Page 98 of Whistle

The bed was empty.

“Charlie!” Annie shouted loud enough, she believed, to be heard back in New York.

No answer.

Maybe he was in the basement. Why, she couldn’t imagine, but if he was, he might not have heard her calling for him. Seconds later, she was down there, shouting his name every few seconds.

Had he gone sleepwalking again? Had he taken the bike, pedaling madly in a trance-like state?

She ran back out front. If he’d gone the same route as last time, he could be at the defunct railroad crossing. She got in her car, fired it up, and, kicking up gravel, sped down to the road and hung a left. She tromped down on the gas and was at the crossing within a couple of minutes, but there was no sign of Charlie, or his bike.

Daniel.

Would Charlie have gone over there to talk to Daniel or Dolores? Craving another slice of peach pie? It seemed unlikely, but he had to besomewhere. She did a wild three-point turn and sped back, this time turning into Daniel’s place instead of hers, hitting the brakes so hard the SUV did a short skid.

Daniel, evidently an early riser, was at the door before Annie reached it.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Have you seen Charlie?” she asked breathlessly.

“Charlie?”

“He’s gone. His bike, too.”

Daniel shook his head. “No. You been up the road?”

She nodded.

“Both ways?”

Annie blinked. “No.”

“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.”

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