After Dark (The Night Owl Trilogy #3)(67)

“Miss Catalano?”

“Huh? Sorry. What was the question?”

“We need some assurance from you that this isn’t another hoax. We’re exhausting lifesaving resources here and—”

“It’s not a hoax.” I rubbed my eyes. When the officers had arrived, they’d strolled up to the house—hands on belts, no hurry—exchanging weary looks. I couldn’t blame them. Matt and I had cried “wolf” last year and the whole nation heard our cry. Search-and-rescue teams had risked their lives in the mountains, looking for the missing author. More than once, I’d sat down just like this, feeding lies to the police. People had grieved for him. Seth had grieved …

Tears of fear and frustration seeped into my fingers.

“Please,” I said. “I’m sorry. Please find him.”

Hannah, you’ve got to hold it together.

I sent up a prayer for strength.

I said to God: Don’t make me pay for my sins with his life.

The officer’s partner returned to the kitchen.

“All clear,” he said. “I’m going to help outside.”

An hour later, only one police car and the ambulance remained. The female officer began talking me through filing a missing-persons report. “You can do that tomorrow at the station,” she said. Her radio buzzed. “Take notes on what you remember tonight—”

“You can’t”—I clutched my cell—“you can’t go. He has to be…”

What was Matt wearing? Why couldn’t I remember?

“Ma’am, we have to—” Her radio buzzed again and a garbled voice said something. She walked away and responded. I clung to the counter.

Was this how my happiness ended?

“Miss Catalano,” said the officer. “They’ve found him.”

It turned out to be a family of three that had found Matt on a road beyond our property. Unable to get much information from him, they’d called the cops. Somewhere, wires got crossed. One car was taking Matt to the hospital while other officers responded to my call. Matt heard the word “hospital,” panicked, and demanded to be taken home. He must have seemed cogent, because the officers turned and brought him back to the house.

They escorted him out of the car. He was barefoot and limping slightly. Bits of dirt and grass clung to his shirt, which was torn.

I ran and threw my arms around him. He didn’t move. He wore a dazed expression, eyes unfocused, and let the officers handle him.


“We’d like to get him stabilized in the ambulance,” said the female officer.

“He’s fine.” I stepped in the way.

“We can’t be sure about that, given your call. Excuse me—”

The paramedics popped open the back of the ambulance and Matt’s eyes widened. He pulled against the officer’s grip.

“Mr. Sky, it’s all right, we just want to make sure you’re—”

His nostrils flared. He tried to yank his arm free and the two paramedics grabbed him. Oh shit, this was not going to end well.

“Stop it!” I shrieked. “Please.” I forced my way to Matt and cupped his face. His wild eyes panned over mine. They didn’t catch with recognition. “Matt, listen. We have to get in the ambulance, and then we’ll get out. No big deal. Come on…”

I stepped backward and he followed.

We climbed into the ambulance together.

He sat on the stretcher while the paramedics checked his eyes and cleaned his feet, which were cut in several places. They kept asking for a verbal okay. I squeezed his hand.

“He’s had a shock,” I said.

“We need to make sure he’s not in shock. We’re trying to prevent—”

“I’m okay.” Matt’s voice silenced everyone. I stared at him and kissed his hand. The paramedics frowned at one another.

“There,” I said, “he’s okay. And his brother’s a doctor and he’s coming tomorrow, and he has a psychiatrist, and I’ll watch him around the clock, so…”

The paramedics and I argued for twenty minutes—it felt like forever—while Matt sat on the stretcher and stared at his feet.

Finally, with a lot of “at your own risk” warnings, they left.

Matt was docile, completely tractable as I led him into the house.

I held his hand and took out my cell. I wanted to handcuff him to me. A firm grip was the next-best thing.

“I’m calling Nate, okay?” I said.

He gazed at the floor. Fuck, had I made a mistake in sending away EMS? The silence of the house closed around us. I tightened my hold on his hand.

I knew, I just knew, that if I’d let the paramedics take him to the hospital, and the physicians there got hold of his medical records, they would “move him” to a psych ward … medicate him, observe him, put those pitiful socks with paw-shaped grips on his feet. His room would have Plexiglas windows. His meals would come with only a plastic spoon.

I rubbed brimming tears across my sleeve. You’ve got to hold it together.

Nate answered the call instantly.

“Hannah, what’s happening?”

“He’s here. It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

I stumbled through a narrative of the night. Matt appeared oblivious. Now, it was Nate’s turn to panic. “Can I talk to him?” he said. “I don’t like this. He needs a hospital.”