by J. S. Volpe
“Okay, it’s unlocked,” he said.
“Go in,” Mr. May said. “Hurry.”
Calvin pushed up the window, then grabbed onto the ledge and boosted himself up and through. Inside, he paused a moment and looked around this strange kitchen, his heart pounding. He was officially a housebreaker, a criminal. But it was for a good cause, right?
He heard a grunt behind him, then turned and helped Cynthia climb inside.
“We’re in,” he whispered into the headset, his voice lower than ever. He was still afraid that someone other than Grey was in the house.
“Now go and unlock the back door,” Mr. May said.
“What? Why?”
“Because if you have to flee quickly, it will be easier to flee out a door instead of having to climb through a window.”
“Oh. Yeah. That’s a good idea.” He smiled. Mr. May’s expert guidance made him feel a little calmer, a little less worried. He felt that they were in good hands.
“It sounds like you’ve done this sort of thing before,” Cynthia said.
“No comment,” Mr. May said.
The back door was in line with the archway that led to the living room. Peeking around the arch, Calvin had a clear view straight to the front entrance. The main door was open, though the storm door was closed. Through the storm door’s screen he could see the top of the house across the street, a swath of autumn leaves on a tree illuminated by a nearby streetlight, the black sky. He faintly heard the strains of Violet’s voice in the distance.
“Is Grey away from the front door, Agent Three?” Calvin asked.
“Oh, uh, yeah,” Donovan said. “He’s way over across the lawn with Vi—I mean, uh, Agent…Number Whatever.”
“Okay.”
Calvin leaned forward and unlocked the deadbolt on the back door. Then he drew back out of sight of the front door.
“Done,” he said.
“Now search,” Mr. May said. “Search quickly.”
Cynthia began quietly opening cupboards and cabinets. It was her job to search the kitchen and the basement. The rest of the main floor was Calvin’s. He peeked around the archway again and listened carefully. He heard Violet say something. Then he heard a lower, more masculine voice. Grey.
“Is Grey still in the same place, Agent Three?” Calvin said.
“Yep.”
“All right.”
Calvin entered the living room.
5
“I don’t see anything,” Roger said, examining the blades of grass Violet had plucked from the lawn and handed to him. She stood facing him with her arms folded. Emily Faux stood on the grass nearby, watching the scene with a blank expression.
“Probably cuz it’s dark,” Violet said. “Come over here under the light.” She motioned for him to follow then started to head toward the cone of light streaming down from the streetlight that stood between Roger’s house and that of his neighbors to the north.
“Why don’t we just go inside?” he asked, jerking a thumb at his front door.
Violet turned and regarded him with a raised eyebrow. “Riiiight. Cuz I’m gonna enter some strange guy’s house.”
“I’m not a stranger. I’m a neighbor. I’m not gonna do anything.”
“Well, even if you did, it wouldn’t matter. I could take you down easy.”
Roger snorted. “Oh, really?”
“Fuck yeah! I know Krav Maga. Watch this!” She started flinging her arms and legs about in a manner that made her look more like she was directing airplanes than fending off attackers.
“That’s not Krav Maga,” Roger said. “That’s a silly teenage girl showing off stuff she doesn’t know anything about.”
“Oh, like you’d know. Cuz bank nerds are so fuckin’ knowledgeable about the martial arts.”
“I know more than you,” he said.
“Oh, yeah? Prove it!”
“How?”
Violet spread her arms and waved him forward. “Bring it on, bitch. Let’s rumble.”
6
Calvin started his search in the living room. The lights were on in here, so he left his flashlight in his pocket for now. He peered behind furniture, looked inside the cabinets of the entertainment center, and even flipped up the cushions on the couch. He found nothing of note.
