Chapter 1
Chapter One
Dragon
Twenty-two years earlier…
Griffin and I are both so excited for Christmas. She still believes in Santa Claus, but I’m eight years old, and I know that Mommy and Daddy are really Santa Claus.
Which explains why some of my friends at school get so much more than Griffin and I do. Because their parents have more money to spend on gifts for them. I used to wonder why Santa liked other kids more than he liked Griffin and me. It wasn’t fair.
It was hard learning that Santa isn’t real, but at least now I knew he didn’t play favorites.
Griffin loves flannel pajamas—she’d wear them all the time if Mommy let her—and she loves pink. I wanted to get her something for Christmas that I knew she would love. So instead of getting her a toy or a stuffed animal or something like that, I suggested to Mommy that I get her some pajamas.
“Griffin will love that,” Mom said to me. “I’ll get Daddy to stay with her, and I’ll take you to the store on Saturday to pick out a really nice set for her.”
At Walmart, I chose the pink flannel with rainbows. They were similar to her favorites—pink flannel with blue hearts on them. I only had two dollars and twenty-nine cents to spend, but Mommy made up the rest.
I hate pink—it’s such a girly color—but Griffin loves it, and I want her to be happy. Plus, I like rainbows. Rainbows are happy.
“I want Griffin to think they came from Santa,” I say.
Mommy frowns. “Are you sure, Dragon? She would love to think her big brother got her such a wonderful gift. Plus, you used your own money.”
“You and Daddy use your own money to buy the Santa gifts,” I say.
Mommy smiles. “That’s different. We’re parents.” She leans down and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “It’s not your job to be Santa. Not until you’re all grown up and have your own kids.”
I think for a minute. Do I want the imaginary fat man in the red suit to get the credit? “Okay. It’ll be from me.”
Mom smiles and gives me a quick hug. “She’ll love them even more since they’re from you.”
Christmas came four days later. I’m always the first one up on Christmas morning. Something inside me just knows it’s time to get up. I jump out of bed, wearing my own flannel pajamas—mine are blue with Superman on the front—and I run into Griffin’s room. She’s just starting to open her eyes.
“Griffin!” I pull on her arm. “It’s Christmas morning! It’s time to get out of bed and see if Santa was here!”
“Do you think he came, Dragon?” she asks, yawning.
I can’t help a grin. “I know he did.”
And that’s true, because Mommy and Daddy let me stay up to help put the presents under the tree.
I grab Griffin’s hand and drag her down the short hallway and out to our living room, where our Christmas tree stands.
And under it…so many presents!
Mommy wrapped them all, and I don’t know what’s inside mine.
But I’m most excited for Griffin to see the pajamas I got her. I want to see the smile on her cute little round cheeks.
“Should we get Mommy and Daddy?” she asks.
“I hear them coming.”
Sure enough, Mom and Dad come rattling out of their room on the other side of our little house.
Mommy lets out a big yawn. “I’ll get some coffee started, Felix. The kids can go ahead and open their presents.”
Dad shakes his head. “Don’t be silly, Stevie. We’ll wait for you.”
“Daddy,” Griffin whines. “Do we have to wait?”
“You waited all night.” Dad’s voice is stern, but his eyes are smiling. “You can wait for your mother to make some coffee.”
Those few minutes for Mom to get the coffee start to seem like hours to Griffin and me.
Finally she comes into the room. “Coffee will be ready in a few minutes. In the meantime, here are some doughnuts.” She sets down a silver tray. “The Osbornes dropped them off last night.”
“That was nice of them,” Dad says.
Mommy shrugs. “I think they were just leftovers. They have a big Christmas Eve dinner with their extended family. But Mack said that he knows how much Griffin likes the powdered sugar ones. He said to make sure to save one for her.”
“Those are my favorite, too.” I step toward the box. “Are there enough for both me and Griffin to have one?”
Mommy peeks inside. “I think you’ll be more than happy.”
Griffin and I each grab one, and soon we both have a powdered sugar mustache all over our top lips.
“Okay, whose turn is it to go first this year?” Daddy asks.
“Griffin can go first,” I say. “She’s younger than I am.”
Still, I can’t wait. Last year I got Hot Wheels that go upside down. I still love playing with those.
Daddy hands a present to Griffin, and she rips off the red wrapping. Her eyes light up. “It’s a jewelry box!”
“Open it,” Mom says.
Griffin opens the lid, and a little ballerina turns around while music plays. Not much to excite me, but Griffin loves it.
Dad hands me a gift then. “Your turn, Dragon.”
