My child at my feet, knotted and trembling. My niece on the other side of the security gate, body dead still, face crumpling. Strangers floating past with their stern, judgmental looks. Security people and National Guardsmen coming to attention and tightening their lips. I knew if I didn’t do something soon I would melt to the floor like a watch in a Salvador Dali painting. But what could I do? Wyndham obviously wasn’t crossing that line with Ben in the state he was in—a soul-wrenching state. This wasn’t defiance. It wasn’t even a demonstration of resentment. It was abject fear, and it shuddered through me just as it did through my son. That was the thing that forced me to lean over and pick him up. He remained in a twist of terror, still shivering, and pressed himself against me like a fist. I knew he had no idea where he was or who was holding him—or in fact that anyone was holding him. He had gone into some unseen world, and that was what frightened me the most. With Ben in my arms, I motioned Wyndham over with my head.
