“Still lying to us,” Schwarber answered.
“Look,” I said, shifting to avoid Stuckey’s crotch and his withering mushroom stench. “Don’t I get a phone call or something?”
Stuckey belly-laughed, a sound that reminded me of a horse whinny. “Phone call? You hear that, Chief?”
“I heard it,” Cavanaugh said.
“Phone call,” Schwarber said, giggling like an idiot.
I glanced from cop to cop, waiting for them to let me in on the joke.
“Am I…like, not even allowed to call my mom? This is still America, right?”
Cavanaugh looked at me blandly. “Your mom was notified you were here as soon as you arrived.”
“And?”
“She didn’t seem too concerned.”
Thanks for caring, Mom, I thought. I sat forward, doing my best not to show how hurt I was by my mom’s apathy. “So you’re saying I’m free to go?”
“You’re not a prisoner, Mr. Burgess. You can leave at any time.”
I looked at the phone on the chief’s desk. “I can call my mom?”
Schwarber grinned an ugly grin. “You that dense, kid? Your mom’s conked out on the couch. Stuckey’s the one who talked to her. Tell him, Bill.”
Stuckey stifled a burp. “Terry speaks the truth. Your mama could barely keep her eyes open when I was there. She didn’t really care what was happening as long as I let her sleep.”
I felt like I’d been slapped. “What about Peach?”
“That the little girl?” Stuckey asked. “I barely saw her. She peeked around the corner now and then, but she looked too scared to come out of her room.”
“Told you she didn’t get on well with other people,” Cavanaugh said.
I resisted an urge to leap across the desk and throttle the bastard.
Restraining myself with an effort, I got to my feet. “Can I have a ride home?”
Cavanaugh chuckled. “From one of us? Kid, we’ve got work to do. I’ve got to deal with the Lubecks, who’re beside themselves with worry. And if your story actually is true, I’ll have to contact the state authorities.”
I stared at him, the implications of his words sinking in. “How am I supposed to get home? It’s the middle of the night.”
Stuckey said, “Hell, kid, it ain’t that far. A few miles at most, if you cut through the Hollow.
Oh man, I thought. The Hollow.
“Thanks for your help,” I mumbled on my way to the door.
“Don’t mention it, kid,” Cavanaugh said. “And good luck getting back to that palace of yours.”
The sounds of the deputies’ laughter chased me out of the station.
¨
After Kylie Ann’s abduction and the crap I went through with the police, I was sure my night couldn’t get any worse.
Then I beheld the black Mustang motoring down Masonic Road, and I realized things were about to get much worse.
Though my house was located near the end of Masonic, it was a road I seldom traveled. When I was coming home from a baseball game or the main part of town, I either took River Road to the graveyard or cut straight through the Hollow.
Tonight, I would have rather chopped off my pinkie toe with a meat cleaver than cut through the Hollow. I kept seeing that large, veiny hand clamping over Kylie Ann’s mouth.
Was the kidnapper still lurking nearby?
Masonic Road bordered the cemetery, and that was enough to make me jumpy to begin with. Added to that the fear of Kylie Ann’s kidnapper, and I was downright terrified. So when I heard the thump of the car stereo, I assumed it was someone unfriendly. After all, how many people blasted rap music at three in the morning?
I turned and saw it was Eric Blades and his black Mustang.
Part of me wished it was the kidnapper instead.
My first instinct was to scream for help. I know how that sounds, and frankly, I don’t care. I’d had enough trauma for one night, and I didn’t want to deal with anything else. If my mom weren’t such a loser, I would have been at home like my friends were. But I wasn’t. I was by myself on a dark road on the edge of town with only a few scattered houses and a whole lot of dead people.
I bolted toward the dead people.
This might sound boneheaded, but it was actually strategic. Most people tend to avoid graveyards. I mean, they’ll visit one when they want to remember their loved ones, but very few actually seek cemeteries out for recreation.
Chris, Barley, and I, however, hung out in the cemetery the way drunks hang around bars. Other than the treehouse, it was where we spent the most time. So I figured I’d have a major advantage if I cut through it. I had an intimate knowledge of the graveyard. I couldn’t exactly navigate it with my eyes closed, but with the moonlight I figured I could make it through safely.
But when the driver gunned it and the Mustang rocketed down the road, I realized just how much danger I was in. I had been pretty sure it was Blades to begin with, but seeing the way he sped toward my house with the intention of cutting me off, I knew it was Blades. Now the only question was who was with him.
And whether they would beat me to my back door.