I open the gift, and I gasp with happiness. “Drumsticks!”
“Yes, your fingers are getting big enough for a new size.” Dad grins. “Now you’ll really be able to play your drum even better.”
I love my drum. It’s called a snare drum. Daddy got it for me when Griffin was just a baby. I’ve been playing it for a while, though Mom and Dad don’t have enough money for me to have lessons. Dad bought me a book, and I read it and taught myself. He says one day I can have a whole drum set. Maybe next Christmas.
“All right,” Mommy says. “Griffin, it’s your turn again.”
I grab the box wrapped in pink wrapping paper with bells and Christmas trees scattered over it. “Open this one, Griffin. It’s from me.”
“Okay, Dragon.” She smiles at me and rips the paper off to expose a white shirt box.
“Well,” Mommy says, “open the box, Griffin.”
“What could be in here?” Griffin lifts the lid from the box and gasps, a huge smile on her face. “New jammies!” She pulls them out and hugs them to herself. “Can I put them on now?”
“Don’t you want to say thank you to Dragon first?” Daddy asks.
“Yes!” Griffin squeals. “Thank you, Dragon!” She launches herself at me and knocks us both down. “I’m going to put them on right now.”
“Don’t you want to finish opening your presents first?” Mom asks.
“No. I want to put on these new jammies.” Griffin prances around the room. “And then we’ll open the rest of the presents, okay?”
“All right, Griffin.” Mom scoops up Griffin and takes her back to her room.
Five minutes later, they return. The pajamas are a little big on Griffin, but Mom said we should get the larger size so she could wear them longer.
Griffin hugs herself. “I love them! Now, I want my next present!”
Present day…
It’s not a package so much as a metal box with my name on it. The box itself doesn’t alarm me.
What’s affixed to the outside of it does.
It’s a piece of fabric cut in the shape of a heart.
My own heart nearly stops.
Although it’s faded from what I remember, the design is unmistakable. It’s pink flannel with rainbows scattered across it.
Our last Christmas…
Griffin’s pajamas that I picked out…
I stoop down, lift the metal box, and open it. Inside is a simple piece of paper with a phone number on it.
That’s it.
The piece of flannel is attached to the lid of the box with some simple scotch tape. I pull it off and examine it closely.
I remember buying those pajamas for Griffin. It was a few days before Christmas. Mom and I went to a discount store. It might have been Target. Maybe Walmart. I don’t remember.
When I saw those pink flannel pajamas with rainbows, I knew they would be perfect for Griffin. They ended up being her favorites—even more than the ones with the light-blue hearts.
The blue hearts were what she was wearing the night she was first attacked.
God, I remember. All the blood. Soaking through the flannel, all over the little blue hearts…
I don’t know what ultimately happened to those pajamas. Mom and Dad probably threw them out. Or they’re in an evidence bag somewhere.
But the next time, when Griffin was taken, I wasn’t there to protect her. I wasn’t there to take the blame.
She must’ve been wearing those pajamas I gave her that last Christmas I was in my parents’ house.
No.
I shake my head to clear it.
Someone is fucking with me. The same person who claims to know where she is. The same person who keeps telling me to call off my private investigator.
I don’t even know if Griffin was wearing those pajamas the night she disappeared. My parents never came to get me. They just went on with their lives. They lost a child, and they apparently forgot they had another who’d been unjustly blamed for something he didn’t do.
Who would want to fuck with me?
And why now?
I got out of foster care when I was eighteen. And that was a glorious day, let me tell you. When I entered that last group home for boys thirteen to eighteen years old, I was the new kid, and small for my age.
I paid for it.
By the time I got out, though, I was no longer the new kid, and I’d grown into my current height.
I don’t let myself think about those days. Those days when I should’ve been home with my parents because I hadn’t done what they thought I had.
Things happened to me during that time that I can’t let myself think about. Things I’ve never told anyone—not Jesse, not my therapist.
Things I’ll take to my fucking grave.
There are also things I did during those years. Things I never would’ve done otherwise.
One thing in particular, and I’ll also take that to my fucking grave.
How long have I been standing out here?
I walk back inside, nod to the security guard on duty, and head to the elevator, carrying the box back up to Diana’s penthouse.
She’s at work, of course, so I have the place to myself. I’m expecting a call or an email from Antonio Carbone about when I’ll start my work as a percussion instructor at his music shop.
But until then…
Do I dare call this number?
A better idea would be to give it to Alayna. Let her deal with it.
But already I know, as I rub this piece of flannel between my fingers, that I will call.
I can’t not .