Dan Huber met the Averys as they pulled into his driveway, his face red and angry. "What's this, Avery? Where's my son?"
"I don't know," Mr. Avery responded honestly as he climbed out of the car.
"Look, you took him this morning. You're responsible for him!"
Mark Avery stopped Huber cold with one, long, level look.
"Dan," he said, "I'm here to help." He chose his words carefully. "I think I understand how you feel. Something is threatening your family, and you're in battle mode. But I am not your enemy. Don't start this by attacking me."
Dan Huber opened his mouth to answer and then stopped. He breathed deeply, "Somebody is going to pay for this," he threatened.
"Somebody already is," Mr. Avery answered quietly. "You are, and Jacob is, and, most of all, Karl is." For a moment, the two stared into each other's eyes. Dan Huber opened and shut his mouth three times, trying out harsh and angry words. But Mark Avery never flinched nor wavered under his gaze. He just looked into Huber's eyes and shared his pain. "Getting mad at me won't get Karl back, Dan."
Mr. Huber's shoulders slumped. "You make sense, Avery, " he admitted. He clutched his head. "I could use some sense right now."
"Come on, then," urged Mr. Avery "there's plenty to do." He waved to the kids to get out of the car. Noah obeyed promptly, Nancy more slowly, and Jacob lagged behind. They were a sorry-looking bunch, Mr. Avery thought. Dan Huber's anger had frightened the kids, and now that it had passed, he looked defeated already. Mr. Avery eyed his dejected figure and decided it was time to take charge.
"Come on, " he commanded, "let's go inside." Grandfather Huber met them at the door, and led them into the eat-in kitchen. It was a bright sunny room, an odd place for the fearful and worried faces that gathered there.
"First of all, I want to see this note," Mr. Avery requested.
The note read, "Dad, I'm out of here. Your house, your rules. Someday, when I come back, you'll be proud of me. Love, Karl." It didn't make a lot of sense to anyone but Jacob, and he kept quiet.
Mr. Avery puzzled over it for a few minutes, then shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever this is supposed to mean, it's clear he's gone and doesn't expect to be back for a while." He looked around at the worried faces. "Wherever Karl is, he can't be that far away—yet. If we can find out what he took, it will help us guess where he's going. But we have to do it fast if we're to catch him. Let's split up. Kids, you check the basement. See if there are any clues around the cybersuit. Then check Karl's room. See if you can tell what clothes he took, see if he took any money or his favorite possessions. Dan, we can check for bicycles, sleeping bags, tents, or anything else he might be using.
They came back five minutes later. "Some of his stuff in the basement is missing," said Jacob. "His GamePlay magazines and a notebook that he kept with maps of Olympus in it."
Mr. Huber reported, "Some of his clothes are gone. His favorite shirts, his sweatshirts."
"How about his toothbrush?" asked Mr. Avery.
"I didn't check."
"He rarely uses it," Jacob lied.
"Where does he keep his money?" asked Mr. Avery.
"I didn't think to look. I'll be right back." Mr. Huber ran up the stairs.
"He didn't take his sleeping bag or his bike," reported Mr. Avery. His eyes fell on an open telephone book on the counter. "Hey, what's this?" he asked.
Mr. Huber came down the stairs, "His money is gone," he announced.
"He probably used Uber," Noah suggested.
"Good point," his father replied. "I wonder whether privacy laws cover runaways." He looked up Uber's number.
As he waited for the phone to answer, he asked Mr. Huber, "Did he take a knapsack or anything? And what shoes was he wearing?" Karl's father went off to check. Mr. Avery got a customer service rep on the phone and started working his way up the food chain. He was on the third manager's supervisor before he got the answer he was looking for. Yes, they had picked up a young man at that address over an hour-and-a half ago.
"Where did you take him?" asked Mr. Avery urgently. His face fell at the answer. He hung up the phone and said, "Let's go, we've no time to lose."
"Where did he go?" they chorused.
"To the bus station!"
The two cars raced through suburban streets toward the city center. Each minute seemed an eternity. Jacob rode with his father, waiting for the storm of anger to break. But his father was strangely meek. Mr. Avery had exerted a remarkable influence over him. Jacob wasn't sure he liked it. "Dad, what are you going to do to Karl when we catch him?"
"If we find him," his father answered, dejected. "Who knows if we'll do that?"
"Are you going to let him get away with this?" Jacob demanded.
