a deadly storm, an unsolved disappearance, and a small town brimming with secrecy;
an outcast girl, a boy who only knows how to hide, and the world against them;
what could go wrong?
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flashback - tuesday, may 7, 2013
The May weather was still unsuitably cold that first fateful Tuesday night; the Bradford Pear trees lining the city had only just begun to sprout their signature white buds, signifying the approach of steadily-warmer days, but this promise had been offset by the arrival of a last-minute thunderstorm. The cool rain had been falling strong along the streets with relentless fervor, swamping the gutters of the city with muddy groundwater. School had long been let out for the day and a few children still lingered in their yards, stomping in puddles and running through the rainfall, excitedly waving at a small black car weaving its way towards the wide streets of downtown.
Harry licks his lips; he doesn't see the smiling children sailing past his window. His mind is far too occupied with the gut-wrenching anticipation of something new. He grips the steering wheel a little tighter once Center Street Church comes into view. Most of the building's lights are off, save for a few streetlamps scattered along the landscaped grounds and a lone lamp hanging above a glass side door. Mrs. Taylor had told him to enter that way. "We'll be in the first conference room on the right," she'd said with a firm nod of her head. "Come hungry."
Harry did more than a satisfactory job of following instructions; his stomach gurgles in protest as he locks his car and proceeds up the worn concrete steps to the door. Before he can even reach it, Martha's weathered face appears as she gleefully pulls open the door for him.
"Harry, you made it," she grins pleasantly. She seems unseasonably pleased to see him, but then again feeling welcome isn't exactly something Harry is familiar with. He nods nervously, tucks his hands into his pockets, and traipses inside under her watchful eye. "I hope you're hungry."
"Starving," he chuckles.
Martha takes off down the hall in a brisk walk, something Harry has already assumed is her normal pace. "Well there's brisket sandwiches and chips in the conference room, and we've got plenty of water and sodas left too. Help yourself, I want to make sure everyone is full and free from distractions before we get started. Once that clock hits quarter-to-seven we'll get going."
Harry briefly checks his watch; seven after six. He hums in agreement and follows her obediently to the conference room, ultimately surprised by the sheer . . . normalcy of his constituents. Several older men in their forties are milling around the food table, chatting amicably while munching on an assortment of provided snacks. A young woman in her early twenties is on the phone, gently chiding someone to make sure the kids finish their homework and don't let Holly tell you she can have ice cream before bed. Two more women are already seated, both dressed in business formal attire. A young man accidentally brushes Harry's shoulder in his eager hurry to get another sandwich.
Before too long, the clock is reading six-forty-five and Martha is hurriedly ushering everyone to join the circle of chairs while Harry licks the remaining barbecue sauce from his fingers. He tosses his empty plate in the trash before seating himself between the young mother and one of the older men, flashing both of them a nervous smile as Martha begins her opening statements.
