“… that the explosion was minor. Although a great deal of smoke and noise resulted, there was little actual property damage. Still, in the confusion, suspect Carl Cantrell managed to escape his police escort and is now running free. I repeat, at seven-thirty this evening, at St. Anthony’s Hospital, an explosion resulted from …”
Seven-thirty, Megan thought bitterly, glancing at the clock on her dashboard. And now it was almost nine-thirty. More than enough time for Carl to find his way back to Bonnie’s house. To see his son on Christmas Eve. There was not the slightest doubt in her mind-she knew that was what he would do.
An aching in her chest reminded her what was likely to happen the instant he showed up.
Too late, Megan saw the exit for the Kensington development. She crossed three lines of traffic, making an almost diagonal line across the highway. She heard the screeching brakes of cars in the other lanes as she sped in front of them. If she rolled down her window, she could probably hear a few choice remarks flung in her direction, too. She couldn’t think about that now, couldn’t worry about it. She knew she was driving recklessly, but she had no choice. She had to get to that house.
She careened down the exit ramp and screeched to a halt. Swerving left hard, she headed toward the Kensington. She barreled down the road, full speed ahead. She had to get there in time, she had to, no matter how impossible it seemed. Blast! If ever there was a time when she could use a little faith, this was it.
She glanced up at the sky, but she didn’t hear any voices speaking to her. The only voice she heard was the ballistics expert:
No doubt about it. That bullet came from inside the house.
And if a bullet came from that house once, Megan had no doubt that it could do so again.
Carl leaped over the fence, swinging himself by his hands. His agility was considerably hampered by the oversized black plastic boots he was wearing, not to mention the thick stuffing sewed into the suit. It might be important that Santa be a right jolly old elf during shopping mall appearances, but tonight, it was just a pain in the butt. He lost his balance, tipped sideways, and fell onto the wet grass.
It had been snowing for at least half an hour now, while he ran all the way crosstown to get here. And the truth was, Santa’s suit wasn’t nearly as warm as it looked. What’s worse, the pain medication was wearing off, and his arm was beginning to remind him that he had been shot today.
But he had to put all that out of his mind. Tommy needed him. Tommy was in deadly danger. He had to save Tommy.
He had no problem with coming through the back; he didn’t want to be stopped by any busybody neighbors either. After punching a few of them and creating major scenes in the front yard, he knew it wouldn’t take much to get their attention. At the very least they would call the cops, and Carl couldn’t let that happen. The cops would only haul him away. They’d leave Tommy in the clutches of Frank, and maybe his mother-whoever it was that was hurting him. No, it was important that Carl be able to get in, get Tommy, and get away.
He ran up to the sliding door in the back of the house. Sure enough, it was unlocked. He pushed it open and slipped inside.
Everything was quiet. Where were the sounds of misery he had heard over the phone? Or alternatively, the sounds of Christmas Eve revelry?
He raced upstairs to check for signs of life. Tommy’s room was empty. It was a mess, books and toys scattered all over, his Star Wars pajamas lying in a heap on the floor. But no Tommy.
He checked the other rooms as well. No Frank, no Bonnie. He couldn’t understand it. What was going on here?
Had they gone somewhere for Christmas Eve? Carl knew Bonnie didn’t have any relatives in the area. Maybe Frank? Maybe out to dinner? A million possibilities ran through his head, some of them positive, and some of them …
His imagination conjured hideous dark notions. What if Bonnie decided to do what he’d planned to do? What if she’d taken Tommy away, who knows where, to start over again without her ex-husband screwing everything up for her? What if they’d hurt Tommy, maybe bad, and taken him away to hide what they’d done? Taken him away-or taken the body …
Carl’s fists balled up with rage. Tommy was his boy; he was supposed to protect him. And he’d failed. He’d failed in the most desperate, pitiful, fatal-
He started abruptly. He’d heard something-some kind of a noise. But it wasn’t coming from inside the house. It was coming from the front yard. He peeked through the bedroom window. He could see Tommy and Bonnie and … and someone else in a Santa suit!