"I'm not going to let him," Mr. Huber answered, "but I don't know if I can stop him. He could be anywhere by now."
"Come on, Dad, this isn't like you!" Jacob urged. "You're not going to let a kid make a fool of you, are you? In front of all these Averys?"
"I've already made a fool of myself," he replied dejectedly.
"I don't think so!" Jacob answered (not very honestly). "Karl's the fool. He's tangling with the wrong man! He's messing with you!"
"That's true," his father agreed. "He shouldn't be messing with me."
"Right, Dad," Jacob agreed. "You've gotta show him who's boss!" He hesitated. "What are you going to do to him when you catch him?"
"He'll wish he'd never been born," Mr. Huber answered, through clenched teeth.
"How about beating him 'till he can't sit down?" Jacob suggested.
"Now, Jacob, I've never hit you children, and I'm not going to start now. But by the time I'm done with him, Karl will wish he could get off with just a beating!"
"You show him, Dad!"
The Averys pulled up to the bus station first. "Nancy, Noah," barked Mr. Avery, "when we park, run right to the loading dock and charge onto the first bus you see. Tell the driver we're looking for a runaway. Check every seat, and I mean every seat! If he sees you coming he'll try to hide." He thought for a minute, "Check the restroom, too."
"What if there's somebody in it?" squeaked Nancy.
"Cope," Mr. Avery laughed. He pulled up outside the bus station, flipped on his flashers, and double-parked the car. "Let's go!" he shouted. Mr. Huber pulled up right behind him. "Dan!" Mr. Avery shouted, "I've got the kids checking the buses. We've got to go in both doors separately, or he'll see us and run out. I'll take this door, Dan, and you take the far one." Mr. Huber raced down the sidewalk—he was in surprisingly good shape—and they burst into the bus station simultaneously.
The station was a dingy cavern. A janitor with a pail of dirty water half-heartedly fought against the grime, but it would take more than disinfectant to overcome the atmosphere of despair and unwashed bodies. Defeated-looking women sat slumped in the chairs, while babies, wearing only pampers, played on the grubby floor at their feet. Old men slouched in the cheap vinyl benches as if they had grown there. One mound of boys clustered around an old-fashioned video game in one alcove; another group clustered around a boom box that relentlessly jarred the air.
Mr. Avery raced down the length of the waiting room, scanning each seat carefully. He peered under hats, through glasses, and scrutinized the size of the body underneath the externalities of clothing. Karl was not there. He hastened to the ticket window. A bored-looking clerk on a stool was snapping bubble gum. "Has a kid come through here in the last hour-and-a-half?" asked Mr. Avery.
The clerk laughed. "Kids! Sure, a lot!"
Mr. Avery waved Mr. Huber over. "Do you have a picture of Karl?"
"Sure," he answered. "In my wallet." He pulled out a family portrait, in which a group of respectable suburbanites peered into the camera. "It's a little old," he apologized. "My wife was the one who arranged for stuff like this." Mr. Avery noted how much younger the boys looked, and how pretty the late Mrs. Huber had been. "But it's this one," he continued, pointing at eight-year-old Karl's face. "This one!" he said, holding it up to the clerk.
The clerk pursed his lips. "Aaah," he groaned, "my eyes ain't too good." He took the wallet and squinted at it. "Why, what's the problem? Runaway?"
"Yes," sighed Mr. Huber.
"Well, we get a lotta runaways," the clerk mused, philosophically. "Maybe half our business. People runnin' away from somethin' or other." Suddenly he shook himself. "Look, white kid, black hair, y'know...that's not a lot to go on."
"He had a knapsack," Mr. Huber volunteered, desperately searching for some scrap of information to rouse this man's memory.
The clerk laughed, then apologized. "Hey," he said, "every kid's got a knapsack. Leastways, every kid who comes in here!"
"Maybe he paid with a check, or credit card, or something we could look up?" Mr. Avery attempted.
"No," countered Mr. Huber, forlornly, "he would've paid cash."
"Cash and a knapsack..." the clerk began, then shook his head.
"But how many buses have left here in the last hour and a half?" questioned Mr. Avery.
"Well, we have 'bout ten, twelve buses an hour. I guess, fifteen. Eighteen, maybe."
"All right," groaned Mr. Avery, "we'll just have to do what we can. Do you have a schedule for the buses that left here?" The clerk leaned over and pulled out a stack of beige, aqua, and lavender leaflets.
