Forsaken by James David Jordan

and forth next to the table, his tie loosened at the collar, explaining what we should expect if this was, in fact, a kidnapping. Now he leaned back against the wall that separated the dining area from the kitchenette, talking on his cell phone.
    I’d just slid my chair back to put on a fresh pot of coffee when the doorbell rang. I went to the door and looked through the peep hole. It was one of the cops posted outside the door. He had a phone to his ear. I opened the door.
    “Hey, Michael,” the cop said, “the front desk has a delivery package for Reverend Mason. It came over from the Palmer House. What do you want us to do with it?”
    Harrison turned toward Simon. “Were you expecting anything?”
    Simon scratched his head. “I can’t think of anything. Do you know of anything, Elise?”
    She looked up from her note pad long enough to shake her head.
    “Where is it from?” Simon said.
    The cop spoke into his cell phone then looked back at Simon. “West suburbs, Naperville.”
    “I don’t know anyone in Naperville. How could anyone have known I was here?”
    “The manager of the Palmer House forwarded it. Someone apparently knew you were there.”
    Harrison looked at the policeman. “Are we talking about a box or a letter-sized envelope or what?”
    “Letter size.”
    “Get the bomb and biohazard guys over here to check it. In the meantime, have your people take it down to the basement and isolate it so it can’t do any damage. They’re going to have to open it. Simon. You okay with that?”
    Simon waved his hand. “Whatever you say.” His voice was so soft that we barely heard him. He turned his chair toward the window.
    I shoved my hands in the pockets of my jeans and looked out toward Lake Michigan. A dark bank of clouds moved rapidly toward the Azure, darting and swirling each time the wind rattled the windows. Across Lake Shore Drive the water churned into white caps, making Lake Michigan appear as bitter as the North Sea. I remembered my cab driver’s promise of the evening before, that the weather today would be in the fifties and sunny. I wondered where he got his forecast.
    Above the narrow strip of beach between the drive and the water, a flock of gulls spiraled downward in slow circles. One by one they landed and pecked at a thick, brown lump that lay motionless in the sand. I couldn’t make out whether it was an animal or a bag of trash. I glanced at Simon. He was watching the birds also, his elbows on the arms of his chair and his chin resting on his interlocked fingers. It was a depressing sight on both sides of the glass. I tried to break the trance by pointing to a jogger whose windbreaker ballooned behind him as he ran along the beach, head bowed into the wind. “Intrepid guy there. Reminds me of my dad. Nothing kept him from working out.”
    Simon looked up at me from his chair. “You must miss him.”
    I leaned back against the windowsill. “I do.”
    “Someone you love that much never completely leaves you. I learned that with Marie.”
    This was not what I had in mind. This conversation was in danger of plummeting into the abyss. Fortunately, Harrison walked over to the window. “I hate to do this to you, but I’d like to go over last night one more time with all of you together. Just in case there was something we missed the first time around.”
    I was glad for the interruption—not for me, but for Simon. For the next couple of hours we retold the story of the prior day, stopping to focus on every detail with any potential for importance. Halfway through the interview, Harrison received a phone call. They had found Hakim. He had gone voluntarily with the police toFBI headquarters for questioning. After the call Harrison focused on our brief encounter with Hakim on the drive to Pascali’s.
    Once Harrison finished with us, there was little to do but sit around the suite and wait. Simon and I remained at the dining room table, talking from time to time, but mostly just