“You miserable brat,” the other Santa shouted at the top of his lungs. “I’ll beat you till you can’t see straight!”
What was going on? Was that Frank? It sounded like him. But why was he dressed in the suit?
The same suit Carl himself was wearing.
He didn’t have time to ponder these questions. He heard the front door open, then slam shut. He ran down the stairs as quickly as possible to see who had come in.
“Tommy!” he shouted from midway down the stairs.
Tommy looked up. He was clutching his side; his face was contorted with pain. As soon as he saw the Santa suit on the stairs, he panicked.
“It’s me,” Carl said, pulling down the fake white beard so the boy could see. “It’s me!”
“Daddy!” Tommy ran toward him, meeting him at the foot of the stairs. He threw his arms around his father, hugging him like he’d never hugged him before.
“Daddy,” he said again, but more quietly this time. All at once his face was covered with tears, as if he’d been holding them back bravely as long as possible but just couldn’t manage it any more. “I knew you’d come, Daddy,” he whispered. “I knew you’d save me.”
Carl hugged his son back, squeezing with all his might. He’d dreamed of this moment. He’d been desperate for it for years. And now that it was finally here, he wouldn’t let anything interfere-
“Well, now, isn’t this a scene out of Currier and Ives?”
Carl whirled around, without releasing his son.
Frank stood in the entryway, still looking like Carl’s mirror image in red fur and fake whiskers. Bonnie was just a step behind him, closing the door.
“What the hell’s going on here?” Carl asked.
Frank was the picture of nonchalance. He sashayed past Carl, barely even glancing at him. “Whatever are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you hitting my boy!”
Frank flopped down onto the white plush sofa. “But that wasn’t me, Carl. That was you.”
“Are you crazy? I wouldn’t hit my own son,”
“Ah, but that’s not what the neighbors will say. Or anyone else, for that matter.”
“What are you talking about? I was very careful-no one saw me come in.”
“Oh, but you’re wrong, Carl.” He flipped a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. “Everyone saw you come in. Everyone saw you flip out of control, like a drunken madman. Everyone saw you beating your son within an inch of his life.” He glanced pointedly at Bonnie. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the poor lad died from it.”
“I don’t know what you’re babbling about, Frank.” Carl eased toward the front door, taking Tommy with him. “I’m leaving now and Tommy’s going with me. And you’re not going to stop me.”
“It’s true,” Frank said wearily. Another pointed glance at Bonnie. “I’m not going to stop you.”
Carl didn’t know what was going on, but he also knew it would be stupid to stand around trying to figure it out. The smartest thing he could do was make a run for it while he had the chance.
“C’mon, Tommy,” he said. He broke the boy’s embrace but scooped up his hand. “We’re leaving.”
Son in tow, he ran to the front door, threw it open, and ran into the front yard. “Do you feel well enough to run?” he asked Tommy.
Tommy’s head bobbed up and down, but Carl could tell his heart wasn’t in it. They would have to move slowly. Still, they should be abl
e to get away. As long as there wasn’t any interference …
“Stop!”
Carl knew he shouldn’t stop, shouldn’t even look, but he couldn’t help himself. He turned.
Bonnie was standing on the front porch. In the few seconds he had been conversing with Frank, she had totally altered her appearance. Her clothes were torn; her dress was hanging from one shoulder strap and was ripped open in the front. Her makeup was smeared; her hair was a mess. Her face looked wet and bruised.
As if someone had just attacked her. Attacked and beat her.
There was one other alteration in her appearance, one Carl noticed almost immediately.
She was now holding a small handgun. And it was pointed toward his head.
22
“I’m not letting you take Tommy!” Bonnie shouted. Her voice was abnormally loud, and Carl realized it wasn’t for his benefit. She was playing for the larger audience.
“Bonnie,” he whispered. “Don’t do this.”
“I won’t let you hurt him!” she continued, still shouting. “I won’t let you beat him like you did me. Like you’ve beat him so many times before!”
