“You could take the bus,” Spoon said. He was typing on the laptop. “Let’s see. Grab the four-four-one on Northfield Avenue and change in Newark.” He listed some morning departure times. “You could take a taxi from there.”

“So when do we go?” I asked.

“No school tomorrow,” Ema said. “Teacher conference. It’ll be our best chance.”

I would need to be back by 4:00 P.M. for basketball practice, but I didn’t feel the need to tell her that right now. A phone buzzed. It was Rachel’s. She took a look at her screen and frowned. I couldn’t help it. I wondered whether it was Troy.

“It’s my dad,” she said with a heavy sigh. “Ever since my mom died . . .”

She didn’t finish the sentence. We all understood.

“He wants to know where I am,” she said. “I better go.”

Rachel pocketed her phone and hoisted up her backpack. “It’ll be tough for me to get away tomorrow. Dad wants to take me out to breakfast and then maybe to visit my grandmother.”

“You don’t have to explain,” I said.

“We can handle this,” Ema added.

“Might need someone back here anyway,” I said. “Just in case.”

I had no idea what I meant by that, but it sounded good, like we were giving her something to do. But Ema was right. We didn’t need three of us going up there anyway.

We said our good-byes and Rachel walked out the door. When she was gone, Spoon looked up at me and said, “We can work on two things at the same time, Mickey.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning Bat Lady talked to you about Luther.”

I said nothing.

“Luther is the guy in that photograph you gave me, right?”

“Right.”

“Your Butcher?” Ema asked.

I nodded.

“So your dad was like us,” Spoon said. “He rescued kids for Abeona.”

“Yes,” I said.

“Did you know?”

“No,” I said. “Or maybe I suspected, I don’t know.”

“I don’t get it,” Ema said. “If your father rescued Luther, why would he now be trying to hurt you?”

“Simple,” Spoon said.

“How’s that?”

“Luther must not have wanted to be rescued.”

I looked at Ema. She looked at me.

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I yet,” Spoon said. “But Bat Lady said sometimes things go wrong. I started to think about it. I remember reading about Stockholm syndrome. You know what that is?”

I had a vague idea, but I let him tell us.

“You start liking your captives. You don’t know it’s wrong anymore. Or I was reading about kids with really bad parents—parents who hurt them—but they still want to stay with them. So maybe this Luther was like that. Maybe Luther didn’t want to be rescued.”

I glanced at Ema. “He’s making sense,” she said.

Spoon spread his arms. “I’m just full of surprises, aren’t I?”