The notion revives thoughts of his parents. According to Arie, they’re aware only that he’s using his military position to find his sister, not to what extent nor the distance he’s come. How much, if anything, am I to tell them? Such a cruel duty couldn’t possibly be mine, could it?

From my bedside candle, the orange flame casts a haunting dance over the walls. The sight takes me back to the orphanage. Instinctively, my thumb rubs the side of my finger, an old soothing pattern absent of wooden wheels.

The rhythm must eventually lull my mind because at some point I’m in a dream. My awareness that it isn’t real is a welcome comfort on account of my surroundings, being the assembly hall of Eden Springs. Unlike so many nightmares of this place, I’m gratefully free of the stairwell and the terrors it holds. Rather I’m standing in the vacant main hall, where toppled chairs sprinkle otherwise neatly set rows.

Then I hear it: a baby’s cry.

Through the hazy air, I trace the sound to an infant being soothed on the shoulder of a shaded figure. I remember this actual scene and think to look downward to locate the mother. There, lying on the floor in her yellow dress, she stares toward the high ceiling. Eyes open, lifeless.

Where is Father Lawrence? He needs to gently close them, letting her soul rest, preventing it from remaining stuck between worlds.

I walk over to the mother and kneel to assume the duty. I’m midreach when I observe her features.

She’s not a stranger—she’s Thea.

With a gasp, I scramble backward and bump into the side of the shaded figure’s legs. In the person’s arms is no longer a baby but a young girl, held protectively. She peers down with blue eyes as vibrant as Thea’s, making clear she’s Evelien. Then the face of the shaded figure turns to me. And in that instant, before my scream launches me from sleep, I realize I’m staring at myself.

Chapter 66

Being that it’s Friday, the next morning train for Tilburg leaves at twenty to ten. From Utrecht Centraal, it travels down through Den Bosch to reach my destination, just north of the Belgian border.

For me to make that departure, however, is impossible on this day. Because already it’s past nine, and I find myself returning to Arie’s room. After I again pass stealthily through his bathroom window, his feelings over my presence are etched on his face. With his shirt untucked and only partially buttoned, he places his hands in his trouser pockets, not casually but rather as if to ground himself.