The Pact

by Linda Castillo

  “Only their parents don’t like it,” I say.

  “So the boys take matters into their own hands.”

  My phone vibrates against my hip. I glance down at the display to see HOLMES COUNTY SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT pop up on the screen. “Burkholder.”

  “Chief, I just talked to Dane Henderson out on County Line Road.” It’s Sheriff Mike Rasmussen. “He says he had a couple of trespassers out at his place earlier. I know you’re looking for those boys, and I don’t know if it’s related, but I thought you should know.”

  “Did he get a look at them?” I ask.

  “Said it was too dark. He claims they vandalized a fence, so he filed a complaint.”

  I’ve met Henderson several times, most recently due to a dispute with a neighbor. He’s no fan of cops and has a checkered relationship with the truth. Two years ago, I received a complaint that Henderson was keeping a deer in an enclosure, which is illegal in the state of Ohio. I went out there with a wildlife officer and sure enough, he had a pretty little doe locked up in a pen. We released the deer. I let him off the hook with a warning.

  “Thanks for the heads-up, Mike. I’ll head out that way.”

  “You bet.”

  I end the call and look at Tomasetti. “Dane Henderson’s place is just north of here.”

  “Same direction the boys might’ve gone.” He shrugs. “Looking for shelter? Barn?”

  “Maybe.” But a vague theory nudges the back of my brain.

  Turning in my seat, I reach into the back for Kevin Dennison’s backpack and pull it onto my lap. Inside, I find the graphic novel and hand it to Tomasetti. “Or they took it upon themselves to right a wrong.”

  He stares down at the cover. It’s a cartoonish drawing of two shadowy figures and a magnificent buck flying across an impossibly high fence. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  I tell him about the incident with Henderson and the deer.

  “What eleven-year-old boy doesn’t want to save the world?” he says.

  “My thoughts exactly.” I put the Explorer into gear and pull onto the road.

  * * *

  It’s midnight when I park in the driveway of Dane Henderson’s place. Aaron Kuhns and Kevin Dennison have been missing for seven hours, but I believe we’re close to finding them. The problem is that the temperature has dipped into the teens and the windchill into the single digits, and the wintry mix shows no sign of letting up.

  Tomasetti motions toward the small barn behind the house. “I’ll take a look while you have a word with Einstein.”

  We grin at each other and then we’re out of the Explorer. Snow and sleet slant down at a severe angle as I cross to the front porch and take the steps to the door. Dane Henderson is a squat man with long salt-and-pepper hair pulled into a braid at his nape.

  “You here about them trespassers?” he says by way of greeting.

  “Yes.” I show him my badge, just to keep things professional, and tell him about the two missing boys. “Mr. Henderson, the boys have been missing for some time now. As you can imagine, their parents are worried.” I pause, let the sound of sleet hitting the tin roof drive home my point. “With the weather deteriorating, we need to find them fast. Is it possible the trespassers were two boys?”

  “Well, I didn’t get a good look at them.”

  “How many were there?”

  “Two, I reckon.”

  I glance toward the barn, where I can just make out the yellow wedge of Tomasetti’s flashlight. “I understand they vandalized a fence?”

  Henderson’s eyes skitter away from mine. “Just an old pen.” But he spots Tomasetti. “Who the hell’s sneaking around out there?”

  “Like I told you, Mr. Henderson, we’re looking for two juvenile boys this evening.”

  The old man’s eyes slide from me to the Explorer, wondering who else I might’ve brought with me. “All I want is for you to keep them stupid damn kids off my property. You hear?”

  He doesn’t even realize that he just described the trespassers.

  “Chief!”

  I turn at the sound of Tomasetti’s voice. Not giving the old man an opportunity to protest, I pull out my Maglite and head that way. Henderson curses me, but I don’t stop. Sleet stings my face as I wend through a gauntlet of junk—a rusty washing machine, concrete blocks, and an antique-looking manure spreader—and find Tomasetti in an open area behind the barn. The beam of his flashlight reveals a falling-down chain-link pen that’s been cut open on one end. Inside, the ground is trampled. There’s a small water trough. A scattered pile of corn. Deer droppings everywhere. The pen is dirty, with no shelter from the elements.

