by C. E. Nelson
“Hold his head up!”
Jenkins pushed Don’s forehead back, the back of his head now against the chair. “Is he?”
“I don’t know!”
Dave tried to unwrap the wire, having a difficult time seeing what he was doing behind the chair. Found the ends of the wire and twisted them, decided he was twisting them the wrong way and twisted them back. The wire began to have slack and then the ends were apart. He reached behind Don’s neck, finding where the wire came through the chair on each side, and pulled out the ends. The wire was now free of the chair but it was lodged in his brother’s neck. He looked at all of the blood on Don’s neck and chest and decided not to pull the wire free, afraid it would only cause more bleeding – if Don was alive. He placed his finger on his brother’s neck. There was a pulse.
As soon as Daniel saw Trask reach for the door handle, he pushed Palm. Palm fell into Grace. Grace tried to hang onto the rail, but the weight of Palm was too much and he tumbled back into the officer behind who fell into the officer behind him. Like dominoes. Daniel raced up the stairs, shutting and locking the door. Retrieved Trask’s gun from the cabinet in the kitchen where he had left it and raced to the garage. Pushed the button for the garage door opener and got in his car. Daniel always left the key in his car. Started the engine and raced out as soon as he thought the door was high enough. Misjudged it by a fraction of an inch, scraping the roof of the car as he shot out. Turned right on Creekside and sped toward the highway.
Jenkins was crying. She wanted to remove the wire from Don’s neck and cut him free, but Dave wouldn’t let her.
“You need to hold his head still. It’s best not to move him.” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’ll call for help.” No signal. There was a commotion outside the door, pounding on a door, men shouting. Trask looked out to see the two uniforms running for the back door, and then Grace and Palm coming down the hall.
“What happened?”
“Arnold ran,” said Grace. “What have you got?” He peered past Dave into the torture room.
“He needs help.”
Grace was immediately on his phone, Palm pushing by, looking in at Don.
“Aw shit.” Grace was talking to someone now. Palm pushed back by, headed for the back door. “Stay with him.”
Grace nodded as he gave directions.
The kidnapper had put the plate with the toast with peanut butter and the glass of juice on a tray. A single fresh-cut rose lay on the tray as well. The rose had bloomed in the kidnapper’s garden before it was expected. The petals were white with a pink hue around the edges. Beautiful. It would be at least a month before the other roses in the kidnapper’s garden were blooming. The kidnapper looked at the rose bushes in the front yard and could hardly wait.
Tray just lifted off the counter, the kidnapper stopped, frozen. There was a siren approaching. A moment later a patrol car sped by, lights flashing. The kidnapper put down the tray and leaned over the sink. Face close to the window, the kidnaper strained to see if anything else was happening. There was nothing. Picked up the tray again, took one more glance out the window, and happened to catch a brown sedan speed by.
“My! This has certainly been a busy morning around here.”
The kidnapper rested the tray on the counter again, hands still holding the tray on the sides, and watched out the kitchen window for a minute longer.
“Well, I guess that’s it.”
Picked up the tray for the third time, turned toward the door leading to the stairway, when there was the sound of a gunshot somewhere behind the house.
“What now?”
The kidnapper walked to the picture window looking out at the back yard.
The bad boy was shooting at him. Michael had video games where people shot guns. His mother didn’t like him playing those games, but Michael thought they were fun. But this wasn’t fun. Michael knew that when you shot someone in the game, they would die until the game started again. But this wasn’t a game.
The shot had gone well wide, hitting a tree. Mike Cousins, tears running down his face, watched the big kid keep running.
Michael needed to hide. The bad boys were too fast, and he would not make it home. If they caught him, they would hurt him. They would take his toy. He did not want to lose his toy. It had not been easy to get the toy.
Michael and Libby hadn’t gotten very far down the trail, just into the thick woods, when the girl stopped.
“I want to go back.”
Michael turned, eyeing the dinosaur. “I have a fort. Would you like to see?”
The girl looked back up the trail towards the park. “Is it far?”
“No. It’s very close.”
The girl knew what she was doing was wrong, but she liked forts. “OK.”
They continued on, the girl struggling to keep up with Michael’s big steps. She stopped again.
“I’m going back.”
“It is very close now.”
She looked down the trail but shook her head. “No. I am going back.”
“Can I carry your dinosaur for you?”
The girl looked down at her pink friend, a gift from her grandfather. “No, it’s mine.” She turned to walk away.
Michael was furious. He had asked nicely like his mother had told him, but the girl had not been nice. He just wanted to hold the dinosaur, just for a while. But the girl had refused, and now she was walking away, and he would never get to have it. Michael spotted a large branch beside the trail and picked it up. Stepped up behind the girl and swung the branch hard. The girl went down.
Chapter 51
What the hell was this? The big kid with autism from down the street was running through the yard two houses down. He had something in each hand. Looked like a doll in one hand and maybe a knife in the other? What was he doing? The kidnapper watched Michael disappear behind the neighbor’s trees. Waited a moment longer but saw nothing more. Looked out at the woods and brush bordering the creek. Thought about Libby Carlson.
