August stared at the young man on the porch. The kid, a tall, awkward-looking teenager, with long shaggy hair, was a ringer for a younger version of August. The boy stared back at him. He looked very much like the age progression photos in the missing child fliers.

            Annaliese knocked over the extra chair, hurrying after the man she thought was Leonard. As she struggled through the crowded bar patio and out onto the street, she heard Art calling after her, but she didn’t answer. Art would be angry she had run off, but she hoped he would understand. He knew all about Leonard.

           Someone touched Josef’s shoulder and he flinched and turned around, flattening his back against the wall.  

           “I’m sorry,” said the young girl who stood in front of him now, holding out her hand. “I’m Anna.” The girl had a warm, welcoming smile that seemed at odds with their ugly, cold surroundings. She gestured to the man who stood just behind her like a shadow. The man stepped forward and nodded at Josef.

         Was it breaking and entering if you had the key and the apartment belonged to a friend? Rifke stood watching Pocho in the dim hallway of Hubert’s building. Pocho had been crouched in front of Hubert’s door for what felt like forever.

          Rory Shane was missing and Julian wasn’t as sorry as he knew he should be. The only thing that bothered Julian was that the longer he went without telling his wife, the worse it would be for him when she found out.

             Andre woke up to the sound of people speaking Russian. At first he was so disoriented that the words just hung in the air around him, the Cyrillic letters dancing in chains around his head. He had no idea what they meant.