The Light at the End of the Tunnel by James W. Nelson

‘Woman falls to her death at the
Grand Canyon.’
    “Look at the family members,” she added.
    He looked again, began moving his finger down
the column and reading to himself, ‘…father, daughter, son, and
a foster son two years old, who was with the mother when she
fell…’ —My God!”
    “It’s possible, Radford. The family was
vacationing from Nebraska, and the article later says the
two-year-old was big for his age, as if the journalist was even suggesting …foul play.”
    He then jabbed his finger on the masthead,
“This paper is several months old! Why haven’t you mentioned it
before?”
    “Mainly,” Nicole said, “I didn’t even find
the paper for several months—I guess the boys just buy some copies
when they’re out in the world—and for another thing, it took me
awhile to read it all. It was sometimes hard to read, too, as it
went on for several days. It took them several days just for the
rescue team to even get down to that poor woman—I guess she was
caught on a really tiny ledge—and then to get her broken body out
of the canyon—that little bastard!—I thought about telling you, but
I didn’t want anything to interfere with our training. We needed
this training, Radford, and now we have it.”
    “You really think it’s him, don’t you?”
    “Yes! Don’t you?”
    The chaplain shook his head positively, then
reached for and squeezed her arm. She took his hand and inserted
her own into it, then they just sat there holding hands,
appreciating and needing each other more than ever, as their search
had now—likely—taken on a new urgency.

     
    Chapter 18 More Murder

    Les Paul, approaching three years old, was
still with the same foster family, nearly a full year, a record
long time—for him —with one family. He remembered the funeral
for his foster mother. Closed casket, but he had no trouble
picturing what was inside. He remembered being held in the warm
arms of his dear foster sister, Chloe, that day. How he enjoyed
having her arms around him.
    He also remembered the several looks his
foster brother, Tyler, gave to him that day. After making sure
nobody else would see his face, he always looked right back, and
then wrapped his arms even tighter around Chloe’s neck. His foster
father that day just bugged him. The man, his head always hanging,
didn’t say much, just kind of moped around, always hugging Chloe
especially, and himself, and even Tyler, and Tyler would always
look at him when the father gave those hugs, and Les Paul would
look right back!
    Several months had passed since that day, but
of course he yet had very little concept of time. He had long
forgotten the kindness his foster mother had shown him, if he even
had a comprehension of kindness. What he missed was the good food
she produced. The father usually fed them pizza, or often took them
out to the local Burger King. That he didn’t mind. The food
actually tasted worse than what the father prepared, but it was the
idea of going out that impressed him.
    Presently he was in Tyler’s room playing on
his foster brother’s computer. He had no understanding about
computers but he did know how to make the little blipper run around
on the screen. He also knew how to land the blipper on the colored
parts and then click the mouse, both the left side and the right
side. If one side-click didn’t do something he would click the
other side, and usually got something on the screen to change.
    ****
    The changes were enough that Tyler knew
somebody—most likely Baby Boy—was playing with his computer, but as
yet had not been able to catch him.
    Tyler also knew that accusing Baby Boy would
do no good, maybe even cause punishment for himself. Because, since
the death of his mother, his dad had lavished a great amount of
love on his sister, Chloe, and, seemingly, an even greater amount
of love on Baby Boy. Many times his dad had reminded him and his
sister that Baby Boy had been with their mother when she fell, and
had to