  “I’d say there was recently a deer inside that enclosure,” Tomasetti says.

  I study the wire. “Looks freshly cut.”

  “Hey!”

  We look up to see Henderson approach. He’s slipped into insulated coveralls and a safety-orange beanie. He blinds me with his flashlight. “I told you they was gone,” he snaps.

  “Mr. Henderson,” I say, firmly raising my hand against the light. “If those two boys were here, you need to tell me right now.”

  He looks nervously at the deer pen. “Them thieving little shits ain’t my concern.”

  “Did they cut this pen?” I ask. “To free the deer?”

  Henderson’s eyes widen. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growls.

  Tomasetti crosses to the old man, takes hold of his flashlight, and points the beam to the ground. “You have thirty seconds to answer her question and it had better be the truth.” He lowers his voice. “Second offense for keeping wildlife in a pen is going to be very expensive.”

  Henderson swallows, angry eyes darting from Tomasetti to me. “Look, I ain’t saying I had a deer in there. And I didn’t get a good look at whoever was out here and cut up that pen. But it mighta been them two boys.”

  Tomasetti is already striding toward the tree line a few yards away, the beam of his flashlight on the ground. “I got tracks.”

  I join Tomasetti. Sure enough, in the inch or so of snow that covers the ground at the edge of the tree line, I see tracks.

  I point my beam toward the trees. “They went north.”

  As we start that way, neither of us acknowledges the cloven hoof tracks that go in the same direction.

  * * *

  Kevin dreamed of the forest, as dark and cold as an underground river, and a magnificent buck that flew above the treetops. Aaron was there, too, but Kevin had lost sight of his friend. Around him, the trees roared and the air was hot and clogged with smoke.

  Kevin woke coughing, his throat burning. Pushing his hood from his head, he sat up. Fear gripped him when he saw flames billowing from the fireplace, high enough to lick the ceiling. Squealing, he jumped to his feet. Black smoke filled the room.

  “Aaron!” he screamed.

  “Holy cow!”

  Kevin glanced left, saw his friend scramble to his feet. Shock on his face. Eyes wide with alarm. Behind him, the flames roared.

  “What do we do?” Kevin shouted.

  Aaron blinked, looked around. “We gotta get out! Front door! Run!”

  They dashed across the living room, reached the door. Kevin saw a white fist on the knob. Aaron yanked hard. Once. Twice. The door didn’t budge. Only then did he remember the door was boarded up.

  “Break the window!” Kevin shouted.

  Without speaking, Aaron raced to their pile of wood and snatched up a length of two-by-four. Swinging it like a baseball bat, he struck the window. Glass shattered, tinkled onto the floor.

  Kevin swatted the curtain aside only to see plywood blocking their way out. “Everything’s boarded up!”

  Waves of heat and smoke surged at them, burning his face, stinging his eyes.

  “Back door!” Aaron cried.

  Kevin stumbled toward the kitchen doorway only to realize the old plank floor had caught fire. A wall of flames and debris and choking black smoke. Heat washed over him like wave
s of boiling water, hot enough to burn skin. He lunged backward, put up his hands to protect his face.

  Kevin choked out a sound of pure terror. “We’re trapped!” he cried.

  “No, we’re not.” Aaron grabbed his arm, pulling him back and shoving him toward the stairwell. “Come on!”

  Kevin balked. “We won’t be able to get down!”

  “We break a window and jump.” Aaron motioned toward the flames, which had engulfed the floor with astounding speed. “It’s the only way. Come on!”

  Chased by heat and flames, the boys clambered up the stairs.

  * * *

  The beam of Tomasetti’s Maglite reveals a barely visible path through the trees. A deer trail, I realize.

  “What’s the next road to the north of us?” he asks.

  “Laurel Creek Road.” Even as I say the words, I hit my lapel mike. “I need a unit dispatched to the bridge at Laurel Creek Road.”

  Glock responds instantly. “Ten-seventy-six,” he says, letting me know he’s on the way.

  “We think the boys may be headed that way, along the greenbelt,” I tell him.

  A beat of silence and then Glock says, “If I’m not mistaken, Chief, the old Leyendecker place is out that way.”

