EPILOGUE

I stare at the card as the clock on the desk ticks the seconds softly by. It doesn't, of course. It's a digital clock, and the seconds pass without any indication other than the occasional flicker of light as the number displayed changes with each minute. The noise is in my own mind.

It's a truly incredible phenomenon how people so easily avoid confronting trauma. The mind creates very sophisticated structures for hiding from what it fears and clings stubbornly to those structures even as they're whittled away to nothing.

When I board the flight to Boston, I am fully committed to pursuing an investigation into my sister's disappearance, but by the time I arrive, the old reticence returns.

When I land, I tell myself I'm too tired to call the number tonight, and I'll do so in the morning. When I wake, I tell myself I must purchase supplies to last myself while I stay here, so I spend the day shopping for clothing I don't need and food that I do but not right away. When I'm finished, I tell myself that I deserve a treat after the stress I've endured, so I go to a theater and see a truly terrible movie that seems to have been created as a political statement rather than as entertainment and features bland actors half my age who are just pretty enough that I suppose it makes up for their lack of talent. When the movie ends, I tell myself that it's so awful that I must treat myself a different way, so I enjoy a late dinner at a fine restaurant near my hotel. The night comes again, and I tell myself that Mr. O'Connell is surely asleep, as it is now early morning in England.

It's morning again, and after breakfast and a shower, I am finally out of excuses. But still, I sit and stare at the card for over an hour, trying desperately to think of another reason not to face my fear.

But I must. I've hidden for far too long.

So, finally, I take a deep breath and dial the number. I hope desperately that there will be no answer, but on the third ring, a voice replies, "Sean O'Connell's office. How may I help you?"

I take a deep breath and say, "Is Mr. O'Connell in?"

"This is he. Harriet has the day off, but she insists I answer the phone that way regardless. What can I do for you, ma'am?"

I take another deep breath, then say, "I need you to help me find my sister."