by R. L. Stine
Surprise, everyone!
He dropped onto his back on the hedge beneath the window. Scrambled like a turtle to right himself, arms and legs spiraling at once.
And yes, the element of surprise had helped him. No one was staring out of the window yet. As he forced himself to his feet, ignoring the bramble scratches on his back, his eyes gazed around the backyard. No cops back here. The idiots thought he would submit without any trouble to them.
He heard shouts and angry cries. Heard Franks’s deep voice booming from the window. “Sutter—stop. Are you crazy? Stop or we’ll shoot!”
But he was already around the side of the guesthouse, his sneakers pounding the hard ground, into the cluster of trees that bordered the yard. The ground sloped down, leading him into woods thick with ancient oak and sassafras trees, their fat trunks tilted and tangled and hugged by fat evergreen pines.
Every sense alert, his eyes darting to find a path through the thickening underbrush, Mark heard no shots. The shouts had faded far behind.
He couldn’t think clearly. The rush of adrenaline and the blood pulsing so furiously at his temples kept his mind from focusing. He was an animal. An animal running to safety.
He leaped over a fallen trunk covered in green and yellow lichen. Pushed through two pine bushes, stumbled on the thick carpet of dead leaves under his shoes, caught his balance and kept running.
Small creatures scuttled out of his way. Chipmunks? Moles? Over the rushing in his ears, he heard the loud caw of birds high in the trees, and he imagined them calling to the police, reporting his location.
He realized he had never ventured into these woods behind his house. This was nature, the uncivilized world, and he was civilized. An author. A father. A husband.
But what was he now?
Running for his life, his freedom, what was he now?
And where was he going?
62
“I think we have a gang or something,” Pavano said, chewing the end of his breakfast burrito. “I mean, something organized, don’t you think?”
Pinto nodded. He drove past the middle school and turned the patrol car onto Ackerly Street, his eyes surveying the suburban-style houses, the neat lawns and paved driveways.
“Two burglaries on a Monday morning, and it isn’t even eight yet,” Pinto agreed. “I’d say it was the same guy.”
“Couldn’t be just one guy.” Pavano wiped cheese off his chin with the back of his hand. His eyes were on the sidewalks. Perhaps they could catch them red-handed.
That would feel like an achievement. So far, my life here has been total frustration.
“Look at what they took, Pinto. Flat-screen TVs, desktop computers, phones, handheld video games. One guy by himself couldn’t boost—”
“It’s the food I don’t get.” Pinto burped loudly. He’d already finished his burrito. “I mean, emptying the fucking refrigerators? What kind of thief takes all the food, too?”
“A hungry one?”
“Ha-ha. Don’t try to be funny, Pavano. You know what you are? You are antifunny.”
“I’m not a fucking riot like you, Pinto. True. Let’s try to think about this.” He pushed a chunk of scrambled egg into his mouth. “This town has gone crazy, Pinto. Three fucking ugly murders. All those kids kidnapped. Now we got houses robbed and—”
The radio beeped. “Where are you girls?” Vince, able to sound harassed in only four words.
“We’re on Ackerly near the school,” Pinto answered.
“Good. I got another break-in for you. This one’s on Clinton. Woman just got home. Thinks she saw the thieves running off. Maybe you can catch them. How fast can they run with computers and TVs?”
“Maybe they have a truck,” Pavano offered.
“Maybe they have a flying saucer. Get over there.”
The patrol car squealed like in the movies as Pinto made a high-speed U-turn, the car rolling over the curb, spinning up grass, then bumping back to the street.
“Vince, you sending backup?” Pinto, leaning over the wheel, eyes on both sides of the street at once.
“You’re joking, right? Every other guy I got is with the feds and the state clowns, searching for Sutter. They’re all over Sag Harbor yesterday and no one comes up with a footprint or a trace of the guy.”
“You see the Post this morning?” Pinto slowed the car down as they approached the house on Clinton. “‘Psycho Psychologist’?”
