He could have wandered off with a friend, gone to get water, taken a shortcut toward the road for some stupid reason that would make sense only to a thirteen-year-old boy and nobody else. But fear didn’t care about logic. Fear remembered. And Jack had lived long enough with the kind of fear that never really left the body once it had moved in.
He was halfway to the gate when he heard footsteps behind him. “Mr. Callahan!” Jack turned. It was Preet, jogging toward him, out of breath. “I saw where Eli went,” he said. Jack was on him in two steps. “Where?” “There was this little girl by the gate. She was crying. Eli went to talk to her.” “And?” Preet pointed toward the street outside the park. “They walked out together.”