I chugged ahead, moving rapidly through the silent field of headstones. Unlike the woods, the graveyard was relatively flat. No roots to trip me up, no stinging rods of nettles to savage me as I barreled past.
I was thinking this as my foot caught on something and I face-planted in the dirt.
Dirt? I asked myself, my heart slamming in my chest. There shouldn’t be fresh dirt here, there should be grass. But looking over my shoulder I glimpsed the newly tilled mound of earth, realized that with hundreds—maybe thousands of graves to choose from—I’d beelined for the recently excavated one.
I pushed up on my hands and knees, watched the Mustang nearing my house.
I wasn’t going to make it.
No! I thought, real fury taking hold of me. I was sick and tired of getting the worst breaks. I was the one the cops had ganged up on. I was the one whose mom was such a stoner she wouldn’t even crawl out of bed to pick me up. Now I was the one these goons had targeted during the small hours of the morning.
I blundered to my feet and pelted toward my yard.
The Mustang cut its lights. As it knifed down Masonic Road it reminded me of some vicious sea predator. A killer whale maybe. Only this thing was all black. The paint job, the rims, even the fenders.
I was forty yards from the house and closing. The Mustang was closer than that, but it had to turn, park, and the jerks had to get out before they could catch me.
I still had a chance.
I put my head down and pounded through the last row of graves. Then I was in my side yard, the sounds of car doors slamming to my right. I shot a look that way and saw Blades had parked in the driveway, which was more politeness than I’d expected from him. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see him careening through the yard to sideswipe me.
I heard shouting voices. Drunken voices, I realized. Several of them.
I was ten yards from the back porch.
A sudden, horrible thought crashed down on me:
What if Mom had locked the door?
No way, I thought as I mounted the steps. No way my luck could be that awful. Peach would never let her lock me out.
I gripped the knob, turned it. A dark figure swung around the edge of the house. Holding my breath, I pushed against the door.
It swung inward.
Gasping, I launched myself forward and felt something paw at my shirttail. Someone was shouting at me, laughing, all of this somehow sport to my pursuer. I cleared the door and made to slam it shut, but just before I could ram it home, some obstruction blocked it.
A voice howled in agony.
I bared my teeth in a grin, realizing I’d crushed someone’s fingers in the door. There were three shapes at the base of the porch, another right in front of me howling and clutching his fingers. I braced myself on the doorframe, reared back, and kicked the howler in
the chest. He went flailing backward and took out two of his companions. The one assailant still standing lunged forward, but I was too quick for him. I slammed the door in his face, and twisted the lock.
The assailant rattled the knob, pounded on the door, the blows heavy and determined. They might even wake up my mom, which was fine with me. Let her share in my misery for once.
I backed away from the door, recognizing the face in the windowpane.
Brad Ralston.
I’d never seen someone look so angry.
Or huge.
Other faces joined him in the windowpanes, reminding me of vampires in a blood frenzy. One belonged to Kurt Fisher. And a dark, scraggly face I didn’t at first recognize.
Then I had it. Pete Blades, Eric’s older brother.
Which meant Eric was the one whose fingers I’d crushed.
A new fear rose in me. What if my attackers wouldn’t be content with scaring me? What if they shattered the windows and climbed into the house? What if they wanted to really injure me?
What if they hurt Peach?
It was this thought that galvanized me, sent me rushing over to the phone. I knew Cavanaugh and his men wouldn’t help me, but the four assholes outside my house wouldn’t know that. If they had any fear of the police at all, they’d scatter once they saw me calling for them.
Someone grabbed me from behind.
Hissing, I dropped the phone and whirled to face my new nemesis.
Peach stared up at me with huge eyes. She was grasping her blanket and one of her stuffed bears.
“Why did you sneak up on me like that?” I demanded, my heart thundering.
“I didn’t sneak up,” she said. “I heard people yelling and then the door slammed. I thought it was the monster.”
I decided to disregard that last bit. Peach was always talking about monsters. “It was just a bunch of guys from school,” I said, trying to make my voice as steady as possible. I glanced out the window and saw them heading back to the Mustang.
“See?” I said. “They were just messing around.”
As usual, Peach saw through me. She always did.
“It didn’t sound like they were messing around.”
“Well, it’s over now,” I said, turning her toward the doorway. “And you should have been asleep hours ago.”
“I couldn’t,” she said. “I told you, the monster kept me awake. And you weren’t here.”
“There are no monsters, Peach,” I said, doing my best to choke down the guilt. We moved together down the hallway, my hands on her slender shoulders.