“Pretty good,” Vince replied. “Hey, don’t expect backup for anything. I got twenty more missing kids. The parents are out in front of the station banging on the door. Like a lynch mob or something. Where are you? You see any kids?”
“Of course I see kids,” Pinto said. “We just passed the middle school. I see kids going in.”
“School’s gonna be a little weird,” Vince said. “We got at least a hundred kids gone missing.”
“Maybe there is a flying saucer,” Pavano said.
Silence on Vince’s end. The radio squealed, then cut off.
“There’s the woman, waving to us on the porch,” Pinto said. “Like we couldn’t read her fucking address.”
“People get upset when their house is robbed,” Pavano murmured.
“Hey, you know what? You’re a fucking genius.”
“And how come you’re in a total shit mood this morning?”
Pinto grunted. “I guess cuz everything is going so well in this town.”
Pavano shoved the last chunk of burrito into his mouth. The car turned into the driveway. “You know, I don’t think Sutter is guilty.”
Pinto scowled at him. “Maybe I agree. But no one is asking us, Andy. Franks and the feds got their mind made up. They got the dude’s wallet. They got the other two murders. And the fucking guy ran.”
“It’s not much when you think about it.” Pavano reached for the door handle. The woman was running down the driveway toward them. “He just doesn’t seem the type, you know.”
“I don’t know,” Pinto said. “He seems pretty squirrely to me. That wallet thing. Does he ever look like he’s telling the truth? No. And why did he run?”
“Just saying,” Pavano murmured. “It’s like a hunch, you know. Only stronger. I think he was totally shocked when he heard about his assistant being murdered.”
Pinto grunted in reply. It was obvious he didn’t agree. He cut off the engine. The two cops pulled themselves out of the car.
The woman was tiny, middle-aged, pretty. She was dressed in a white top and white leggings. She was screaming as she ran. “They cleaned me out! The little bastards cleaned me out.”
Pinto stepped up to her. He was about a foot taller than she. Her streaked blond and brown hair was wild around her face. He squinted down at her. “Little bastards? You saw them?”
She nodded, breathing hard. “Yeah. Kids. A bunch of kids. I mean like little kids. Eight, nine. I screamed and they took off. Little bastards took my new iPad.”
Pavano started up the driveway toward the house. “Can we come in? Look around?”
Behind him, he heard the radio in the patrol car squeal. He and Pinto both trotted to the car. Pavano got there first. “Vince?”
“Forget the burglary, Pavano. Get out of there.”
“Why? What’s up?”
“We’re onto something. A neighbor spotted some of the missing kids. I need you over there now.”
“Over there? Where?”
“They’re in the school.”
63
A buzzer rang and echoed in the line of classrooms down the hall. The signal to start class. But today no classes would be started.
Samuel knew the doors were locked, and the teachers had given up trying to enter the building. A group of seventh-graders had been given sentry duty, and they kept watch at all the entrances for any attempt to force open the doors.
Of course, the kitchen workers had been greeted warmly and ushered inside. They arrived first, just before seven, to begin preparing breakfast for the kids in the meal
program. They soon got over their surprise at finding the new order, the new regime, as Samuel thought of it. The blue arrows were applied to their faces, and they immediately became pliable under Daniel’s will.
Now they were in their white uniforms and aprons, preparing breakfast as usual, only this time for the new arrivals and for the robbery team who returned from their missions with great appetites.
The morning sunlight slanted into the classrooms as kids settled into their new rooms. Some of the light spilled in patches into the crowded, bustling hallway. The mood was cheerful and filled with anticipation for the adventures to come.
Of course, Daniel set the mood, sending his signals to anyone wearing the painted blue arrow, and he could alter the mood, change the emotions and feelings of the two hundred or so followers simply by changing the direction of his thoughts.
Now Samuel followed him down the line of kids who were showing off what they had stolen. He stopped in front of a frail, young-looking blond boy with a galaxy of freckles across his nose.
“What’s your name?”
“David.”
“How old are you, lad?”
“I’ll be eleven next week.”
“Well, I’m impressed, David. Two laptops. Good work! You’re going to be on my special electronics team.”
