Henry's not at school the next day. People have already started going out during school to search for him. At night, his name is called, and nothing answers back. Momma won't let me go search with everyone.

The 15:13 train to Mill Creek is on time.

Henry's not at school the next day. Everyone now knows that Henry isn't around. Mrs. Walker doesn't leave the house. Neither does anyone in Henry's house, but Mrs. Walker doesn't try to hide how sad she is. You can feel the nervous sadness.

I try not to think about the trains.

Henry's not at school the next day.

The 15:13 train to Mill Creek is late. Two trains meet at Pottersville, one behind the other.

Henry's not at school the next day. I hide in the bathroom and almost start crying, but then someone comes in and takes too long to get off the toilet. I cover my mouth and swallow back the sad hurt in my chest. I don't eat lunch. Momma keeps making sure I'm okay. Gramma and Gramps make my favorite foods, and Bill volunteers to go out with the other people. The air is wet for days and clouds flow so low you can taste the water. The searches are useless and people start getting angry at how long they search but how little they find.

People at school whisper about Henry and the witch. They make jokes, bringing in frogs and mice and saying it's him. Arthur and a few other boys laughed, but Ms. Lewis puts an end to it.

I don't remember what Ms. Lewis taught us that day. I sat in class and stared at her, but all I remember is feeling my heart beat too fast in my head. Clenching my teeth together until it felt like I was pushing them back into my gums. Burning in my eyes. I wasn't hungry at lunch even though Lionel tried encouraging me.

The 15:13 train to Mill Creek doesn't come. It just doesn't. It's disappeared and another train rocketing towards Allisport takes its place.

“Henry's going to be all right. Right?” asks Bill at dinner one night. We're at the table, and the meal feels too threadbare to be filling. It's numb and slimy on my tongue, and slips down my throat like water. Gramma's complaining about the grocery store being sold out of things. She flips through a little book and hands it to Momma.

“Bill,” Momma warns. She puts the little book in her pocket.

Bill looks at me. I'm shuffling around my food on my plate. I'm not hungry. “We'll find him,” he says. I don't know who he says it to, but I look at him. Bill's face is hard and determined. He frowns like Henry's front porch.

“Why won't you let me go out and help?” I ask.

“Leave it to us,” Gramps says. “We can spread out more than you, young one.”

I wrinkle my nose and frown.

“You and Bill have school,” Momma says. “That's why. What's important is that he will come back.”

“Yes,” Gramma says. “He will come back.”

I look down at my plate. I believe them. Deep down, I believe them, but I don't know if my face shows it. I eat another half of the flat beef pancake thing Gramma made, and go to bed. The pancake sits like burning coals in my stomach, heavy and glowing red. I don't sleep.