Next he got out his flashlight and checked the front closet (coats, boots, gloves), the bathroom (towels, toilet paper, moldy grout), and a broom closet (a vacuum cleaner, dust rags, cleaning products). That left two closed doors at either end of a short hallway off the living room. One was probably Grey’s bedroom. What was the other one? He imagined opening one of the doors to find Emily tied to a bed, or locked in a cage. He imagined rescuing her, saving the day…
But what if it was too late for that? What if she was already dead? What if he opened the door and discovered her dismembered corpse on a steel table? What if he found a room full of skulls and bones and masks made from human skin?
He paused before one of the doors, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. It didn’t slow down his racing heart one bit. Before he could chicken out, he twisted the knob and pushed open the door.
It was just a computer room, nothing more. A desk sat against the far wall. Atop it sat a computer (shut down), a printer, general clutter. There was a shelf above the desk full of computer manuals. On a small table sat a second computer, one side of its casing removed to expose its intricate innards. Next to it sat a small black leather case opened to reveal rows of specialized computer tools. The room had one closet, which contained two boxes full of flowery china wrapped in newspaper.
Calvin moved on to the last room. As he had suspected, it was the bedroom. There was a full-size bed, a dresser, a bedside table, a closet full of clothes, a small bookshelf full of books on math and economics.
And that was it. Calvin’s shoulders sagged. His search had failed to turn up a single shred of evidence that would suggest Roger Grey was the man behind Emily’s abduction.
Had they made a mistake, then? Was this the wrong guy? Had all of this been for nothing?
7
Cynthia eyed the two doors that faced each other across the corridor in the basement. It was eerily silent down here, and the air was cool and still. It was like a crypt. Or a morgue. She really, really didn’t want to be here, but there was nowhere else left for her to look. She had given the kitchen a quick once-over, checked a small closet, and shone her flashlight through the glass panes of the door that led to the garage. It was only a one-car garage, and there wasn’t room for much beyond the car, a mower, and assorted lawn care tools. Now here she was in the cool, silent basement with two closed doors.
Anything could be behind them. Anything at all.
A floorboard creaked directly above her, and she jumped, her heart slamming into her throat. Then she realized it was only Calvin prowling around upstairs. At least she hoped it was Calvin.
She drew in a long, slow breath, then let it out as quietly as possible, hoping no one could hear it over their headsets.
She tried the door on the left first. Muscles tense, ready for anything, she turned the metal knob, pushed the door open, and then shone her flashlight inside.
A washing machine. A dryer. A chipped, cracked sink.
She went in and gave the room a quick but thorough search, checking every corner, looking behind the door, even peeking inside the washer and dryer. Nothing.
She crossed the corridor to the other door. Just one more room and she was done.
She laid a hand on the knob, then paused and stared at the door. For some reason, her heart was pounding harder than ever. She suddenly wanted to be done with this and far away from here.
But she couldn’t be. Not yet.
After taking another long, silent breath, she closed her fingers around the knob and turned it.
8
“You must be joking,” Roger said. “I’m not going to fight you.”
“No joke, nerdcakes,” Violet said. She waved him forward
again. “It’s time for you to put your money where your mouth is!”
Emily Faux glanced at the house, then looked at Roger.
“It’s time,” she said. “Go.”
Roger spun around and strode straight toward the house.
9
“Shit, where’s he going?” Donovan said. “He’s—”
“What is it?” Mr. May said. “What’s he doing?”
Donovan didn’t reply for a second. He just stood there in the bushes, head cocked, listening. He could hear sirens in the distance. Lots of them. And they were getting louder by the moment.
“Oh, shit,” he said. “I hear sirens. And Grey’s heading back to the house.”
“What?” Calvin said.
“Get out of there. Now.”
10
Cynthia started to whirl around to flee the house, but then she stopped herself.
She couldn’t go without checking the last room. Not if there was a chance Emily was in there.
Forcing her fears away, she threw open the door and stepped into the room. She started to raise her flashlight, then frowned. Fuck the flashlight. She didn’t have time for that. She flicked on the overheard light.