Samuel watched as a proud smile broke over the kid’s face. Samuel patted the arrow on the boy’s cheek, then pointed him toward the computer room, which had been a sixth-grade classroom but now was a storehouse for stolen computers.
Samuel gazed down the long hall, crowded with followers, some presenting their stolen items for inspection, a group of new arrivals seeking instructions, a girl who carried her brown short-haired dachshund with a blue arrow painted on the right side of its face, a sixth-grade boy with long stringy brown hair, leaning against one wall, softly playing a guitar, several kids hanging back, watching warily as the twins made their way through the patches of dull sunlight in the hall.
“Why did you take these sweaters?” Daniel asked a lanky red-haired girl with red-rimmed glasses.
“I liked the colors,” she said. “And I think they’re my size.”
Daniel motioned with his head toward the girls’ hall. “Go try them on. If they don’t fit, put them in the clothing storeroom.”
She nodded and hurried off with her armload of stolen sweaters.
“So much to organize, boyo,” Daniel said, giving Samuel’s face a gentle slap. “You know. Bright beginnings, right?”
“This school is ours!” Samuel declared. He pumped his twin a hard high five. His excitement actually made it hard to stand still. He wanted to hop and dance and bounce off the tile walls. What an amazing day! He hadn’t felt this alive in many years.
Daniel may be the match, but I am the fire.
Samuel glanced through the window of the art room. He could see Ira standing at a table with several cans of blue and white paint. He was applying a blue arrow to the cheek of a chubby sixth-grade girl with braces.
“It’s so simple. Once the arrow goes on, they’re one of us,” Daniel said, watching Ira work. “Better than hypnotizing them, my lad. They don’t even know I’m putting thoughts in their brain.”
“Ira is getting good with the paintbrush.”
“Ira is a good bruvver.” He flashed Ira a thumbs-up. “Feel like some breakfast, Sammy? We’ve worked hard this morning. But it feels like play, doesn’t it, lad?”
Samuel nodded. “We rule, Daniel. It’s what we always wanted. We waited so many years.”
Daniel had a faraway gaze in his eyes. “It’s a full school. And we rule. But we’ve only just started.”
Samuel snickered. “I know your mind, Daniel. I know you want all the kids, all the kids . . . all.”
“All.” Daniel still had the dreamy look. “All. It’s a start, right? Does it make you feel alive, Sammy? Does it now?”
Before Samuel could answer, someone stepped in front of them, someone large, blocking their path. Her appearance was so sudden and unexpected, it took Samuel a few seconds to realize he was staring at Mrs. Maloney, the principal.
She wasn’t in her usual school outfit. She had an oversize man’s white dress shirt pulled over sloppy, faded jeans. Her bird’s-nest hair was matted in spots as if it hadn’t been brushed. She kept blinking and gazing down the hall, as if trying to force away a bad dream.
“Well, what a surprise. To find so many of my lovely chickadees in school so early. What are you all doing here?” she shouted over the chatter of conversations. “Can any of you darlings explain this to me?”
Daniel stepped up to her. “How did you get into the building, mum?”
She lowered her gaze to him. “Daniel? Are you here, too? And your brother? What are you doing here? Why are the doors locked? Can you be telling me what’s going on?”
“But how did you get in?” Daniel repeated.
The principal dangled a ring of keys in one hand. “I know some hidden entrances. This is my school, don’t you know.”
“No. You don’t rule the school, mum.” Daniel spoke softly, blue eyes probing hers. “We rule the school.”
My bruvver looks calm but I can feel his agitation. We made a mistake last week. We forgot to paint an arrow on her cheek. We let her get away.
“Daniel, lad, you don’t make any sense,” she said. Her eyes were over his shoulder. Samuel could see her counting, taking a tally of the kids in the hall.
They had all grown silent. All eyes were on the confrontation between Daniel and the principal. And the tension was evident in the heavy, ringing hush over the hall.
“Who brought you all here?” She raised her head and shouted. “Did someone force you to come here?”
