Page 1 of Gideon

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Gideon

The small townof Starbury was the kind of place where time stood still, like it was caught in an old fashion photograph. Its lone street was a mix of charm and wear: a bait-and-tackle shop that doubled as a grocery store, an old movie theater with a faded marquee, a hamburger stand with peeling paint, and a single gas station with creaking pumps that smelled faintly of oil and rust. It wasn’t much, but it was home when I was growing up, where life’s edges softened under the weight of memories.

I had a whole week to myself—just me, my dog Bear, and the quiet ripples of Starbury Lake. Grandpa’s old cabin, nestled deep in the woods, was waiting like a steadfast friend. He’d left it to me after he passed, and stepping into its warm, pine-scented air always brought him back to me. I could almost hear his gravelly voice teaching me about patience and peace, two virtues I was about to put to the test.

The bell above the bait shop’s door jingled faintly as I stood at the counter, collecting supplies for my week of solitude. Then, a piercing scream shattered the stillness. Whipping around, I saw a little girl, blonde hair flying, dart across the street with panic etched across her tiny face.

I froze for a moment, the normalcy of the shop giving way to chaos. Bear, ever my loyal companion, bolted through the open truck window before I could stop him.

“Wilma, I’m leaving these here!” I said, abandoning my basket on the counter as I rushed outside.

“Bear, sit!” My voice was sharp and commanding. He hesitated, his dark eyes locked on mine, but finally obeyed, sitting by my feet, ears twitching as the little girl sprinted past us.

She didn’t get far. I caught her mid-run, her small body wriggling and fighting like a cornered animal.

“Shh, calm down. I’m here to help,” I murmured, holding her gently but firmly. Her screams dissolved into sobs as I carried her inside, Bear trotting closely behind. Wilma was already moving, tucking the trembling child behind the counter, where she crouched, her tiny frame shaking as she wiped her tear-streaked face.

Moments later, a man appeared on the sidewalk, his eyes wild. He was big—bigger than I’d expected—with a menacing scowl that didn’t quite fit his words.

“I lost my daughter. Have you seen her? She has blonde hair, green eyes,” he said, his voice gravelly and tense.

“No,” I replied, meeting his gaze evenly. “But I’ll call the police for you.”

His expression flickered, the scowl deepening. “No, don’t bother with the cops. I’ll find her myself.”

“Well, I already called,” I lied, holding my phone up for him to see. “They’ll be here any minute.”

His gaze darted nervously to the street, his body stiffening as the distant wail of sirens grew louder. Without another word, he turned and bolted.

“I’ll tell them to look for you!” I shouted after him. “Where should I send them?”

No response. Just the sound of his boots pounding against the pavement as he disappeared around the corner.

Back inside, I knelt in front of the girl. She couldn’t have been more than five or six, her face pale and streaked with dirt and tears.

“What’s going on?” I asked gently.

“That man took me away from my mommy,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I need to call her. She’s probably scared. She’s always scared since my daddy died.”

I handed her my phone. “What’s your mom’s number?”

She sniffled, scrolling through my contacts with shaky fingers. I had a feeling she was hunting for the name Mom and wouldn’t find it in my phone. Panic washed over her face. “I can’t find her name anywhere! He’s going to come back and get me!”

“Do you know where you live?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm. “Or your mom’s name? I can help find her number.”

Wilma, peeking through the window, hissed a warning. “He’s coming back.”

Bear let out a low growl as the sirens grew louder, almost upon us. The man must’ve seen the flashing lights because he turned tail and ran again. We had no idea why there were sirens, but we were grateful for the noise and the right time.

“Now’s our chance,” Wilma urged. “Get her out of here, Gideon. If her mom comes looking, I’ll let you know, but you’ve got to go. That man isn’t giving up.”

I looked at the girl, her tiny shoulders trembling. “Do you know where your mom is?”

“She’s at the motel. That man hit her in the face and grabbed me. Maybe he killed her,” she whispered, her green eyes brimming with fresh tears that spilled over, followed by hiccupping sobs.

“I doubt he killed her,” I said softly, though a cold knot tightened in my stomach. “What’s her name?”

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