The kidnapper had seen the big kid that day too, walking on the trail that went through the woods. Assumed the kid was just going home when the boy suddenly stopped. That was when the kidnapper saw the girl through an opening in the trees. Saw the dress. Remembered how the girl had refused to pay attention in class. How the girl had called the kidnapper old.
The girl moved away from the boy, the boy quickly following. And then the boy did something the kidnapper never expected. Picked up a branch and swung it at the girl. He had bent over the girl, picked up something, and then he had run, down the trail back towards his house.
The kidnapper waited for the girl to get up, but she didn’t move. Strange. Walked downstairs, out the back door, and through the brush to the trail where the girl was still lying on the ground. The girl’s hair was over her face and the kidnapper brushed it away, feeling for a pulse. The girl was alive. The kidnapper picked up the girl by the waist and carried her to the edge of the yard. Trees screened the kidnapper’s neighbors from the yard, but not wanting to take a chance of being seen, and to make things easier, the kidnapper had pushed a wheelbarrow with a tarp to where the girl laid. In moments the girl was inside.
The girl with the red dress had been the kidnapper’s first student since moving to the house. It seemed like only yesterday.
“Lots of excitement around here today.” The kidnapper turned with the tray and headed for the stairs, stopping short as an ambulance raced by.
“What in the world?”
Walked back to the kitchen to see several neighbors walking down the street in the direction the ambulance had driven. Another ambulance raced by. Put the tray on the counter. “I just have to go look.”
The door on the back of the house was locked. Michael looked back the way he had come. He could hear more voices now, shouting. Maybe the bad boys had friends. He ran along the back of the house, under the trees, and into the flower lady’s yard. Hurried to the back door and tried the handle. The door was open.
>
It was dark, and quiet. Michael pushed the curtain on the small window on the door aside and looked out. Nothing. He turned and looked around the room, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. A small amount of light was making its way under heavy blankets that hung over the windows giving him a view. The room was large, a red-brick fireplace took up a good portion of the far wall. A single old recliner sat next to the fireplace, a tv tray next to that. Otherwise, the room was empty. No other furniture, nothing on the walls.
Michael walked across the room and looked up the stairs. He wondered if the flower lady was home. Wondered if she had any food for him. He was starving. Michael put his foot on the bottom step when he heard a sound. The sound was coming from behind the door at the bottom of the stairs. It sounded like a puppy. Michael liked puppies. His dad said they couldn’t have one but whenever he and his mom went to the mall, they always stopped at the pet store so Michael could play with the puppies. He didn’t know the flower lady had a puppy. He opened the door.
It was the laundry room. He saw the washer and the dryer and the big sink like he had in his house. There was a hose attached to the faucet of the sink. Michael did not know why the flower lady would do that. It was quiet. Where was the puppy? Michael could smell something bad. It smelled like it used to smell when he was little, and he pooped in his pants. His daddy used to get so mad at him when he did that Michael would go in the bathroom and wash his underwear in the sink and then put the underwear back on. He did not like wearing the wet underwear.
There was a shower curtain to Michael’s left, and he thought the smell was coming from behind the curtain. Maybe that was where the puppy was? Michael pulled the curtain and it slid on its rail until he could see there was no puppy. There was a boy in a chair with something over his eyes. It was one of the boys who had played video games with him.
The boy raised his head. “Help me.”
Michael could now see the boy had some kind of tape on his arms and legs. The same thing that was on his face.
“Help me, please.” The voice was a whisper.
Michael remembered now. Austin. His name was Austin. But why was he in the flower lady’s basement? Was he being punished? Michael stepped up to the boy. He smelled bad. Michael thought maybe he should go.
“Please. Help.”
A corner of the tape on the boy’s face was loose. Michael grabbed it and peeled it off. The boy started to cry. Michael had hurt Austin. He did not mean to do that. He liked it when Austin played games with him. And then he heard his name.
“Michael. Help me. Get the tape off my arms and legs.”
Michael pulled on the tape, but it would not come free.
“Cut it off, Michael.”
Michael forgot he still had the knife in his hand.
“Careful, Michael.”
Michael was afraid he might cut Austin, hurt him.
“You can do it, Michael. Put the knife under the tape and lift the knife up.”
Michael did as Austin told him. The tape would not cut at first, but then one side started and it cut through.
“Good, Michael. Now the next hand.”
The next hand was harder. The tape had been tighter, and it was hard to get the blade under it. When he finally did and began to lift, the blade turned, cutting Austin. Austin yelled.
Michael backed away. Blood was running from under the tape. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s OK, Michael. I’m OK. Please, keep going.”
He took hold of the knife again, the tape splitting easily after being nicked.
“My legs, Michael.”
Michael bent, inserting the blade between the tape and the boy’s ankle, trying to be careful not to cut him. A sound above. Both boys looked up and then Austin looked down at Michael.
“Hurry, Michael. Hurry!”
Michael quickly cut the tape and helped Austin tear it from his legs. The sound of a door opening.