“Bonnie, please.” He pulled Tommy close to him. “I’m begging you.”
“You’ve made us live like slaves, like prisoners. Always in fear of when you might strike again.” It was like she was shouting lines from a play, lines she had practiced and rehearsed in the mirror well ahead of time. “I know if you beat Tommy again, you’ll kill him. I’m his mother, Carl. I can’t let that happen.”
Carl couldn’t think what to do. He felt paralyzed, frozen. If he tried to run, she might shoot him. But if he stayed still, she almost certainly would.
“Don’t try to run off with Tommy,” she said. “I won’t let you take him. I won’t let you hide him away somewhere and kill him slowly.”
That was it, Carl realized. It was like a cue. She wanted him to run, so she’d have an excuse for shooting him. Well, he wouldn’t give it to her. If she was going to shoot him, it was going to have to be in cold blood. With a stationary target.
“I just hope you haven’t killed Tommy already,” she continued, still blasting out each word. “He’s hurt so bad.”
Carl squeezed Tommy closer to him. “Bonnie-no!”
Bonnie held the gun out at the farthest extreme with both hands. “I’m sorry it has to be this way, Carl. But I can’t let this go on. I won’t let you kill me. I won’t let you kill Tommy.”
It was coming now. Carl could feel it. He could sense that the dialogue had ended and the time had come for action.
He looked down at his son. “I love you, Tommy,” he whispered. “I always have. Always will.”
“Carl, no!” Bonnie shouted for the benefit of the invisible audience. “I won’t let you hurt him! I won’t let you!”
He could see her hands tightening, see the tiny bones in her hand flexing around the trigger. It seemed she’d reached the end of the script.
He closed his eyes and waited for the end to come.
Megan surveyed the tableau in the space of a heartbeat. She might not understand all the details, but she certainly comprehended the main event. Bonnie was pointing a gun at Carl, tensing up to shoot.
Megan didn’t stop to ask questions. She flung herself against Bonnie, tackling her like a tight end sacking a quarterback. They both crashed to the ground, but Bonnie was on the bottom and she took the worst of it. Megan heard a loud exhalation in her ear and knew that she’d at least knocked the wind out of the woman.
Unfortunately, Bonnie was down but not out. She reached up with her gun hand and clubbed Megan on the top of her head. The hard metal dug into her scalp, cutting a jagged dent in the left side. Megan could feel blood rising to the surface.
Megan gritted her teeth and pushed Bonnie’s arm away. Her brain was racing. What should she do next? Somehow, hand-to-hand combat had never been covered back at seminary. She had to try whatever first came to mind, whatever was available.
Bonnie’s head was just beyond Megan’s knees. She grabbed Bonnie’s head and slammed it back against the ground.
That seemed to take the woman for a loop. Her eyes rolled back and the lids fluttered.
Megan moved fast while she had some slight advantage. She lifted one leg back and drove her knee into the woman’s solar plexus.
Bonnie let out an “oof!” and all at once the fight went out of her body. Unfortunately, she was still holding the gun. Megan crawled across Bonnie’s body and clamped down on her arm, just below the wrist. She raised it up and down, pounding it against the hard wet grass. After several poundings, the gun spilled out of her hand.
Carl rushed forward, kicking the gun away. “Thank God you arrived. Another second and she would’ve-”
“Yeah, I saw.” Megan rolled Bonnie over and pinned her arms behind her back. She was beginning to stir; Megan wanted to make sure she was in no condition to struggle. “Lucky timing.”
“Lucky?” Carl shook his head. “More like a miracle.”
Miracle? Megan looked up at him, but at that moment, she heard the sirens of police cars wailing up the residential street. “Let me talk to them,” Megan said. “I don’t understand this mess perfectly, but I probably understand it better than you.”
“No contest.”
Megan glanced down at the bundle of flesh she was sitting on. “Make sure your ex-wife doesn’t go anywhere, okay?”
