Claire is crying.

I realize I’ve heard those words before—in the Moonlight Diner. I think of the overfriendly woman, Merry. She’d said she was ready, and then I’d heard those words. And I’d never seen her again. He must have sent her home.

His gaze rests on Claire. “Come here, child. Your turn to go home.”

“Scottsdale, Arizona,” I say. “That’s where her parents are. Can you send her there?”

“She’ll return to the world in the place where she left it,” he says. “I cannot control where that is or what happens next.”

“No!” Claire shouts.

“Will anyone be there to help her?” I ask. “Who will take care of her? She needs to get to Scottsdale. Her parents moved after they lost her.”

The Missing Man frowns, looking like a disgruntled grandfather. It’s obvious he doesn’t appreciate the questions. But this is Claire. I can’t simply let her disappear without being sure she’ll be happy! “I do not see details,” he says. “But this will help her leave. Surely, you want that for her, if you care for her at all.”

“Of course I care! I just want some guarantee that when you ‘send her home’ or whatever voodoo you do, she’s happy!” I am standing and shouting, though I don’t remember at what point I leaped to my feet.

Claire runs to my side and wraps her arms around my waist. “I won’t go without her!”

I wrap my arms around her and look at the Missing Man.

He shakes his head. “The loss inside Lauren has not been filled. She cannot accompany you.”

Claire cries more. “Then I’m not going!”

I stroke her hair.

“This is the little girl’s chance to have a future,” the Missing Man says to me. “You cannot stand in the way of that.” He’s right. I know it. He sees me accept this, and he smiles as if to reassure me. I decide that the smile that seemed so fatherly and loving before now seems smug and self-righteous, and part of me wishes I hadn’t opened the door. But he is right. This is no place for a little girl. She can’t grow up here.

I kneel down so I’m at her level. “Claire.” I brush her hair back from her eyes and I wipe her wet cheeks with the heel of my hand. “I’ll find what I lost. And then I’ll find you as soon as I’m back in the world. I promise. But you have to be brave and strong like I know you are.”

She throws her arms around my neck and clings to me. “No! I won’t leave you!”

Gently, I pry her off of me. “You’ll do all the things that you should do. Go to school. Make friends. Learn to play that violin. Have as much of a childhood as you still can. And then you’ll grow up, and you can make whatever dreams you want come true. You can be who you’re meant to be.”

She sniffs. “You’re only saying that because you think you’re supposed to. If the world was so wonderful, you wouldn’t be here.” I open my mouth to reply, and I remember how I swore to myself I wouldn’t lie to her. Thinking of Mom, I can’t think of anything to say. Prying herself away from me, she faces the Missing Man. He holds out his hand to her. She spits at him and runs.

Startled, he freezes. Claire darts out of the dining room and through the hallway. The door slams. For an instant, I think, Run, Claire! And then I think I’ve destroyed any hope for her future. I race after her. She’s left the door swinging open, and I run outside. I see her little head bob up and down between the weeds, and I run after her.

Chapter Nineteen

“Claire! Come back, Claire!”

My words echo over the landscape, as if the wind has taken them and turned them over and over like tumbleweeds. I have been so careful not to make any loud noises outside for weeks that I instantly wish that I could call my shout back and swallow the words whole.

I should have known she’d run. I knew what she’d lost. And what she’s found. It doesn’t take a Ph.D. in psychology to figure it out. She lost family, and she found me.

I aim for the alleys. I have a guess where she’d run.

It’s already dusk, and shadows lie layered over shadows. If I’m lucky, I’ll find her fast and we’ll be home before it’s truly dark. If I’m not... Images of the feral dogs spring into my mind, their teeth, their growls, and Claire’s small body. I firmly banish those images. If I’m not, then I’ll find her at Peter’s apartment on the oversize plush chair with her imaginary tea, and we’ll return home in the morning.

Ahead, I see them: the narrow apartment buildings. Crowded close, they remind me of bodies on a bus, shoulders mashed together. Dodging junk piles, I run toward the buildings, and then I plunge into an alley.

The alley is as dank and dark as I remember it. The brick walls lean in toward each other, cutting off the last vestiges of daylight. I feel buried in twilight. Beside me, a rat scurries past, and the cardboard boxes shift and rustle. I pick up what could be the same trash can lid that I had tossed weeks ago. The weight of it makes me feel better.

Walking as quickly and quietly as I can, I retrace our steps toward Peter’s apartment. My shoes stick to the muck on the ground, and the stench pervades my nostrils until it swims in my head. Clatters and snuffling and squeaking and a thousand tiny sounds make my skin prickle. I listen for the dogs.

The air is damp and chill, as if I were a thousand miles from the desert. I can’t see stars overhead. The sky is a black sliver, as if the street were inverted above me. I walk through the shadows and hope this is the right direction.

I hear a door shut, and I freeze. Voices, ahead. I duck behind a Dumpster as two men pass by beneath the yellowish glow of a streetlamp. Also behind the Dumpster, a mutt watches me from beneath a cardboard box. His fur is matted around his face. Mud has dried on him. He has a collar. He watches me, but he doesn’t move.

Heart thumping hard, I wait until I am certain the men are gone before I creep out.

I quicken my pace. Every shadow leers at me, and I hear my heart beat louder than my footsteps. My breath sounds rough, and my eyes ache from staring so hard to make sense of the layers of darkness.

But at last, I see the stairwell, lit by the dim glow of a bulb. I run the final few feet and leap-run-fall down the stairs. I land against the door, smacking it with my palms. I knock.

No answer.

“Please, Peter,” I whisper at the door. “Please be here.” Images flood through my mind again: Claire alone in an alley, found by the dogs, found by the men, not found at all. I tell myself that it’s only my overactive imagination. Claire’s a survivor. She’s tough and fast and smart. But she was scared. Scared kids don’t think straight. She could have run straight into danger.

I remember that Claire had a special knock. Slow twice, three times fast...

I am rewarded with footsteps, and the door swings open. As soon as Peter sees me, he laughs, joy filling his voice and ricocheting off the brick walls of the apartment buildings. “A surprise! And it’s not even my birthday. Perhaps my unbirthday surprise?”

“Claire?” I call. His laugh dies as I push past him into the dark hallway, through the curtain, to the star-filled room. He’s decorated the tree with Tiffany’s nooses. He follows me.

“Lauren, are you all right?” He reaches toward me, doesn’t touch me, lets his hand fall to his side.

“I thought she’d come here.” I spin in a circle, scanning the fairy-tale room. Broken marionettes lay on a shelf. The button jar is overflowing, and one chair is covered with candy wrappers, laid flat like quilt pieces. The Christmas lights swirl in a spiral pattern. “She’s not here.” I hear my voice. It’s shrill, not like my own. “You have to help me find her!”

“Claire can take care of herself,” Peter says. “She’s a resourceful girl. Why do you think you need to find her?”

Because of the dogs. Because of the dark. Because of the Missing Man. Because... I don’t see the words coming. They burst out of me without passing by my mind. “Because I have to be able to save someone I love!” And suddenly, I am crying. Great heaving sobs that hurt my ribs. My face feels as though it is about to crack. I am crying so hard that there are no tears, only heaving racking sob noises.