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this, but they too, are following protocol being given by the doctors. No one wants to see her mental state risked. I asked them to allow me to tell you, due to my connection with her. In her mind, which is as fragile as a snowflake, she is safe. If we brought her out and told her she had a family and she was a victim of God knows what, we’d have a mess on our hands. We don’t even know what she saw as a child or what’s in there. It’s got to go slowly and in a controlled environment. She thrives, as best as she can, in the structure and control of the orphanage.”
    He sighs and shakes his head, “I guess we just have to be grateful she’s alive. She’s in one piece. You know, when your child is taken, you assume the worst. I need to speak to the police on this to feel better; our detective from Chicago will want to know. He retired never finding her.”
    Before I can answer him and hand him the police officer's card I have for him, Helen grips my hand, “Come with us.” Her eyes are desperate. "We have something we want to show you."
    She looks back at Roger. He stands, lifting her up. "If you just want to move your truck, I'll get the car."
    I point to my truck and Stuart in the driver’s seat, “Let’s take my vehicle if we’re going anywhere.” I don’t want to tell them that I can't part from the live feed of their daughter. I don’t want them to know I watch her. It's creepy but I can't stop. I took my eyes off of her once.
    Helen closes the door to the house and pulls Roger down the stairs to the truck. I jog down and climb in, turning the volume on the phone down. Seeing her face makes me smile inside.
    Stuart doesn’t smile. He gives them the look I’m also wearing. He knows this pain more than anyone.
    “Stuart, this is Helen and Roger Mastermen. They’re Sarah’s parents. This is Stuart, my friend.”
    Stuart clenched his jaw, “It’s nice to meet you. Where to?”
    Helen sniffles and whispers, “Take us back out of the neighborhood and turn right on the main road.”
    Stuart nods, “Okay.” He seems confused. I am too.
    I stare down at my girl. She’s tired. It came last night, the bad feeling she gets. Jane says it’s called ‘the lonely’. It eats at her and freezes her up. I absentmindedly thumb the scar on my thigh, stopping myself when I realize I’m doing it. Just touching it makes me want the pain, but I swore I wouldn’t do it as long as she was in the world. Saving her is the thing that I need to be filled with. With her alive, I’m not the lost boy. I have a chance to be redeemed.
    “Just turn right up here at the sign.”
    I frown when I see it: PARKHILLS CEMETARY.
    The fuzz and white noise start to fill me as it dawns on me what I am about to face. My breath hitches as I look back down at her face. She is perfect. She is perfection. She is alive. The thing I’m about to face belongs to a girl I don’t know. I need them separate.
    Stuart gives me a look as we park. He looks sick as we all climb out.
    We lost children don’t take fake graves lightly. Stuart doesn’t want to come, but I shake my head slowly. I need him. Helen grips to Roger as they lead us up the path and rambles, “We had it built a few years ago. We don’t ever leave town. Someone is always at the house; we take turns. In case she comes home. It’s always been that way but deep down, we always believed her gone. We built this to try to ease some of the pain.”
    Roger looks back at me, “It didn’t work but our boys needed it. They needed something.”
    I use every ounce of restraint to walk the path with them. When I see the child-angel statue, I almost run. I can't look at Stuart. I’m scared of what I’ll see and what he’ll see. They stop at the child, both of them kneeling. I’m frozen. The white noise and fuzz separate my limbs from my body. I have no control. I need it to pour from my skin but I can't. I made a silent promise to her, I wouldn’t do that.
    The statue is small and