  A distant memory stirs. The house is remote and difficult to get to. But I recall when the owner, Erol Leyendecker, passed away, years ago. None of his children wanted the place and the house fell to ruin and was abandoned.

  “Eyes open,” I tell him. “I’m ten-seventy-six.”

  * * *

  Aaron had always had a good relationship with God. It was one of the things his parents had instilled at an early age. He said his before-meal and after-meal prayers. He said another prayer at night before he went to sleep. And he never took the Lord’s name in vain. Now, standing at the top of the stairs, watching the black smoke billow toward them, he hoped God had been listening.

  Next to him, Kevin was bent at the hip, coughing his head off. “How do we get down?” he choked.

  “Let’s find a window.” It was darker up here, away from the flames. Wishing for a flashlight, Aaron felt his way down a narrow hall. The first room was on his right. He darted in, made his way to the rectangle of light that was the window. Using his elbow, he broke the glass and looked out. Even in the dark and flying snow he saw that there was no tree or rooftop or trellis upon which to climb down. Just a fifteen-foot drop without so much as a bush to break the fall.

  Kevin choked back tears. “Let’s try the next room.”

  In unison, the boys charged the door. Aaron was in the hall, feeling his way through the darkness, when a crash sounded somewhere in the house. Simultaneously, a hot puff of smoke hit his face. The roar he’d been hearing became deafening. Suddenly, he could see. Smoke hovered at the ceiling. He glanced over his shoulder. Panic punched him in the gut when he saw flames creeping up the stairs.

  “Come on!” Taking Kevin’s arm, he sprinted down the hall toward the farthest door, hitting it with both hands. It flew open, banged against the wall. The boys stumbled inside.

  A blast of heat followed, a hot hand slapping their backs.

  “Close the door!” Kevin shouted.

  Aaron heaved it shut. He spun, started toward the window to see that Kevin was already there, trying to open it.

  “It’s stuck!” Kevin cried.

  “Step back!” Turning, Aaron broke the glass with his elbow.

  Cold air and snow rushed in as he chipped away shards.

  Kevin leaned out, coughing.

  Aaron followed suit. When he looked down, his heart dropped into his stomach and he wondered if God had a job for him up in heaven because, by the looks of things below, they weren’t getting out of the house any time soon.

  * * *

  Tomasetti and I move through the woods at a brisk pace. We’re on a narrow path bordered on both sides by a solid wall of new-growth trees. He’s a few feet ahead of me, the yellow cone of his flashlight in plain view, so I shove my mini Maglite onto my equipment belt and hit my radio.

  “Yeah, Chief?” comes Mona’s voice.

  “I need the location of the old Leyendecker place,” I tell her. “Long and lat.”

  “Stand by.” Keys tap on the other end of the line. “I just sent you a text.”

  My cell pings. “Thanks, Mona,” I say, and end the call. Still moving, I glance down at the screen, tap the link, watch as a map of the area appears.

  “Kate, do you smell that?”

  I nearly run into Tomasetti, who has stopped. Though the wind is gusting, I discern the unpleasant stench of something burning. “Not woodsmoke,” I murmur. Unease moves through me. “The wind is out of the north.” I glance down at my cell. “The Leyendecker place is due north. Half a mile.”

  His gaze meets mine, his eyes reflecting the same worry I feel burgeoning in my chest.

  Turning, he starts off at a jog. I follow, hitting my lapel mike. “Glock, I’ve got smoke. I want you to head south toward the old Leyendecker place.” I recite the coordinates. “Expedite.”

  “Roger that.”

  I call Dispatch. “Mona, ten-seventy-three the old Leyendecker place. Get the fire department out there. Expedite. I’m ten-seventy-six.”

  “Ten-four.”

  Tomasetti picks up the pace. He’s a good runner. Long strides that cover a lot of ground. Ten feet ahead. We’ve traveled maybe half a mile when I see the orange glow of the fire.

  Tomasetti curses. As a single unit, we pour on the speed. Too fast for the trees and deadfall, but I don’t care. I’m no longer aware of the snow and sleet stinging my face. The only thing I’m aware of is the stink of smoke in my nostrils and the fist of dread unfurling in my gut.

