Mistakes were made, despite our careful planning. I am troubled to this day by my part, however minor, in the series of misfortunes and errors that led to his death. I am even more sorry about the ges wrought by those two days in June, which sequences founded us for years. That none of us intended any harm matters not at all. We are responsible for our as, even when acts occur, if only for the steps we omitted lected. Irospect, perhaps we overplahey could have sneaked into the Loves house, snatched Oscar while he slept, and ily tucked Igel uhe covers. The boy always was left aloo play for hours at a time. We could have grabbed him in broad daylight a in a ged Igel for dinner. Or we could have skipped the purification by water. Who still believes in that old myth? It did not have to end in such a heartbreaking way.
Oscar Love came out to play on a June evening, dressed in blue shorts and a shirt with writing across the chest. He wore sandals, dirt caked between his toes, and kicked a ball bad forth across the lawn. Luchóg and I had climbed a sycamore and sat in the branches for what felt like hours, watg his mindless game and trying to attract him into the woods. We broadcast a menagerie of sounds: a puppy, a mewing kitten, birds in distress, a wise old owl, a cow, a horse, a pig, a chi, a duck. But he took st notice of our imitations. Luchóg cried like a baby; I threw my voice, disguised as a girls, then a boys. Oscar was deaf to all that, hearing ihe musi his mind. We called out his name, promised him a surprise, preteo be Santa Claus. Stumped, we desded, and Luchóg had the bright idea to sing, and the boy immediately followed the melody into the forest. As long as the song tinued, he sought its source, dazed by curiosity. In my heart, I khat this is not the way fairytales should be, bound for an unhappy ending.
Hidden behind trees by a creek, the gang lay in ambush, and Luchóg lured the boy deeper into the woods. Oscar stood on the bank sidering the water and the stones, and when the music stopped he realized how lost he was, for he began to blink his eyelids, fighting back the urge to weep.
"Look at him, Aniday," Luchóg said from our hideaway. "He reminds me of the last one of us to bee a geling. Something wrong with him."
"What do you mean, wrong?"
"Look in his eyes. Its as if hes not really all there."
I studied the boys face, and indeed he seemed detached from his situatioood motionless, head bowed to the water, as if stunned by his own refle. A whistle sighe others, and they rushed from the bushes. Birds, alarmed by the sudden violence, cried out and took wing. Hidden among the ferns, a rabbit panicked and bounded away, cottontail flashing. But Oscar stood impassive aranced and did not reatil the faeries were nearly upon him. He brought his hand up to his mouth to cover his scream, and they pounced on him, tag him to the ground with swift ferocity. He all but disappeared in the swirl of flailing limbs, wild eyes, and bared teeth. Had the capture not been explained beforehand, I would have thought they were killing him. Igel, in particular, relished the assault, pinning the boy to the ground with his knees and cramming a cloth in his mouth to muffle his cries. With a vine, he ched the boy around the middle, pinning his arms to his sides. Pulling Oscar dowrail, Igel led us all bap.
Years later, Chavisory explaio me how out of the ordinary Igels behavior had been. The geling was supposed