Silence. No one moved now.
“Somebody tell me what this is about. I don’t want to punish you all. But you will give me no choice.”
Daniel nodded as if he agreed with her. He signaled to Samuel with another nod of his head.
Samuel took a deep breath and started to heat up his eyes.
Mrs. Maloney seemed like a nice woman. She should have stayed home. Now she will be sizzling like Irish bacon.
“The police have been notified,” the woman shouted. “They are on their way. I saw a crowd of people outside the building. Many of them are your parents, waiting to see you. How many of you would like to go out and see your parents right now?”
No hands went up. A boy giggled. That made several other kids laugh.
“What’s funny, kiddos?” Mrs. Maloney demanded. “Someone tell me, what’s funny?”
The red curtain had started to form over Samuel’s vision. But he could see the uncertainty in her eyes, and he saw the uncertainty turn to fear.
She tried again. “Your parents will be so happy to see you. Come on, everyone. Follow me. Let’s all go outside.” She motioned toward the front doors and took a few steps. But no one made a move.
“You don’t understand, mum,” Daniel said almost in a whisper. “We rule the school.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Daniel? You? You are behind this bizarre behavior? You and your brother? I . . . don’t believe it. You are good lads, I know. What—?”
And then Samuel turned his eyes on her, aimed the full heat of his power at her forehead. He misjudged. Aimed a little too high, and her hair caught fire. That bristly steel-wool hair burst into red flames.
She screamed and grabbed at her head with both hands. And he lowered the beam to her forehead. The skin peeled open, blistered, and split apart.
Her head is opening up. Like a flower blooming.
She raised her hands and pressed them against her burning face. Dropped heavily to her knees. And Samuel sent the fire to the top of her head, a powerful blast that made him dizzy for a second, made him quake, his knees threatening to buckle.
Her head burned like a torch. Her eye sockets lay black and empty now. And her nose was gone, just a dangling flap of charred skin.
The eyes burn so
quickly. How quickly a face melts.
The fire moved down her neck, crackling, popping, setting the shirt ablaze. She toppled forward. Her charred head hit the hard floor with a smack. Her big body a beached whale, a pile of kindling.
She ended her life as a bloody bonfire.
Samuel shut his eyes. Kept them closed, waiting for them to cool, listening to the sizzle of Irish bacon.
A hard pounding, a deafening boom, jarred him from the pleasure of the moment. He turned to Daniel as a deep voice on the other side of the front door bellowed: “Open up! Police! Open this door—now!”
64
Pinto and Pavano arrived at the middle school less than five minutes after they got the call. Pinto bumped the black-and-white onto the curb and muttered, “Oh, shit.”
Pavano saw the crowd move toward them. Maybe twenty or thirty people. Parents? “How the fuck did they get here before we did?”
The two cops had no choice. They climbed out of the car. The shouted questions were like an attack.
“Are our kids in there?”
“What did you hear? Who brought them here?”
“Are they hostages? Is this a kidnapping?”
“What’s going on? What are you going to do?”
A jumble of frightened voices.
Pavano spotted three people, two men and a woman, at the side of the building. It took him a few seconds to realize they were about to climb into an open classroom window.
“Hey! Stop!” Pavano took off, shouting as he ran. “Back away! Now! Back away from that window!”
A young man in gray sweats turned to face him. “We want to get our kids out.”
“We’ll get your kids,” Pavano said, struggling to catch his breath. “But we don’t know who’s in there. If this is a hostage situation, you could put your kids in even greater danger.”
The three parents stared hard at him, a tense face-off.
“Step back. Let the police handle this. We have to figure out what is happening here.”
The parents finally relented. Pavano led them back to the sidewalk.
The parents formed a circle around the two officers. The women were dressed in shorts and T-shirts, some in morning-run or workout sweats or tights. A few of the men appeared dressed for work. A very tanned man wore a black swimsuit and flip-flops and had a blue beach towel over his shoulder. A gray-haired couple held each other around the waists of their maroon sweats, tears rolling down their faces. Must be grandparents.