Ben was silent, nodding in acknowledgment of his father’s statement, although not necessarily in agreement. The fight with the killer had rustled something awake inside him, a confidence in himself that he hadn’t fully understood but was accepting by the minute.

A wiser and older man would’ve realized Ben was transforming, shedding the skin of adolescence, maturing in real-time. But Ben was still a seventeen-year-old boy, only grasping the edges of the emotional process accelerating inside him. He’d been forced into a choice to risk his life for another human being, and he’d instinctively chosen wisely, doing the only thing he knew how to do: the right thing. He could feel the change, and it urged him forward to confront another issue that troubled him.

“Are you two going to tell me what’s going on? I don’t think it’s a divorce, but it’s also not a small thing, whatever it is. And after tonight, I’d like to know, please,” Ben added, looking at his parents directly as he spoke.

“Ben, do you think this is the right time, honey?” Charlotte asked. His mother was a beautiful brunette with green eyes, with the classic looks of an elegant actress from the 1930s. His father described her as a “version of Michelle Pfeiffer that Michelle Pfeiffer wished she could be.” Ben hadn’t seen any movies with Michelle Pfeiffer in them, but he trusted his father’s judgment, and his mother’s beauty was obvious. He was also certain it was from his mother that he’d inherited the soulfulness that Sam had seen in him.

“Actually, I think it’s the perfect time, Mom. We’re not exactly going anywhere, at least not for the next few minutes,” Ben said. He felt emboldened with each word. If he could confront a killer, he could press his parents for an answer that he knew would affect his life.

Ben’s dad looked at his mother, who looked back at him in the knowing way that married couples do, a silent acknowledgment unspoken between them. His dad sighed, and said, “First, we’re not getting a divorce. Do you think I’d be crazy enough to leave your mother, the amazing and beautiful woman that she is?” Ben saw his mom blush, even in the dim lamppost-lit pavilion. “I’ve been offered a job, a very lucrative job, one with more money and more prestige. My firm doesn’t know about it, and your mother and I have been discussing it. I haven’t made a decision, and we planned on talking to you about it first.”

Ben felt his confidence falter, his stomach tightening, not in fear of the men with guns, but of one thought, one singularity, or more appropriately, the absence of that singularity—Sam.

“Where?” He steeled himself for the answer.