Teri went instinctively for the stairway.
She pushed the boy ahead of her through the kitchen archway, past the oak pantry on their left. For years she had tried to get Michael to round off the corners of the small cabinet, having barked her shins on it more times than she cared to admit. This time, though, her shins weren't the offering. It was her left elbow, which caught the corner smack-dab across her funny bone. Teri grabbed at the tingling sensation and immediately fell back a step or two.
The boy disappeared up the stairs ahead of her.
Teri wasn't so lucky. Just as she was reaching for the handrail, someone grabbed her from behind. In one swift motion, she found herself turned around, staring into the face of the man with the scar over his left eye. He had gotten a fistful of her blouse, and he had raised her up off her feet to the tips of her toes.
“Settle down, Mrs. Knight.”
He spun her backward against the pantry. She hit her head hard and slumped to the floor, her legs rubbery beneath her. The pantry door swung lazily open. A gray-black shadow seeped into the outer edges of her vision and Teri closed her eyes, feeling slightly disoriented.
The man motioned toward the stairway. “Get the boy,” he said. She looked up, for a moment thinking he was speaking to her, which didn't make any sense. But then the small, edgy man who had stood in the shadows on the porch, suddenly stepped out of nowhere and started up the stairs.
Teri tried to clear her head.
“It didn't have to be like this, Mrs. Knight. I'm sorry.”
“I don't have anything of value,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. Things had gone gray for a moment, even rippling, but they were clearing now. She sat up, catching a breath, and listening to the footsteps of the other man as he climbed the stairs.
“I'll try to keep that in mind.”
“Just leave the boy alone, all right. He didn't do anything.”
“Wish I could oblige.”
“Please.”
“You'll do both yourself and your son a big favor if you'll just keep your mouth shut, Mrs. Knight. Do I make myself understood?”
“He's not my—”
“Uh, what did I say?”
Teri stared at him, working it over in her mind. Finally, she swallowed back the rest of her sentence, hating the bitter taste it left in her mouth. She leaned back against the pantry and turned her gaze away.
“Good girl.”
Upstairs, the echo of footsteps had fallen silent. It was like a small death, not knowing what had happened up there, praying the boy was all right. Teri held onto a long breath. The sound of her heartbeat pounded against her eardrums. The man, who had been standing next to her all this time, moved to the base of the stairs, and gazed up into the darkness. The uneasy silence apparently preyed heavily on both their nerves.
“Hey, Jimmy! Hurry it up, will you?”
No response.
Behind them, the man from the other side of the sliding glass door came dragging into the room. His face was an ashen mask, eyes dull, a thin sheen of perspiration across his forehead, and a sick, twisted grimace that cut so deep into his cheeks he looked as if he were a comic book character. He held his hand out in front of him, making certain to keep it elevated. The pain had to have been something awful.
Too bad, Teri thought guiltlessly.
“You gonna be all right?” his partner asked.
The man shook his head, naked fear looking out from behind his eyes. “I don't know, man. I think they're worse than broke. I just don't know.”
“Christ.”
“I gotta get back.”
“We aren't finished here, yet.”
“I'm gonna lose my fingers, man.”
Teri caught a clear, unmistakable flash of anger pass across the other man's face. He scowled, until he couldn't seem to stand it any longer, then he reached out and clamped his hand around his injured partner's wrist.
The man screamed. “Jesus, Mitch!”
“Hurts that bad, huh?”
“Like a fucking hot iron!”
“Go wait in the car, then. We'll get there when we get there.”
“All right. All right.” The man turned away, and it was evident that whenever he dropped his hand below the height of his elbow, the blood did a mad dash for his fingertips. Apparently, an excruciating explosion of pain followed shortly thereafter, because the one time that Teri noticed this little movement, the man's face went instantly pale. Still, he managed to drag himself out of the kitchen and disappear from sight with little more than a whimper or two. She was glad to see him go.
“Goddamn idiot,” Mitch said. His face was tight, the scar above his eye stretched taut and wide, looking as if it had been even larger at one time, maybe as thick as a shoelace. “How in the hell did you—”
Teri turned away from him. She glanced toward the upstairs darkness where she had heard something stir. Actually, she had heard more than that. They had both heard more than that. It had sounded a little like a bat against a baseball, only slightly muffled. Following that—in perfect progression, she imagined—came the sound of a weight collapsing against the wall. It made a hollow thud and rattled the china in the cupboards behind her. Then everything fell silent again.
Somewhere in the distance a dog barked.
Mitch, who was still standing at the foot of the stairs, called out anxiously: “Jimmy? What the hell's going on up there, Jimmy? You got him or not?”
Outside, a car backfired, the shot echoing down the street and back again. Teri shuddered and felt her heart skip a beat. The dog stopped barking. The car turned the corner and disappeared into the eerie blanket of nightfall.
“If you know what's good for you, you'll stay put,” Mitch said, pointing across the room at her. “You hear me? Because if I come back down here and find you've moved a goddamn muscle...”
