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sunglasses.
        Mitch could barely see them but managed to slip them on. They blocked the light a bit, enough for him to see a glowing, rippling surface beyond the drywall. It looked like water. Like the surface of a swimming pool standing vertically behind the wall. Defying gravity.
        Mitch stared at it, his breath gone. “What . . . what is that?”
        “A window,” Nathan said. “Just a window. Can you see anything?”
        Mitch hesitated; then, drawn by sheer curiosity, he leaned closer. At first he couldn’t see anything through the rippling surface. He held out his hand but couldn’t feel any heat coming from it. He touched it with the tip of his finger. It felt like solid ice, though it seemed to move like liquid. But his finger couldn’t penetrate the surface.
        “It’s cold,” he said. His voice was barely a whisper. “Freezing.” He peered at the glowing surface. “I . . . I can’t see anything.”
        “Look closer.”
        Mitch squinted. He thought he could see something beyond the watery surface. A series of dark blotches, distorted by the waves. But he couldn’t make out what they were. He continued to gaze through the hole and eventually the images began to congeal, to form a picture. An entire scene was taking shape.

6
    CONNER PAUSED OUTSIDE the main entrance to the detention facility, mentally kicking himself. He had been too eager. He had spent the last two months tracking Devon down through the court system, waiting for the right chance to see him. And now he had blown it by just blundering in like that. He had shocked the kid. He should have made the initial contact by phone, but something inside him wanted to have the first meeting face-to-face. He should have known better. Conner shook his head. He wasn’t thinking straight anymore. He should have known better.
        The morning air was crisp, but the late October sky was hard and blue. Cloudless.
        Conner started down the steps and passed another man coming up. A man who looked familiar somehow, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket. A beefy, blue-collar type. Conner frowned, stopped, and turned around.
        The other man had turned as well. Now Conner placed him. He did know the man after all. “Jim Malone?”
        Jim nodded, extending his hand. “Conner, right? How are you? Good to see you up and around.”
        “Thanks.” Conner smiled and shook hands. “Believe me, it’s good to be up and around.”
        Jim chuckled. “I guess you had quite a scare, huh? We heard from your secretary about your . . . y’know, about the heart attack.”
        Conner patted his chest. “Double bypass. It certainly helps to put things in perspective.”
        “I guess so.” Jim scratched his head. “I’m not sure if you remember, but we were in that same day. Of your heart attack, I mean. Annie and me. We met with you earlier that afternoon.”
        “Yeah, I remember. I was trying to convince you to move forward with that malpractice lawsuit. As I recall, you had decided to go home and pray about it over the weekend.”
        “Yeah, well, you could say we were asking God to show us a sign. We were real confused and weren’t sure if we should go ahead with it.”
        Conner raised an eyebrow. “A sign, huh?”
        Jim shrugged sheepishly. “Well, we didn’t ask specifically for Him to give you a heart attack or anything, but when we heard about it on Monday . . . well, we kinda figured maybe God was trying to tell us something.”
        Conner found himself chuckling at that thought. “Do me a favor. Next time ask for something a little less dramatic, will you?”
        Jim laughed.
        Conner nodded back toward the building. “So, what brings you here? Are you visiting someone too?”
        “Yeah, uh . . .” Jim looked up at the facility. “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure exactly what I’m doing here.