“Maybe he went to Fenelon,” Daniel said.

That would be a long bike ride, Annie thought, but Charlie had to have gone someplace, and Fenelon made as much sense as anything else.

“Would you do me a favor?” she asked. Daniel waited. “Will you go to the house, in case he comes back? I’m gonna go up the road a few miles.”

He nodded.

Annie ran back to her car—she’d left the engine running—and took off in the other direction.

She’d driven nearly three miles when she pulled over to the side of the road. How far could Charlie have cycled, realistically? If, in fact, that was what he’d done? Just because the bike was gone didn’t mean Charlie had ridden it. Someone could have grabbed the bike independently of Charlie embarking on another sleepwalking adventure. Or Charlie could have sneaked out of the house and gone on a midnight ride, and—

Oh Jesus.

He could have been hit by a car. Some drunk driver could have strayed onto the shoulder. A careless driver could have been looking at his phone. Annie might already have driven past him. Charlie and the bike could be in a ditch.

She got out her phone and called 911 for the third time this week.

“Do you have any idea when he might have left?”

Officer Standish, once again. Asking questions, and Annie at a loss to answer them.

“I don’t know,” she said, standing out front of the house. “I didn’t hear a thing. His door was closed when I got up around six.”

“And you don’t think he went sleepwalking this time.”

“I just don’t know. Could he do that on a bike?”

“I am aware of incidences of people doing complex tasks while in that state,” Standish said. “People have prepared meals, eaten, even driven cars while in a sleepwalking state.”

“Oh God.” Annie put a fist to her lip, pressed. “Someone could have . . . not paying attention . . .”

“We’ve got police going up and down the road, walking it, looking on both sides, in case something like that happened. Your neighbor Daniel? He’s out with them, helping. So far, nothing.” She paused, then asked, “Could this have anything to do with what happened to Mr. Sproule?”

Annie said, “How?”

“Only hours after Mr. Sproule’s death, your son is missing. That’s a lot to happen in less than twenty-four hours.”

“I don’t understand . . . how could they be connected? I mean, yes, Charlie was the first to find him, but . . .”

“Was he pretty upset about that?”

“Of course he was upset! Who wouldn’t be upset?” But even as she said the words, Annie thought back to the night before when she was having her heart-to-heart with Charlie, and how he was less traumatized by what had happened than she might have expected. But that didn’t have to mean anything.