  We burst into a clearing. I see the outline of a two-story house ahead. The yellow glow of flames in a downstairs window. A rope of black smoke coming from an upstairs window.

  “Aaron!” I yank out my Maglite. “Kevin! Police department!”

  Without slowing, Tomasetti veers left toward the front door. I sprint right, scanning the darkness, looking for any sign of the boys. Overgrown yard. The billow of smoke overhead. No sign of the boys.

  I reach the rear of the house and hear Tomasetti call out. “Kevin! Aaron! Police!”

  He’s a seasoned LEO, and knows well the myriad dangers of a house fire. He’s too close to the structure, moving too fast, worried for those boys. A rise of fear sends me toward him.

  He rushes to the porch. Standing aside, he yanks at the plank of wood covering the door. Glass shatters. A tremendous whoosh! sound. The fire sucking in oxygen, feeding, gaining momentum. Tomasetti raises his hand and staggers back, stumbling from the porch.

  “We can’t get in,” he growls. “Fully engulfed.”

  “Let’s try the other side.”

  We’re midway there when I hear a voice over the roar of flames.

  “Help! Fire! Help us!”

  The beams of our flashlights shift to the second-story window above us. Against a backdrop of black smoke, two boys hang out the window, waving their arms.

  “Here!” one of them shouts. “Help us! Please! Fire!” The words are punctuated by coughing.

  “We’ll get you out!” I tell them. “Stay calm.”

  “It’s smoky!” one of the boys screams. Panic and terror resonate in his voice.

  “Close the door to the hall,” Tomasetti instructs. “You’re going to have to come out the window!”

  “It’s too far down!” comes a high-pitched voice.

  “We’ll catch you,” Tomasetti calls back.

  I recall from their physical descriptions that the boys don’t weigh much. Even so, eighty pounds of frightened boy falling from a height of fifteen feet is going to deliver a wallop to the person below. But there’s no time to wait for the fire department.

  Tomasetti and I position ourselves beneath the window. The fire roars like a beast. Smoke pours from the window. The wood siding next to me is hot to the touch.

 
“One at a time,” Tomasetti calls out. “Jump!”

  “Come on!” I say. “You can do it!”

  Glass breaks somewhere nearby. I hear the sound of wood splintering. The roar intensifies.

  “We don’t have much time,” Tomasetti mutters beneath his breath.

  If the door to the bedroom becomes engulfed, or if the floor beneath the boys collapses, this will go from a rescue to a recovery operation.

  “Chief!”

  I glance over my shoulder to see the cone of Glock’s flashlight as he emerges from the woods. Relief shudders through me as he charges toward us. A former Marine and war veteran, he’s physically fit, courageous, and strong.

  “They going to jump?” Glock asks as he approaches.

  “Only way out,” I tell him. “First floor is engulfed.”

  The three of us reposition ourselves directly beneath the window. Facing each other, Tomasetti and Glock join hands.

  “Come on!” Tomasetti shouts.

  I look up at the boys. The drop is only about fifteen feet, but with the fire raging and darkness all around, it must feel as if they’re about to jump into a bottomless pit.

  Remembering one of the boys is Amish, I try to appeal to his faith. “Gott zayl net fiahra du vo Sei gnawdi zayl halda!” God won’t lead you where His grace can’t keep you!

  A crash shakes the house. The wall to my right shudders.

  I hear a yelp. A small figure plummets. Tomasetti and Glock lunge left and catch the boy. I rush forward, grasp his arm, pull him to a safe distance. He’s shaking, coughing, and sobbing.

  “Hi there.” I put my arm around him, hold him tight against me. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

  “Aaron!” he cries, looking over his shoulder. “Help him!”

  “We’ll get him down.” I maintain a soft grip on his shoulders, and we turn to watch. In the glow of the flames I see the second boy step over the sill and plunge. Again, Glock and Tomasetti catch him.

  Taking Kevin’s hand, I start toward them. Midway there, the boy breaks from my grip. I let him go. Glock, Tomasetti, and I watch as the two friends fling themselves into each other’s arms. Both boys are coughing, tears streaming, doing their best to pretend they’re not overcome.