Two hours after Andy dropped them off at home, the front door opened.

Nolan sat up on the couch, wiping at bleary eyes. For the past hour, he'd been fighting a losing battle not to fall asleep. Caleb had calmed down nearly the moment Nolan had set up Mario Kart, and as he'd collapsed onto the couch and tossed a throw pillow over his face to block out the harsh glow of the overhead light, exhaustion had fallen over him.

Now, Caleb paused the game.

Greg appeared and slumped against the living room doorway. His smile was brief, falling the instant his eyes found Caleb's face. "I'm calling Johnny's parents," he said.

"No!" Caleb shrieked. He flew across the room, but Greg had already started for the kitchen. Caleb's voice carried as he disappeared down the hall and into the kitchen. "No! No, no, no!"

"Caleb, I have to."

"No, you don't. It's simple—just put the phone down!" Caleb's sobs made Nolan ache.

"Greg! Please!"

No reply.

A gut-wrenching cry pierced the air, and Nolan shoved off the couch, legs like lead as he dragged himself to the kitchen. There, he found Greg holding the phone book in one hand and the phone book in the other, lifting both out of Caleb's reach as Caleb sprang for them.

"Greg!" Caleb wept. "Don't! Please."

"Caleb," Nolan murmured.

Caleb spun, red-faced and tear-stained. "Don't let him do it," he begged. "It'll make it worse."

Greg nodded toward the hall. Get him out of here, his eyes pleaded.

When Nolan stepped forward, hope flickered across Caleb's face. However, as Nolan wrapped his arms around him and plucked him from the floor, he let out an angry shriek.

"No, no, no!"

Fists pounded against Nolan's back. Feet slammed into his leg. He gritted his teeth, but otherwise ignored the attack. He hauled Caleb through the hall, to Caleb's bedroom. He closed the door behind him, but kept his arms around Caleb, hugging him close.

"It's going to be okay," he said.

"No, it's not!"

"Yes, it is," he said. "Someone needs to know what he's doing so it can stop."

"You guys know."

"And we're trying to help you."

"What if his mom and dad are meaner than he is?"

Nolan paused. He hadn't even considered that. "Then I guess he needs help, too."

Caleb quieted down. They stood there for a while, Nolan rubbing Caleb's back, Caleb sniffling into his shoulder. Gradually, the sniffles slowed.

"You can put me down now," Caleb said.

"You won't run?"

"No."

Nolan eased Caleb to the floor. Caleb trudged over to his bed and flopped onto it. He looked worn in a way that no eight-year-old should. Without a word, Nolan plucked Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone from the bookcase and settled onto the bed. He flipped to their current page and started to read.

✝

Nolan hovered at the kitchen doorway, his arms looped over his chest. "Caleb's asleep," he said softly.

At the table, Greg dropped his hands from his face and looked up. His eyes were red with exhaustion and dried tears. "Okay," he said. "Thank you for your help."

Nolan slid into the adjacent chair. The deafening silence weighed down on him, but he didn't do anything to break it. He just sat, waited, and wished for all of it to stop. The tears, the pain. All of it. Make it stop. He wasn't sure who he aimed the thought toward. Just make it stop.

"His mom sounded apologetic," Greg said finally. He wiped a hand across his face and leaned back. "She was nice, actually. Not what I was expecting."

Nolan's eyebrows rose. "What did she say?"

"That she had no idea and she was sorry. She assured me she would make sure Johnny understands he's to leave Caleb alone."

Sounded great—in theory. But no one could really control how Johnny acted when he wasn't under adult supervision. And while the phone call was necessary, he also understood Caleb's fear—had they just made things worse?

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah." The word was lifeless. Greg hesitated, then forced a smile. "I just...Mom and Dad never would have let it get this far."

"You're doing the best you can," he said.

"Yeah. And that's the problem." Greg shook his head. "Ignore me. I'm just tired and missing Mom and Dad. I'll be fine in the morning."

Nolan frowned as Greg dragged his feet to the hall. What could he do? Say? Useless. He was useless.

What would Mom and Dad say?

"They'd be proud of you, you know," he said. The words rang true, and as Greg turned, he knew they were the right ones to say.

"You think?"

"I know."

Greg smiled. "Thanks, Nolan."

He nodded, and Greg left, his bedroom door shutting softly behind him.

✝

It was hot.

Nolan had shed everything but the thinnest of sheets and it had proved all but pointless. The window fan was providing little relief, too. At this point, it might be more useful to pull it off the sill and lean it against something, just so the cool air could smack him in the face.

Ten more minutes of suffering. Then, with a resigned sigh, he clambered from his bed and snagged the fan. He turned toward the catastrophe that was the rest of his bedroom, searching for something that could be used as a leaning post. Shirts, pants, boxers, socks...his backpack...video games...the occasional cup, water bottle, plate...

They would have to do.

He set the fan onto the floor and hauled a bunch of clothes over to his dresser, which sat directly across from his bed. He formed a pile and set the fan on top. He hopped into bed. Ah. Much better.

He'd hoped that once he'd cooled down, sleep would come for him. But he was just as restless as before, his night passing in endless rounds of twists and turns. Today's tension and chaos circulated through his head, gnawing at him.

"Goliath beat me."

Goliath. God. Do I believe?

The thought was so random it caught him off guard. He blinked up at his popcorn ceiling. Was this really something to be contemplating now? Somehow, it seemed like a way to lose sleep, not find it.

His mind didn't seem to care. He struggled to look past Caleb's tear-stained face, Greg's exhaustion, the news report, his mom's face...his mom's face...

Behind all of the pain and anger, was there belief?

He had no idea.

He closed his eyes. Cool air blew over his face, soothing the soft ache in his eyes. Sleep was nowhere to be found.

Look deeper. What's your first thought when you think about God?

The response was instant: You killed my parents.

Not no such thing. Not He's not there. Blame. Resentment. Disdain.

But...did that really mean he believed? He still wasn't sure. He accepted the possibility, but did he definitely believe there was something beyond all of this? And, along with God, did he believe that Jesus' mother was actually a virgin, that Jesus had mystical powers?

He swiped a hand down the length of his face. Help. That was what he neede—

Across the room, in the pocket of his abandoned jeans, his cell phone dinged. He hesitated. No. Not possible.

But when he finally forced himself out of bed and swiped his phone from his pocket, his breath caught in his throat.

Nora.

He slid a wary look at the ceiling. The air in the room had changed—there was a new weight, a presence.

He slipped back into bed and gave the room another scan before opening the text.

Hey! So sorry to message so late, but I couldn't sleep and idk I just suddenly felt like I should check in and see how things are going? Was going to wait until tomorrow but you know me

A moment, then another ding.

If you were sleeping, ignore this and go back to sleep

A small smile gave way to a thoughtful frown as he reread her words. Suddenly felt like I should check in, she'd said.

It was rough, but things are better now, he wrote. Greg called Johnny's mom.

Ooh wow. Did the call go ok?

Yeah. She was nice apparently.

Huh

Yeah

You weren't sleeping were you? she asked.

No. He paused, then typed more. I was trying to figure out this whole God thing.

Another glance around his room. Was this the presence they all talked about?

"It's a feeling. I can feel Him there."

"For me, the signs come with hearing something right when I need to."

He'd asked for help, and Nora had texted—she hadn't planned to, but she felt compelled. Something was in the room with him—he could sense it, as crazy as it sounded—and...it didn't feel malicious. It was...almost comforting?

He looked up at the ceiling. "Fine," he said.

A ding.

How's that going? Nora asked.

I think I believe.