"Here you go," he grinned. "There's one for every bus that comes through here."
Mr. Huber stared helplessly at the stack. "Now what?" he asked.
"Now it's time for the police," Mr. Avery answered confidently. "We've done half the detective work, now we need an All Points Bulletin!" He strolled over to the bank of pay phones, popped in some coins and dialed 911.
A weary voice answered the phone, "Emergency, " it said.
"Hello," barked Mr. Avery, "I've got to report a missing person."
"Child or adult?" droned the voice.
"Child, " Mr. Avery snapped. "A teenager. I'm calling from the bus station, and he's gotten on a bus, but we don't know where he's gone."
"Did you ask the bus company which bus he took?" asked the voice.
"Yes, it could have been any one of ten or fifteen. I need to put out an APB to find him," responded Mr. Avery.
"How long has the child been missing?" asked the voice.
"About two hours," Mr. Avery guessed.
"Was the child abducted by a stranger?" the voice queried.
"No," retorted Mr. Avery, "we're calling from a bus station. This teenage boy got on a bus, and has run away."
"I'm sorry," the voice drawled. "We don't report a missing teenager until the teenager has been gone at least 48 hours."
"But I'm calling from the bus station," exclaimed Mr. Avery, "and this boy has run away! He's on one of fifteen to eighteen buses. I need the police to check these buses to see if they can find him. And I need it now!"
"I'm sorry," answered the voice. "We don't report missing teenagers until they've been gone at least 48 hours or been abducted. You'll need to call back in 48 hours."
"Isn't there anything you can do?" cried Mr. Avery.
"You say the child has been gone for two hours?" the voice asked.
"Yes," Mr. Avery replied, with resurrected hope.
"Well, then, you can call back in 46 hours, sir. Have a nice day." The line went dead.
Mr. Avery slammed the receiver down angrily. Just then Noah and Nancy came in through the station doors. "He's not in any of the buses," shouted Noah.
"We checked them all," said Nancy, "even the bathrooms. And...Dad, about the bathrooms. Can I get out of here real quick? 'Cause there's an old gentleman who's kind of upset at me." She looked nervously behind her and then dashed out the bus station doors. It was none too soon. A beet red man in a business suit, clutching a briefcase, came puffing through the station doors. He glared furiously around the room.
Despite himself, Mr. Avery chuckled. "I told her to cope," he reminded himself. "That's my girl. Now I need to do some coping, myself!"
He turned to Mr. Huber, "Okay, it looks like we've done all the damage we can around here. We don't know where Karl is, but we do have a list of places he could be. I've tried 911, but they're worse than useless. Let's go home and see what we can do from there." He led the way out onto the sidewalk where a burly police officer was just placing a ticket under his windshield wiper.
"Officer," shouted Mr. Avery. "Maybe you can help us. We're trying to catch a runaway. He just slipped through our fingers here at the bus station, and we're trying to catch him before he gets off the bus. Can you help?"
"Oh, sure," said the officer. "I've heard that one before. Look, you gotta ticket because you double-parked, okay? You want to drop people off at the bus station, you gotta find a parking place or pay the fine."
"Honest, officer. Can you help us? I called 911 but they say they can't even report him as a missing person until he's been gone for 48 hours."
"I don't know nothing about missing persons," said the officer. "I just do tickets. You wanna contest your ticket, you come down to traffic court."
"I don't want to contest the ticket. I don't care about the ticket," said Mr. Avery. "I want to find a runaway teenaged boy."
"Well, I suggest you call 911," said the officer. "I just do tickets. Have a nice day." He walked away.
Mr. Avery stood on the sidewalk, head bowed, defeated. Nancy came up beside him, unsure of what to say. She took his arm and leaned her head on his shoulder. Absently, he stroked her hair. Noah stood awkwardly beside them. He thought about saying, "It's not your fault, Dad," but he knew his father too well for that. "God, help my Dad," he whispered silently.
His father began speaking, almost mechanically. "He took his knapsack. Took his money. Took a bus. Don't know where. We don't know where on earth Karl is going. But..." Suddenly, his voice took on feeling. "Took his magazines. Took his notebooks. Took his money. There's only one place he could be going!" He straightened up, new hope in his eyes. "I know where he's gone!" he said.
"Where?" exclaimed Nancy.
"Olympus!"