Dawson stood in the doorway of his father’s hospital office, hands braced on either side of the door frame. Franklin, stuffing papers in his briefcase, looked up, startled. “Who’s gone?” “Sloan. She just up and left.” His eyes widened. “Are you sure?” “Hell yes, I’m sure! She promised me she would come with me tonight to see Gabriel, but she’s run away.” He’d come home to shower, pick up Sloan, and return to the hospital, but he’d felt the emptiness, the echo of silence the minute he stepped through the doorway. Bounding upstairs, he called her name. No answer. He threw open her bedroom door, saw the closet door opened wide, several hangers stripped of clothing, and the dustless places on her dresser where her cosmetics had lain. The missing guitar case was the final confirmation. At first Dawson had stood, gripping the doorknob, his gaze skimming the room, taking it all in, absorbing the truth, unwilling to truly believe it. Reporting it to Franklin only made him angrier.
