Head down.

Shoulders rounded.

Left arm still pinned against his body.

My compass sat beneath my hand.

The needle pointed north.

For the first time since arriving in Dunmore, I had the feeling that I had brought my son in the wrong direction.

PART 2 — THE BLACK EXPLORER

At three that afternoon, I parked fifty yards from the high-school entrance.

Cold wind blew dead leaves across cracked asphalt.

Five older boys stood near a black Ford Explorer.