the cafeteria.

The kitchen manager said he hadn't clocked in, and she sounded irritated.

I dressed, took the stairs two at a time, and drove through the rain with my wipers on high.

The chaplain was standing in the corridor outside the chapel with his arms folded and his lips tight.

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