“When this comes off, I’ll be holding a paper that says ‘KING CITY,’ and I’ll keep on holding it for centuries, not growing old, not growing at all, still in Night Vale, like I always have been. I’m never going to get my life back. I’m never going to get a life. I’ll be nineteen-year-old Jackie Fierro, no purpose, one slip of paper, forever.”

Her entire body was a vibration of pain and frustration. Diane was silent. The nurse came in, pacing back and forth at the foot of the bed. After a couple minutes, Jackie fell asleep, from the drugs and from the energy spent on her speech.

The television turned itself on to talk about some local weather issues. The news anchors bantered back and forth about what weather they liked best. One said “warm sunshine” while the other said “cool sunshine.” They both laughed, and the ground shook a little bit.

“How’s she doing, Diane?” one anchor whispered to Diane.

“She’s having a tough go of it, but she’s going to be okay, I think.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“It sure is, Tim,” said the other anchor. “How are you, Diane? How’s Josh doing?” A picture of Josh appeared in the top left corner of the screen. In this picture, he was a French press coffeemaker.

“That your son?” Jackie managed. She was awake again, but barely.

“Yes.” Diane felt concern. No, not concern, dread. No, not dread, terror.

“Looks just like you.” Saying this seemed to take a lot out of Jackie. She closed her eyes again.

“He’s fine,” Diane said to Trinh. “He’s fine,” she said again, as if that made it more true than before.

“We heard he was on a search for his birth father,” Tim said.

“Yes, exactly yes,” Trinh agreed.

“Josh and I have been talking about it. I don’t want him looking for his father. But the important thing is—”

There was an orchestral fanfare from the TV, cutting her off. An animated graphic flashed on the screen, below Josh’s photo. The graphic said, TEEN SLEUTH. The letters were red and yellow with a silver-lined bevel, and there was a grotesque digital arpeggio hammering home each letter as it appeared.

Diane rubbed her forehead. “Is this going out to everyone?”

“More news tonight on local teen Josh Crayton, the amateur sleuth in search of his birth father,” Tim said.

“We’re getting reports now that the junior private eye has gone missing,” Trinh said. For emphasis, the word MISSING appeared over Josh’s photo.

“What?” Diane stood up. “No, he’s just driving around looking for his father. It’s only been a couple hours.”

“For a report on this breaking story,” Tim said, “we go now to Ben, who is live at Night Vale General Hospital.”

“Yes, thank you, Tim,” another voice said. “I’m reporting live from just outside the ICU of NV General.”