“I know,” Teri said. “You'll still have the boy.”
“On the money, Mrs. Knight. On the money.” He took two or three steps up the stairway, then paused and turned back. Mistrust was suddenly alive and etched into his face, replacing that somber, all-business cast that she had nearly come to expect by now. “On second thought, you'd better come with me.”
[2]
“Jimmy?”
The top of the stairway was cast in gray shadow. It was as if the fog had moved inside and was creeping across the upper floor to greet them. Mitch stopped halfway up and wiped the back of his hand across his face.
“Christ, where's the damn light switch?”
“At the top, on the left,” Teri said. It was the truth, though it wasn't the whole truth. There was another switch near the bottom landing that was easy to miss if you weren't looking closely. The man had walked right passed it.
“Keep it slow,” he said, guiding her. Teri stood one step up from him. He had the tail of her blouse wrapped in his fist, making the effort to keep her close at hand. “One step at a time. Nice and easy. You got it?”
She didn't answer.
Behind them, the last of the kitchen light quietly fell away.
A thick darkness lay ahead.
“Jimmy?”
No response.
“That jackass,” Mitch mumbled grumpily.
They neared the top landing. Only two more steps and they would be standing at the head of a short hallway, with a door to the left and another door straight ahead. Teri took a step up, her legs weak and unsteady.
A near perfect darkness shadowed the back end of the hall. Someone had left the door on this end open, though. It was the bathroom door. A faint, grayish cast of light spilled into the hall. She thought it was probably coming from the small window over the tub.
“Where's the damn switch?”
“On the left,” she said.
Something moved, and as she leaned toward the light switch, intending to turn it on, she thought she saw a shadow slip furtively across the gray cast.
“Hold it. I'll get it—” the man started to say.
&n
bsp; But if he got that far, he certainly got no further than that. Teri thought she might have heard him say the word, bitch, but she wasn't sure, because the door on the left swung open at that moment and the boy stepped out. He brought the cane down full-force across the man's outstretched arm.
Mitch let out a sharp, immediate yelp and pulled his arm back. “Jesus Christ!”
Even in the moment, with his free arm in apparent agony, he managed to hold onto Teri with his other hand. The boy brought the cane down a second time, striking at a ninety degree angle across the man's forearm.
Mitch yelped again.
He stepped back, his face suddenly ashen, his eyes wide and no longer penetrating. Teri's blouse slipped out of his hand. That was all that remained for him to hold onto and he teetered there a moment, grasping at thin air, trying to maintain some semblance of balance. Teri wasn't going to help. She stepped out of his reach and watched the terror cross his face as he tumbled backwards down the stairs. At the bottom, he spilled bonelessly out across the linoleum and lay there without moving.
“Is he dead?” the boy asked, stepping out of the shadows. He stood beside her, his hands trembling. The cane slipped out of his grip and dropped to the floor. It made a lonely, hollow sound that Teri didn't think she would ever forget.
“I don't think so,” she said. “Are you all right?”
He nodded, shaken. He had stepped out of the shadows, fearlessly, with the courage and strength of a man. But suddenly he was a little boy again, frightened by what he had done, and by the significance of the man lying so motionless at the bottom of the stairs.
Teri picked up the cane, and swept the boy up in her arms. She kissed him on the cheek. “Whoever you are, you did great, honey. I know it was scary, but believe me, you did great. You did everything exactly right.”
He stared over her shoulder at the man he had hit and he said nothing, and Teri couldn't afford to stop and discuss it. She had no idea how much time they had bought. Maybe minutes. Maybe only seconds. There was no way to tell how much time would pass before the man would sit up again and clear his head, then start up the stairs. For the moment, though, she suddenly became aware of the dark outline of the other man, the one called Jimmy. He was lying on the floor off to the right, apparently another victim of the boy's cane. She stepped over his outstretched arm.
“You're one brave little kid, you know that?”
A stream of cold air circulated down the hall. It poured in through the sliding glass door downstairs and slipped out through the office window just ahead of them. Teri thought she had probably left the window open the last time she had been up this way. The chill slid across her arms like the cold flesh of a snake and she realized she was trembling.
That's your fear, my dear lady.
I know.
Inside the office, the boy immediately wanted down. She sat him on the corner of the desk, and took an extra second to look him straight in the eye. “You sure you're all right?”
“I'm fine, Mom.”
“Don't—”
“I know. I know. Don't call you Mom.”
“You got it,” she said, giving him an appreciative tap on the leg.
She turned her attention to the phone. It was a combination phone/answering machine, black, touch tone. Almost effortlessly, the receiver fell out of the cradle and into her grasp. It was a good thing, too. She didn't think she would have been able to find it in the darkness if she had let it get away from her. It was difficult enough trying to blindly fumble her way over the keypad. She dialed 911, raised the receiver to her ear, and realized with coldness that there was no dial tone.
