With growing concern, I crouched down to his level once more. “Do you remember your other dad’s name?”
He looked thoughtful, then said, “He tells me to call him Whisper.”
“Whisper?” I echoed, feeling a strange mix of emotions—fear, intrigue, disbelief.
Suddenly, the boy’s eyes darted over my shoulder, and he smiled, a genuine, radiant smile that lit up his face in contrast to the previous tears. He lifted his arm, reaching into the empty air beside him, as if grasping an unseen hand.
I turned, half expecting to see a figure, anyone, but there was nothing. Just the empty lobby, the muted buzz of the mall beyond.
“Whisper’s here,” the boy said confidently.
My heart skipped an uncomfortable beat as I stood rooted to the spot. What did this mean? I struggled with the notion of the impossible—an invisible guardian, an unexplainable arrival.
In those moments of bewildering silence, the mall cop decided to contact the authorities for further assistance, and I could only hope that they could unravel the mystery of the boy called Little Star and the enigmatic presence of Whisper.