have to arrange something for my dogs. If I can go, I’ll be at the Downtown at 11:00.”
“Good. I’ll see you then.”
Alex heard the boat motor roar as it pulled away from the shore and fought the current upstream. He looked around. For a moment nothing seemed familiar, nothing seemed real. He picked up the papers the lawyer had left, scanned them, then tried to read more carefully. The legalese got in the way. Tossing them down he ran a hand through his tangle of black hair and sighed. The last thing he wanted was to go anywhere near a city, but.… He pulled the papers toward him again and slid a callused finger over the smooth words. Janis Marie Perrin. Thomas Allan Perrin.
Slumped in the chair Alex let his mind search into corners he’d closed off long ago. A small boy sitting on a bench, his thin fingers outlining initials carved into the wooden arm. Swinging his legs over the edge, he made sure they didn’t bump and make noise as he listened to the voices of strangers coming through the half-open door.
“This one must have a black cloud. Twice in five years! Who’d wanna be number three?” The man’s voice sounded tired.
“He’s a cute little guy, though.” The woman’s softer voice was hopeful. “Maybe they’ll find somebody willing to take him.”
“A five year old? Not very likely.” The man sighed. “Well, he’s off to Clareshome for now. They can hold him and deal with the paperwork while he goes into the system. I’m swamped. There’s some legal stuff here from his biological parents. Perkins. That’s the name, right?”
“Something like that. His legal name is Donnelly now. Wonder how many more times it’ll change before he grows up?”
And there he was, that small boy being led down a long hallway by the clutching hand of a stranger.
He stood, hunched his shoulders against the memories that slipped like slivers of ice through his veins, and turned away from the table. That was then. Stay in today, Donnelly. Stay in today. He took a long-handled axe down from beside the door and went outside. The cold bite of late August air hit him like a slap, but he breathed it in and deliberately turned his thoughts toward preparations for winter. His wood supply was getting low. There wasn’t much left to split, but he fell into it with an easy familiar rhythm. It was the kind of work he loved—physical and mindless.
But now his mind wouldn’t stop. Questions swirled one upon another like small whirlwinds stirring up everything in their path. And in the midst of them two names glowed like red-hot brands. Two names he’d always wondered about.
He stopped, pulled off his T-shirt, and used it to wipe the sweat from his face and the back of his neck. His hand brushed the scar that ran down his neck from the base of his right ear. He tilted his head as though to hide it and dropped the hand quickly.
Resting the axe against the chopping block Alex left the wood where it lay and went back into the cabin. He stared again at the papers. He was tempted to toss them into the stove. I don’t need this. I don’t want it. It’s too dangerous to go back. But what if...?
He picked up the documents. It was then he realized his hands were shaking.
Chapter Two
Gil slipped into the warmth of the house and listened. Nothing. He dropped the key into his pocket, leaned his rifle in a corner, and walked to the kitchen. He poured himself a large glass of orange juice from the fridge and downed it almost in one gulp. Closing his eyes he savored the taste. Real orange juice. He started to thank God, stopped and grunted, then gave a nod of his head.
“Okay, I do thank you,” he mumbled, “though I suppose that won’t help much since I’m stealing it.”
He lifted the lid on the long deep freezer and smiled. The company always did feed us well. But how long will it be before the caretaker arrives? He lifted out a steak, thawed it in the microwave, and fried it just the way he liked it. He was about to have another glass of orange juice when he heard the dog.
Pulling on his coat Gil stepped outside. The intensity of the dog’s bark increased. Gil jogged around the house in time to see the grizzly ambling away, then went over and scratched the dog’s head. He turned back to the house and froze. Straining his ears he turned toward the south and listened. The wind was gusting, but every now and then he was sure he heard the sound of a helicopter. He jogged back to the house, stacked the dishes in the sink and left, making sure he locked the door behind him.
Once within the safety of the trees he stopped and listened again. The whap-whap-whap seemed to get louder, then faded away entirely. He thought of that second glass of juice, but decided not to risk it. Settling the rifle in the crook of his arm he headed into the dense bush, the silence growing deep as he walked.
* * *
George sat on the bed in the hotel room, tugged off his suit coat, and dialed the long distance number. Kenni picked up on the second ring.
“I found him.”
Kenni’s voice was excited. “In Whitehorse?”
“No. Dawson City. Actually, he lives twenty miles downriver from Dawson in a small cabin. The whole woodsman trip.”
“What’s he like?”
“Pretty much the way you thought he’d be. Not very friendly. You’ll see for yourself. He might be coming down with me tomorrow. The flight gets in about 7:30. Can you book a slot the next morning, just in case?”
“Let me check.”
George heard the clicking of a keyboard.
“There’s an opening at 9:00. What was his reaction when you told him?”
“He didn’t believe it. Thinks we have the wrong guy.”
“No doubt. It’d be a shock, considering what his life’s been like.”
“Well, pray for me. I may be traveling with him for the next thirty-six hours. Oh—I guess we’ll need to book a hotel room for him.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Kenni said. “I’ll book one for you too.”
“You think he needs supervising?”
“It’s taken us forever to find him, George. We don’t want to risk him bolting when he gets here.”
“You think he might?”
“I think it would be good for somebody to be there.”
“Okay, I’ll babysit for the first night, but that’s it.”
“Good enough. See you on Friday.”
* * *
Vancouver, 1988
The smell of mold filled the boy’s nostrils. He tried to back away from the dark entrance to the stairway, but the fist clutching the collar of his shirt held him above the hole. Dampness crept out and wrapped cold tendrils around his legs as the fist shoved him down. The voice above him cursed.
“Scum