There wasn’t much to see. Shelves. An old, scarred wooden table. A few bits of miscellaneous junk.
And a yellow chest freezer, humming away quietly at the north end of the room.
Since the freezer was the only place in which to hide something (and why did the sight of the freezer trigger something, some faint fleeting memory? Had someone mentioned a chest freezer recently?), she headed toward it. She hadn’t gone five paces when she heard the clatter of running footsteps directly above her. A moment later something big and heavy crashed to the floor hard enough to send dust sifting down from the rafters.
“Agent Two, get out of there!” Calvin yelled. “Abort!” His voice came to her both over her headset and down the stairwell in a weird stereophonic effect.
She looked at the freezer again. She could still quickly check it. She—
“Let go of me!” Calvin cried.
“Damn it,” she muttered, and raced upstairs.
11
Calvin had still been in Grey’s bedroom when Donovan issued his warning. Galvanized by panic, Calvin sprinted straight for the back door. As he emerged from the hallway that connected the bedroom to the living room, he heard the storm door open. He didn’t look around. He just ran harder, sure he could make it to the back door in time. Maybe then he could lure Grey out into the backyard and thus allow Cynthia the chance to slip out the front. Or something. His thoughts were a frightened, jumbled mess.
But Grey was faster than Calvin anticipated. Calvin had barely made it to the kitchen when Grey tackled him, and they crashed to the linoleum, the force of the impact making the burners on the stove rattle. Calvin’s headset came off and tumbled away across the floor.
Just in case Cynthia hadn’t figured out what was going on—and he wasn’t sure she had; he didn’t hear a peep from the basement—Calvin yelled at the headset: “Agent Two, get out of there! Abort!”
He fought and wriggled to break free, but Grey had him pinned to the floor.
“Let go of me!” Calvin cried.
Grey just grinned, his mouth a wall of teeth, his eyes gleaming ferally behind his glasses.
And then he yelped in surprise as Violet leaped on his back. She hooked her legs around his waist and wrapped an arm around his neck.
“You stupid fuck!” she said. “I’m gonna Krav Maga your nerd ass all the way to Nagasaki!”
Grey made a gagging sound as Violet tightened her grip on his neck. His face turned as red as a beet, but he remained squarely atop Calvin, holding him in place.
The sirens grew ear-splittingly loud, and tires squealed as a police car screeched to a halt outside. Beyond Grey’s head, Calvin saw blue and red lights flashing on the living room ceiling.
Footsteps pounded up the basement stairs and across the kitchen floor.
“Let go of him!” Cynthia shouted. Calvin felt a surge of relief that she was okay.
She grabbed Grey’s arm and tried to pull him off Calvin. Snarling, Grey yanked his arm from her grasp.
The storm door flew open. A figure stood silhouetted against the red and blue lights outside. The figure was crouched down a little and was aiming something at them that gleamed metallically in the strobing lights.
“Everybody freeze!” the figure bellowed.
From the dislodged headset, Calvin faintly heard Mr. May’s voice say, “Oh, dear.”
Chapter 24
Aftermath
1
Calvin, Cynthia, Donovan, and Violet sat in a line on one side of a long wooden table, an arrangement that made Calvin feel as if they were contestants on a game show. But instead of a gaudy set full of games and prizes, they were in a white-walled, gray-carpeted conference room in the police station, and instead of Pat Sajak or Wink Martindale, their “hosts” were Chief Krezchek and FBI Agents Rowan and Schmidt. The trio stood conferring in low inaudible voices beside the door, one or another of them occasionally casting a humorless glance at the seated quartet to make sure no one was violating the order to remain silent.
Violet violated it anyway. She leaned over to Donovan and whispered, “Don’t worry, if they were gonna arrest us, they wouldn’t have put us all together like this. They would’ve separated us and locked us up already. They’re probably just gonna give us a big bad warning and let us go.”
Cynthia, who sat on the other side of Donovan, leaned around him and said, “And how would you even know this, exactly? You’re, like, fourteen.”
