David Morrell - Long lost

Eight almost-simultaneous shots filled the long, narrow indoor shooting range. They echoed off the concrete walls, my protective earphones making the reports sound oddly distant.

Although the instructor was directly behind me, she too sounded muffled. "Aim to the right of the target! To the left!"

We obeyed, not firing, but checking for other targets, which she'd warned could pop up at any time.

"Weapon to your waist! Secure it!"

As one, the eight of us completed the sequence and took our hands from our holstered firearms.

The range became silent.

"Not bad," she said. "Let's see if anybody hit anything."

Each of us stood in a slot, with a ledge in front for ammunition and spare magazines. A button to the left engaged a motorized pulley that brought in the targets.

The instructor studied the results. "Okay. Nobody hit the bull's-eye, but I don't expect you to at this point. At least none of you missed the target completely. Denning, you hit closest, but you're still a little high and to the left. Practice more dry-firing at home. Stop twisting your wrist when you press the trigger."

She went on to correct the other students. We put masking tape over the holes in our targets, touched a button that returned the targets to the end of the gallery, and straightened when she shouted, "Ready on the firing line!"

I went to a fitness center every day. I'd never been in top physical condition, but since Petey had taken Kate and Jason, I'd fallen apart. A junk-food diet in combination with too much alcohol and no activity had caused me to put on twenty pounds. No longer. I hired a trainer. Knowing that I had to start slowly, I was nonetheless impatient to get on with it. I progressed from thirty to sixty minutes a day on the machines. I started jogging, at first at the center's indoor track and then outside in the cold. One mile. Two. Five. I lost the weight I'd put on. Fat became muscle.

I took self-defense classes. Angle. Force. Mass. Architect's language. I no longer pretended to try to work. As far as I was concerned, I had only one job, so I disbanded my company, giving my employees a generous severance package. When I wasn't preparing myself by shooting and physical training, I spent my time searching the Internet, using other Web addresses that Payne had given me.

In my former life, I'd always been too busy to explore the Internet. Now I was amazed at how much information I could obtain, provided that, thanks to Payne, I knew where to look. I found Lester Dant's birth information, which was exactly as the FBI had indicated: He'd definitely been born in Brockton, Indiana, on April 24, a year before Petey had been born. I searched the databases for every state in the union but couldn't find corresponding death information about Lester Dant. Without proof that Petey had assumed Dant's identity, I grudgingly tested the FBI's theory that Dant had assumed Petey's identity, but no matter how far I spread my search, I couldn't find any proof that Petey had died, and, if he had, whether he'd been murdered.

Thanksgiving (the holiday's name made me bitter) had passed. Kate's parents had asked me to spend it with them. I'd refused, hardly in a social mood. But then I'd thought that they were as desolate as I was and we might as well try to console one another. The three of us drank some wine and watched football in the kitchen while we made the dinner, but I never managed a holiday spirit, constantly worrying that the Denver police or Gader and Payne had mislaid the phone number I'd given them in case Kate and Jason were found while I was away.

For Christmas, Kate's parents came to visit. But as soon as I saw Kate's father, I wished that I'd saved them the trouble and gone to them. I could barely conceal my dismay at how this once tall, robust man had been so stooped by his heart condition, aggravated by worry. As hard as we tried to be festive, we kept remembering former, better Christmases, like when I'd been dating Kate in college and I'd realized I was making progress when she'd invited me to spend Christmas with her and her parents.

Of the many difficult things about the season, choosing the tree had been especially hard for me because Kate and Jason had always joined me-a big family event. As soon as we'd gotten home with it, we'd always begun putting on the decorations, often not finishing until after dark. This time, every bulb that I'd put on the tree racked me with greater loss. Normally, there'd have been plenty of presents under the tree, but this year, Kate's parents and I had agreed not to exchange gifts. After all, there was only one thing we wanted, and it couldn't be put under a tree. As usual, Kate's mother made eggnog. It was as delicious as every other year, but I could hardly get it down. A few days later, they went back to Durango. Kate's father felt so poorly that her mother had to drive.

Phil Barrow invited me next door for a New Year's Eve party. I did my best to be sociable, but for me, the holiday was a wake. I went home an hour before the countdown at midnight. As hard as I tried, I couldn't remember what Kate and Jason sounded like.

Spring came.

May.

June.

They'd been gone a year.

"I'm leaving town," I told Payne.

"Yes, sometimes it's a good idea to get away from bad memories," he said.

"I was hoping that you wouldn't mind if I had my mail forwarded to you."

"Sure," Payne said. "No problem."

"I've asked the police and the FBI to leave messages with you in case they learn something new."

Payne nodded. "I'll phone you the second I hear anything. Just give me the number where you'll be and-"

"At the moment, that's a little uncertain. I'll have to phone you."

"You don't know where you're going?"

"Not exactly."

"But you don't just board a plane without having a reservation to someplace."

"I'm not going on a plane. I thought I'd simply get in my car and drive. See the country. Go wherever the roads take me."

Payne's eyes narrowed. "Who are you kidding?"

"I don't understand."

"Go wherever the roads take you? Give me a break. You're up to something. What is it?"

"I told you. I just need to get away."

"You worry me."

I avoided his gaze and looked at the fish tank.

"Don't tell me-you're going out there to try to find him," Payne said.

I kept looking at the fish tank.

"How the hell do you figure to do it?" Payne demanded. "It's impossible. You don't have a chance."

At last, I looked back at him. "I've done everything else I can think of."

"Without any leads? It's for damn sure you'll be going where the roads take you. All you'll do is wander."

"But I do have leads," I insisted.

Payne leaned his ample body forward. "Tell me."

"It's hard to explain."

"Give it a try."

"Petey wanted to take my place."

"And?" Payne looked baffled.

"Now I'm going to do it in the reverse. I'm going to take Petey's place."

"What?"

"I'm going to put myself in his mind. I'm going to think like him. I'm going to become him."

"Jesus," Payne whispered.

"After all, we're brothers."

"Mr. Denning…"

"Yes?"

"I'm as sorry for you as it's possible to be. God help you."

Put myself in Petey's mind? Think like him? It was desperation, yes, but what was the alternative? At least it would be motion. It would keep me from losing my own mind.

I went to the street where Petey had first approached me outside my office-or what had used to be my office. The time was shortly after 2:00 p.m., as it had been exactly a year earlier. Petey had shouted my name from behind me, which meant that he'd been waiting to the left of the building's revolving door. I walked to a large concrete flower planter, where I guessed that he'd been resting his hips. I studied the front door, trying to put myself in his place. Why hadn't he gone into my office? As I leaned against the planter, feeling invisible to the passing crowd, I understood why he'd done it the way he had. In my office, he'd have been under my control, whereas on the sidewalk, yelling my name from behind me, he was in charge.