Logan Connolly was four when he disappeared. It was lunchtime on a quiet street near a park, and he was never seen again. It happened when Amy was eleven. They didn’t find the boy. They only found his clothes.

Part Three

I

The new house is awesome, and we have our own rooms. Plus, Dad has an office, so it’s basically perfect. Will is running around like a maniac, but no one shouts at him, because this is a good day.

Mum’s talking about counter space, which is apparently a big deal. She talked about it a lot before we moved in, and she’s still going on about it now.

My room’s ugly, but Dad says we can change that. So I grin and bear it.

The old lady next door has already been over with a card and a bottle of wine.

Mum said, “This is a good neighborhood,” because, where we used to live, no one even looked at each other.

When we’re all settled, Dad hugs me and says, “What do you think, Amy?” and I tell him it’s perfect. And he smiles like that’s the right answer.

II

Will loves the garden. He runs around, screaming, because he’s three and that’s what he does. When he stands still, I tell him this place is our Magic Kingdom, and he nods, all serious, and whispers, “Yes.”

Then we make up stories about the creatures that live in the bushes and up the trees and behind the shed. They’re all different, but they get along because the garden is so big that they have enough space not to fight over it.

“Who lives there?” Will says, pointing to a hole in the fence.

“That’s where the queen lives. She’s in charge, so we don’t bother her.”

I can tell my brother anything, and he’ll believe me. That’s why I stick to good things. Mum says he has an overactive imagination and I make it worse. But I think I make it better.

There isn’t really a queen behind the fence. It’s a water-pumping station, whatever that is, and it’s out of bounds. Our parents watch us from the other end of the yard.

We have outside furniture now and a massive umbrella, and they’re so happy.

“Don’t run around so much or you’ll be sick,” Mum tells Will.

He bounds over to her and holds his tummy, pretending, and Dad scoops him up and says, “It’s coming. He’s gonna blow.”

Will’s laugh isn’t like any other sound in the world. It bursts out of him and carries the rest of us with it.