The boy tugged on her sleeve.
“Just a minute,” Teri said. She tapped the cutoff switch half-a-dozen times, praying that by some fluke of luck it might actually put her through to someone, maybe an operator, maybe the police, anyone. But there were no voices on the other end, and no dial tone, either. The line was dead.
“Listen,” the boy said.
“What is it?”
“Listen.”
[3]
The sound he had heard was the sound of someone climbing the stairs.
Apparently, Mitch was awake again, though it didn't sound as if he were feeling quite like himself just yet. Teri could hear the squeal of the handrail as he pulled himself up one plodding step at a time, stopping occasionally to catch a breath or to wait to catch his bearings. He sounded harmless from this distance, but she didn't like the idea that he was conscious again. And she didn't like the idea that he still had strength enough to even consider climbing the stairs.
“Mom...” the boy whispered.
“I hear him.” It had not slipped by her unnoticed – the fact that he had once again referred to her as Mom. But Teri suddenly found herself watching the walls closing in around them as if the house were a living, breathing thing and she let the reference pass unchallenged.
“The window!” the boy whispered.
“Huh?” She stared at him, still caught in her image of the house as their captor, then gradually the thought released her and she remembered a time when Gabe had been eight or nine and she had caught him climbing out this same window. It opened onto a decorative ledge across the front of the garage. Gabe had been playing Frisbee in the front yard and the disk had ended up on the roof, and he had somehow got it into his head that if he could climb out on the ledge, then he might be able to work his way around to the side of the house and up onto the roof. Teri had put a quick stop to that notion. But if they could drop from the ledge to the ground...
“Okay,” she whispered.
She took the cane out of the boy's hands and motioned for him to get going before it was too late. Somewhere behind them—near the top landing, she thought—voices had broken out. One clearly belonged to the man who went by the name of Mitch. The other voice—a groggy, unintelligible moan—she assigned to the man named Jimmy, who had apparently fought his way up from unconsciousness and was feeling the full effects of a terrible headache just about now.
“Hurry up!”
The boy slipped through the opening feet first, then reached back to help.
“No, you go on,” she said, handing him the cane. She waved at him, backhanded, and watched as he disappeared off into the shadows on the left. For an eleven year old, the jump from the side of the garage into the ivy bed at the north corner would be a piece of cake. For someone a little older...
Teri climbed onto the desk, not wanting to think about it. She pushed the window up against its stop, as wide as it would go, wishing she had taken better care of herself the last couple of years. Cool night air blew across her face. She braced her hands against the window frame, the aluminum sash rough and pock-marked, and managed to get her left leg through the opening before someone grabbed her from behind.
“Where do you think you're going, Mrs. Knight?”
Mitch.
“Come on, now.” He held her by the ankle, swinging her leg back and forth like an alley cat toying with its prey. “Come back in here and we'll see if we can start all over again, all right?”
“I'm going to fall,” she said.
“No you aren't, Mrs. Knight. I've got you.”
“Don't let go. Please.”
“I won't. Just inch your way back in. You'll be fine.”
With surprising effort, she managed to get her leg back inside and her body turned around. She scooted across the desk and hung her legs over the front edge, her heart pounding like an African drum in a Paul Simon song. Mitch leaned in, bracing himself with an arm on either side of her.
“There, that wasn't so bad, now was it?”
“Why don't you just take what you want and leave us alone?”
“We didn't come here to steal from you, Mrs. Knight.”
“Then what do you want?”
“Your son.”
“You mean the boy?”
“Yeah, the boy.”
“Well, he's not my—” She had never intended to
finish the sentence. Her fingers clamped around the edge of the desk for balance and in that moment, before the last word had come up from the back of her throat, she fired off a knee that sank deep into the man's crotch.
He stumbled back, bent over, teetering on the edge of an invisible line. Her shoe, which he had been holding in his right hand, slipped out of his grasp and fell to the floor, almost unnoticed. Mitch grabbed himself with both hands, his eyes squinting, his lungs struggling to draw the next breath.
Later, everything after that would become a blur of time. Teri found herself outside, standing at the edge of the garage, looking down on the patch of ivy they had planted the first spring after moving into the neighborhood. She had never been fond of heights, but she had never been terrified of them, either. She crouched on the narrow ledge until she was able to get both legs dangling over the edge. It was mostly a matter of trust after that. She closed her eyes, said a little prayer, and pushed off.
By the time she made it to the car, the boy was already there, waiting.
[4]
This was the call generated from a phone inside the house shortly after Teri Knight and her son had escaped:
“We've got a spill.”
“How bad?”
“Looks like a Code Red.”
“Christ. What's the damage?”
“Both drums were identified and temporarily contained. We were unable to maintain possession, however. Current location and status are unknown.”
“Any contamination?”
“Jeffcoat sustained trauma to the head. Kellerman mangled his hand.”
“You need a cleanup?”
“Yes. Immediate.”
The Disappeared Page 3