The Stolen - Jason Pinter [16]
blond hair caught in the wind. There was nothing particularly
photogenic about the pic, nothing that seemed extraordinary.
"Tasha's birthday," Shelly was quick to point out.
"There was a leak in the basement. We lost so many photo
albums. This is the only one we could save. Not the best
shot, but it's what's in it that matters. She's just so carefree."
I smiled back at her. "Should we get Daniel?"
Shelly bit her lip, then relaxed. "Have a seat. I'll be right
back."
I sat down on the couch. An oak coffee table separated
me from a chair where I assumed Daniel would sit. The
couch was dark brown, microfiber, half a dozen stains of
varying color and size spattered about. A silver robot
peeked out from beside the television set, and a few stray
doll hairs were tucked between the cushions. The
Linwoods' living room was well worn, well used. The
photos on the mantel didn't look like they were placed
there for Senator Talbot. I could tell from the dust patterns
and slightly faded wood surrounding them that they were
barely ever moved. That photo of Tasha, though, captivated my interest. It just seemed so out of place.
I placed the tape recorder on the coffee table; better to
keep it in plain sight than unnerve Daniel by taking it out
after he'd settled down. I breathed easy. Waited.
I heard Shelly say, "Come on, sweetheart," and into the
room stepped a young boy. He was a little over five feet
tall, with dark, tousled hair and hazel eyes. Those eyes
appeared less curious than slightly fearful, as though he
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Jason Pinter
was being led through a curtain into somewhere unknown.
His cheeks bore a few freckles that surely got him teased
as a kid, but in ten years would make him look cute, even
handsome. His limbs were gangly, face thin. I remembered my growth spurt at about the same age, thinking I'd
end up being eight feet tall and starting at center for the
Lakers. Of course neither happened. For a moment I
believed Daniel's tentativeness was directed toward me,
but then I realized that there was a gap of nearly five years
in this boy's memory. He wasn't just feeling me out, but
his whole life.
Shelly kept her hands on his shoulders, gentle but
muscles tensed, as though he could topple over at any
moment and shatter. Daniel's only hesitation was in his
gait, otherwise he looked like a regular boy, ready to lose
himself in too much homework, too many video games,
and the dreams of years he had yet to know.
"Hey, Daniel," I said, standing up slightly, trying to
make him relax. "I'm Henry. It's nice to meet you."
"Danny," he said. "Just Danny." No hesitation there. I
saw a frown glimmer across Shelly's face, but she said
nothing.
"Danny," I said. "Well, Danny, thanks for letting me talk
to you." His nod said he wasn't quite as happy as me.
He smiled tentatively, sat down in a wicker-backed
chair across the table from me. "Could I have a soda?" he
said to Shelly. She was up and heading to the kitchen
before the question was finished. When she'd disappeared,
he looked at the tape recorder. "Is that thing on?"
"Yeah, it is. See that red light?" He nodded. "That
means it's on."
"So it's recording what I'm saying right now?"
"That's right."
The Stolen
51
"Okay. Shit." I looked up at him. Danny had a mischievous grin on his face, slightly red with embarrassment.
"Sorry, just wanted to, you know..."
"Yeah, I know."
"That won't be in your story, will it?"
"Nah. I'll keep the uncensored version for my
personal files."
Shelly came back in carrying a tray with a glass of soda,
another glass of water and a plate of assorted vegetables.
Danny and I shared a smirk. Then I noticed what else was
on the tray: a gauze pad, a bottle of what appeared to be
rubbing alcohol, a cylindrical tube the size of a pen and a vial.
Shelly noticed me looking at this and said, "Daniel,
sorry, Danny has diabetes. I thought it'd be good to give
him his insulin before you got started."
"Fine with me," I said. "Danny?"
He nodded. Shelly said, "We did your arm this morning,
right? Let's