Carl grabbed Bonnie’s wrists. “It’ll be a pleasure.”
After what seemed like an eternity, Megan returned to Carl. The police had taken Bonnie out of his custody; he was sitting on the front porch steps now, waiting to hear what lay in his future. If he had a future.
“Well, I think I got that straightened out for the time being, anyway,” Megan said. She sat beside him on the porch step.
“You mean they believed you?”
Megan nodded. “I made them call their ballistics expert.” She gestured toward the police officers, now returning to their cars with Bonnie. “And the coroner-the man who examined your arm wound. Both of them had evidence that backed up my story and made the police realize what Bonnie and Frank were doing.”
“Then I’m off the hook?”
“Well, let’s not go overboard. There’s still the matter of the neighbor you injured. The house breaking. The escape from custody. But there are also some keenly mitigating circumstances. It’ll be a while before the cops have finished their investigation. I promised you wouldn’t leave town.”
“Sure, no problem.”
“But the most important thing is-you won’t be spending Christmas behind bars.”
Carl’s lips parted, but he didn’t speak. His eyes became wide and watery.
“Which is good, because Tommy isn’t going to have anyone else to stay with.”
There was a catch in Carl’s throat. “You mean, I’m going to spend Christmas with-” He suddenly let out a gasp. “Look out!”
Megan whirled around to see a man she knew must be Frank flying toward her, fists first. She screamed.
Carl grabbed her by the arm and yanked her out of Frank’s path, barely a second before he landed. Where had he come from? Megan puzzled. In the space of a heartbeat, she realized he must’ve hidden in a back bedroom, then dropped out of a window as soon as the police left the house.
“You’ve ruined everything,” Frank growled. His eyes were blazing; the expression on his face said he could kill anyone and anything that came into his grasp. Then he lunged.
Carl shoved Megan out of the way. Frank hit Carl front and center, knocking him down onto the porch-hard. A moment later, Frank scrabbled to his feet and took off.
Carl pushed himself up from the pavement slowly. Blood was trickling from the side of his mouth.
Megan laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Let the police catch him.”
“Like hell.” Carl started after Frank. Megan followed. She realized she must be seeing Carl’s police training in action. It rose to t
he surface even when Carl wasn’t consciously thinking about it. He was fast, too. In no time at all, he’d left her far behind.
Carl caught Frank just before he crossed the neighbor’s yard. He wrapped himself around Frank’s legs, knocking him to the ground. Before the man could recover, he rolled Frank onto his back and sat on him, pinning his arms back. “Go ahead,” Carl said. “Resist. Please.” Frank’s teeth were clenched; his face was smeared with dirt and grass stains. He drank in the cold hard look in Carl’s eyes-and did not resist.
A phone call later, two police officers came running to the scene. “Nice work,” one of them said to Carl as he snapped the cuffs around Frank’s wrists. “Thanks for the assist.”
“Anytime.”
Carl pushed off Frank’s prostrate body, then walked over to Megan. “Well, that was fun. Maybe I’m not totally washed up after all.”
Megan smiled. “I’m certain of it.”
“Did you mean what you said before? About me spending Christmas with-” All at once, his face darkened. “Tommy!”
“What about him?” Carl slapped himself on the side of the head. “I’m such an idiot. In all the confusion, I lost track of him. He was so terrified when his mother was pointing that gun at us. Then he ran inside and-” His eyes darted to one side, and then his voice disappeared.
Megan laid her hand on his shoulder. Carl? What is it?”
His hand rose, trembling, and pointed to the place on the grass where Bonnie had been tackled. “The gun,” he said, barely getting the word out. “I kicked it over by the hedge.”
“Yeah. So?”
“It’s gone.” He turned to face Megan, his eyes wide with fear. “And so is Tommy.”
23
Megan tiptoed carefully up the stairs of the house. Tommy’s room was at the top and the door was closed.
She stepped carefully toward his door. She stood to one side and knocked gently. “Tommy?”
Midnight Before Christmas Page 11