“I’m not,” he murmured, his voice cracking on the second word. “But Dory—”
His mother collapsed into him, clinging, sobbing.
His father was hugging his sister.
But Thane’s eyes never left the house.
He just whispered, over and over, “Dory… She’s still in there…”
Later at the hospital, they cleaned his wounds and talked about infection.
Nutritional rehabilitation-the doctor said.
Trauma recovery-he whispered to his parents in a low voice but Thane heard him.
They made him take off his clothes and gave him a hospital gown. The doctor was very polite, always asking him permission before touching him. He felt like he was floating aboveeverything, looking down. It was strange, someone asking him permission before touching him.
Words floated around him like fog.
His mother’s hand never left his. His father sat on the edge of the bed, one hand on Thane’s knee.
Someone knocked.
A middle-aged man stepped in. He had plainclothes, a neat coat and tired eyes but his manner immediately gave him away.
“I’m Detective Inspector David Benson, special crimes unit.”
Thane’s mum tightened her grip on his hand. She hadn’t let go even once since she laid eyes on him like she was afraid he would disappear again if she did.
His dad gave a short nod. “Alright.”
Benson glanced between them. “Would it be alright if I had a quiet word with your lad? Just a couple of questions for now.”
His father hesitated. “Maybe this isn’t—”
“I want to know,” Thane said quietly. His voice was like that of an adult in a child’s body.
Benson gave a small nod, eyes soft. “Alright then, lad.”
He stepped forward and pulled a chair. He then took a small notebook from his coat pocket and flipped it open. “We’ve recovered two bodies from the fire, Thane.”
Thane’s mother let out a breath, sharp and trembling.
“One of ’em’s an adult male. Early thirties, we reckon. Still waitin’ on confirmation.” He paused, his voice dropping. “The other was a child…a girl. About nine or ten years old.”
Thane’s fingers twisted in the blanket on his lap.
“She was…too badly burned to tell much by eye,” Benson said gently. “And there’s nothing in the system—no one reported missin’ under the name Dorothy or Dory.” He looked at Thane carefully. “But the age…the size… It all lines up, son.”
Thane didn’t say anything, just looked down at his hands, now clean of soot, though there was still blood and dirt under his nails.
He could still hear Dory begging him not to leave her.
The scent of burnt plastic and cherry blossoms still clung to the inside of his nose.
He’d known. Somewhere deep inside, he’d already known.
Still…