“We need to go!”
Michael stood and took a step towards the doorway when he heard a sound behind him. Austin was on the ground. He had ripped the shower curtain from its rings trying to stand.
“Can you carry me, Michael?”
Austin smelled very bad, but he was his friend. Michael scooped him up. As he crossed the landing to the stairway, there was a shout from above.
“Stop!”
Michael looked up to see the flower lady coming down the stairs and he did as she said.
“No, Michael! She’s bad! She will kill us. Run, Michael!”
Michael took off for the back door.
Chapter 52
Grace, Dave, and Melanie all heard the shot. Grace pulled out his gun.
“I have to go check that out.”
“Go,” replied Dave.
Grace moved quickly to the back door and then stepped outside. Didn’t see anything at first and moved south. Got past lilac bushes on the Daniel property line and saw a kid with a gun standing by someone laying on the ground. Hustled down the back of the next house, keeping low. As he moved, the kid with the gun turned and looked down at the figure on the ground. The kid dropped the gun, tilted his head back and screamed.
Grace hit the kid at nearly full speed, like he was back in high school playing safety. The kid went over, Grace on top. Grace pulled the kid’s arms behind him and cuffed him. The kid was crying. It was the younger Cousins boy.
Grace stood and looked to the body on the ground. The older Cousins boy. Bleeding badly. Grace was about to walk to the boy to see if he could help when two uniformed cops came running up followed closely by two paramedics. Grace instructed the uniforms to take Mike Cousins away. The cops lifted Mike to his feet, one on each side, and walked him up the slope, Mike looking back over his shoulder at his brother, crying.
Grace watched Blake Cousins being treated and then lifted on a stretcher.
“Will he be OK?” Grace asked before Cousins could be rushed up the bank to the ambulance.
“Don’t know. He’s lost a lot of blood. Stab wound was deep.”
“Stab wound?”
“Yeah.”
Grace stopped, watching Cousins be carried up the hill. Stabbed? But there had been a shot. Puzzled, he stared down the line of houses from the way he came. Suddenly, a large man burst from a door two houses down carrying something. No, not something. Someone. A kid. Grace took off.
Ginger Felder never made it out her front door to see what was happening down the street. As she passed the open door going down to the lower level, she was sure she heard voices. She stopped, listening. At first, she thought it was just the Newman boy, but then was sure there was another voice.
Felder retreated to the kitchen, moving a step-stool in front of the refrigerator, and then opening the cupboard above the refrigerator. She slid a tan metal box off the shelf, grabbed the handle on top of the box, and stepped down from the stool. Put the box on the counter, flipped open the latches, and opened the box. Inside was a pistol, a Ruger LCR. She had purchased it when she lived alone in the country. The gun seemed heavier than she remembered as she picked it up, checking to see that it was loaded. It was.
She hurried back to the stairs and had taken three steps down when she saw a man at the bottom of the stairs. No, not a man, it was the autistic kid from down the street. And he had Austin Newman in his arms. She yelled for them to stop.
Grace raced back to Daniel’s yard. The Little kid was just reaching the edge of the yard of the house he had exited, two houses away. The yard was filled with flowers and flowering shrubs. He was having a hard time making much progress holding Austin Newman, taking only a few steps before he would stop to rest. Michael Little stopped and turned, looking behind him. It looked like Austin Newman was hanging onto Michael’s neck, his head up. That was good. The boy was alive.
But now Grace noticed something else. Michael Little appeared to be holding something in each hand. Grace couldn’t quite make out what was in the hand farthest from him, a toy perhaps, but what was in the cl
osest hand was clear. A knife. Grace yelled for Michael to stop. The boy searched for the voice, and now saw Grace as he moved closer. Grace stopped, about to say Michael’s name again, when he heard a small voice. Austin Newman telling Michael to run.
“Run, Michael.”
Little took off again. He ducked under the low-hanging branches of a crab apple tree that bordered the Felder property, blossoms falling to the ground in his wake. A low decorative edging lined a flower garden in the next yard, immediately in Michael’s path, and he held Austin high as he tried to step over the edging, catching his back foot as he did and falling forward.
Grace was just reaching the border of the Felder yard when he was surprised by the back door of the Felder house banging open. An older woman in dark blue slacks and a flowery top appeared. She glanced in Grace’s direction, did not appear to see him, and then looked the other way.
Michael was on his knees, the knife still in his hand at his side. Austin a yard in front of him, pushing himself to his hands and knees. Michael was breathing hard, looking at Austin moving, trying to catch his breath when he heard someone ahead of him shout his name.
“Michael!”
Grace saw Michael’s mother running across the yard toward him. Michael got to his feet, knife still in his hand. Grace raised his weapon.
Felder thought the boys would be farther than they were when she got outside. The lock on the door had somehow engaged after boys had run out and it had taken her a minute to figure out why the door wouldn’t open. But the big kid was slow, and he had fallen. She took two quick steps towards them. The big kid was on his knees, but now he stood. The Newman kid was struggling to get up, weak from his lack of food and water. Maybe she could get him back inside.