“I got street smarts.” She scowled. “Besides, I’ll be fifteen in a month.”
Chief Krezchek shushed them. The three men exchanged a few last murmurs, then sauntered over to the table. They didn’t sit down. They just stood in a line on the opposite side of the table and regarded the teens with stern, humorless expressions.
“All right,” Chief Krezchek said. “What the hell did you kids think you were doing?”
“We were looking for my sister!” Cynthia said. She was surprised at how righteous and unafraid her voice sounded. She certainly didn’t feel unafraid. Her guts were twisting themselves up so much she was worried she might puke.
The three men glanced at each other.
“Do you have some particular reason why you were looking at Mr. Grey’s house?” Agent Schmidt asked.
“He was at the park the day Emily met her abductor.”
“So were a lot of people,” Agent Rowan said.
“Yeah, but most of them don’t fit the profile of the sort of person who would have abducted Emily,” Calvin said. “What is it? White male in his thirties, introverted, lives alone—”
Agent Schmidt laughed. “So, what, you’re a profiler now?” He shook his head. “Let me guess: You saw some documentaries about serial killers on TV or something, and now you think you know as much about the subject as we do.”
Calvin’s face flushed. He wanted to tell them that the profile had been created by Mr. May, a man thrice Schmidt’s age, a man who had more investigatory experience than anyone in this room. But so far the cops seemed unaware of Mr. May’s involvement in all of this, and Calvin wanted to keep it that way.
“Is his profile wrong?” Violet said, leaning back in her seat with her arms folded.
The three men looked at her. No one said anything.
She cocked an eyebrow. “Well?”
“Whether he’s right or wrong, or what the profile is or is not, is not your concern,” Agent Rowan said.
“The hell it’s not!” Donovan cried. Everyone stared at him in surprise. Till now he hadn’t said a word, or looked like he would say a word. He had just sat quietly and placidly with his head down. But now he glared at the men, his eyes gleaming with tears. “It’s my damn sister that’s missing.”
The men looked at each other, and some tacit agreement seemed to pass between them. Their hard exp
ressions softened, and they pulled out chairs and sat down across from the teens. Calvin got the impression they had decided to skip ahead in the program.
“Listen,” Krezchek said, looking first at Donovan, then at the rest of them, “I know you want to tear up the planet in search of Emily. And I sympathize. I really do. I have to admit, I don’t know what it’s like to go through what you’re going through. But these things have to be done a certain way. There are laws and rules and procedures that are there for a reason. And, no, we haven’t found her yet. And despite everyone’s best efforts, sometimes people don’t get found. Or they don’t get found alive. And that’s awful and it’s tragic, but that’s just what happens sometimes. But don’t think for a second that we’re not trying. We’re doing everything we can within the limits of the law.”
Cynthia tensed up, expecting Violet to interject some snarky comment about the law’s limits being the problem. But Violet said nothing. Cynthia glanced over and saw that Violet was sitting still and at attention, her face calm. Then Cynthia noticed that Violet was holding Donovan’s hand under the table, and her attitude toward the girl softened. A little.
“I understand your wanting to get out there to help,” Chief Krezchek went on, “and I certainly can’t fault you for that. But breaking into people’s houses, damaging property, scaring people, starting a regular little crimewave—and don’t try to tell me it wasn’t you guys who broke into Mr. Walsh’s house, too—”
Calvin opened his mouth to protest that the Walsh break-in had been purely Donovan and Violet’s doing, but then he shut it. He wasn’t going to throw them to the lions. They all had to stick together. Besides, parsing out each individual portion of blame wasn’t going to make much of a difference at this point anyway.
“Stuff like that just isn’t productive,” Krezchek said. “It complicates everything. I mean, how are we supposed to look for Emily when we’re busy looking for masked burglars, too? To be blunt, all you’ve really done is make things worse.”
The quartet hung their heads. The room was silent for a minute.