The Other Side

Some of them were clients, and others were neighbors that Margaret had asked to help search. They organized into groups of three and headed out, leaving Margaret behind in case Buddy should happen to return to the house.

Joel and Theresa headed out with Mark and Peanuts, and Margaret's insistence. They headed in the opposite direction of the school. Peanuts, seeming to understand the situation, walked with his nose to the ground.

Joel looked at Theresa. "Do you think he'll accomplish anything?" he asked, gesturing towards Peanuts.

Theresa shrugged. "Maybe," she replied optimistically. "After all, we don't know anything about his past. He could have been trained as a tracking dog."

Mark looked at Theresa for a moment, and then looked at Peanuts. "Do you think you can find him, Peanuts?" he asked. The dog looked at him in silence.

Theresa grinned. "Maybe he can," she told Mark. "There's only one way to find out.

Something was wrong, he could tell that much, but he couldn't tell much more. The blond boy was missing...-yes, that must be it! Where could he be? He could find him, he knew it. Yes, he had to. He was his only hope.

The three of them (and the dog) had gone about three blocks, shouting and calling Buddy's name, and asking everyone they saw if they had seen the boy, when suddenly, and with no apparent reason, Peanuts took off running down the street at top speed.

The three humans at first only looked at each other in confusion. Mark took off running after Peanuts.

"Hey, boy, wait up!" he shouted.

Theresa and Joel exchanged glances, and then ran after Mark.

They went a good four or five blocks, running almost the whole way, until the dog finally stopped outside a small house with a tall, metal fence around it.

Mark ran up beside Peanuts and leaned up against the fence, panting. He turned and looked at the house.

It was a two story, run down, white house with a small yard. That yard was cluttered with cans, bottles, and a variety of other garbage. The grass, barely visible under the piles of junk, was a short, dingy yellow.

Theresa and Joel ran up behind Mark, gasping and panting.

"Do you now this place?" Theresa asked Mark.

"Whoever owns it doesn't worry much about property values," Joel commented. Theresa and Mark just looked at him. "The yard's a mess, the paint's chipped, the window's are black, and some of them are broken, he steps are falling apart. I'd hate to see the inside. But look, the guy owns a convertible!" He gestured tow wards the driveway, in which a red convertible was parked.

"Buddy's here," Mark interrupted Joel's rambling to announce.

"How do you now?" Theresa asked.

ark pointed to the red convertible parked in the driveway. "That's my dad's car," he replied.

Margaret reacted as best could be expected. She heaved a sigh. "I should have known that Sam would have something to do with this," she commented, and headed for the telephone. "Tell the police to go ahead home, I can handle this," she ordered as she began to dial.

"Who are you calling?" Theresa asked.

"My lawyer first off," she replied. "Just to double check on my legal rights. Then I'll call Sam and inform him of those rights. Then, I'll simply demand my child be returned to me." She sighed once again as she finished dialing and waited for the phone to ring. "I don't know why I didn't think of it before."

It was nearly sunset when the red convertible pulled up in front of the house. Buddy leapt out of the passenger seat and into his mother's arms. Mark pointedly didn't look at his father even though he made an attempt to speak to him.

"You shouldn't have taken him, Sam," Margaret told him. "Now get out."

"I have a right to see my children, Maggie!," Sam replied, half shouting.

"It was decided in court, Sam. They're mine."

Mark turned to Buddy. "Wanna go out back?"

Buddy nodded, and the two boys walked through the house towards the back. They sat on the back steps while their parents argued out in front of the house, and discussed what had happened.

Buddy glanced up at the sky. "Oooh," he commented. "A full moon."

Mark looked up and nodded. "Yep," he agreed.

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