“But it was real this time.”
We passed into our bedroom. I was unspeakably weary, but I knew it sometimes helped her to talk things out. “Okay, Peach. What did the monster look like?”
She sat down on the edge of her bed but made no move to get under the covers. I crouched before her and donned what I hoped was a patient expression.
She bit her lip, unwilling to make eye contact with me. I reached up, brushed a lock of hair off her forehead and said, “Tell me about it.”
“It had a scary face. It was white. The eyes were big and green.”
My heart threatened to stop in my chest.
She leaned toward me. “The eyes glowed, Will.”
Holy God, I thought. Holy God.
Her words tumbled out, releasing now in a terrified flood. “I closed my eyes and hoped it was a nightmare, but when I opened them, it was right there, and it was smiling at me!” She pointed toward the window over my shoulder. I spun, certain I would see it too, the hideous green-eyed face.
But the only thing in the window was a ghostly scrim of clouds.
Chapter Seven
House Arrest, Basement, Hand
Mom woke up before we did. Of course, Peach and I slept in until almost noon, so it’s not like this was a major accomplishment.
For the second time in as many days she had breakfast on the table. Waffles, syrup, and milk. Granted, this wasn’t a gourmet meal—the waffles were straight out of a box—but the fact that Mom had cooked two days in a row was nothing short of remarkable. The sweet taste of syrup was soothing in my mouth, and the milk tasted cold and fresh. I realized with new amazement that she’d been to the store already today, and since it was Sunday, Barley’s parents’ store was closed until noon. That meant she’d driven all the way across town to Payless, the biggest grocery store in town. For most moms this would have been routine, but for mine it was tantamount to completing a transatlantic flight with a hang glider.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said as she bustled from the table to the refrigerator to refill my milk, “that I should start going to my group again.”
I stopped in mid-chew. Mom’s group was like a more clandestine version of Alcoholics Anonymous, only this one was conducted in the basement of the Lutheran church and was meant for addicts of all kinds. At the behest of Child Protective Services she’d started going a couple years ago and had attended a grand total of two meetings. “Those junkies are nothing like me,” she’d grumbled, proving exactly why she needed to go.
But now she sounded intent on returning.
I knew I needed to choose my words carefully. “Sure, Mom. Any time. You know I’ll watch Peach.”
She didn’t meet my eyes, but I could see her face tremble on the edge of some powerful emotion. Guilt? Frustration? Gratitude?
Who knew? When it came to my mother, the normal rules of humankind didn’t matter. She was a species unto herself.
“I know you will, Honey,” she said, refilling my milk. “And I want you to know I appreciate all you do for your sister.”
I could scarcely believe my ears.
I tried to play it off. “I don’t mind hanging out with her,” I said, reaching across the table and ruffling Peach’s hair. “She’s nuts, but I’ll keep her around.”
Mom smiled, and for a moment I glimpsed a flicker of the woman I’d known back when I was little. Before the car accident and the back injury that had started Mom on the prescription drugs and the cycle of self-destruction that still held our family hostage.
“Thank you, Will,” Mom said, and then, unaccountably, she leaned over and kissed me on the forehead. When she straightened, wincing a little at the pain in her back, I saw Peach staring at me in shock. I stared back, my expression every bit as bewildered as hers. Then, we both began to smile.
For the first time in several days, I felt good.
Mom moved to the fridge and returned the milk to its shelf. She closed the fridge door, wincing again, and I realized she hadn’t taken her pills this morning. That was why she was in so much discomfort, but it was also why she was so lucid. I know this sounds heartless, but I rather liked the trade-off. At least our family felt normal for once.
She ambled over to the sink and poured herself a glass of water. She said, “Will, I want to apologize for last night. I should have driven to the station to get you.”
A sick heat began to build in the pit of my throat. I knew she was right to apologize, but for some reason the prospect of discussing last night’s events appalled me. Mom’s statement meant she remembered Bill Stuckey coming by. It meant she knew how negligent she’d been. She probably even realized I’d had to walk home in the middle of the night with a kidnapper on the loose in the immediate area. I knew I deserved her apology and a hell of a lot more, but I still didn’t want to hear it. Not then. Things had been going too smoothly. I didn’t want anything to disturb that feeling of normalcy.
But Mom was going on. “I failed you last night.” She paused, stared down at her feet. “And while I can’t go back and make it up to you, I can do better from now on.” Her face crumpled, and she looked at me with tear-filled eyes. “I’m so sorry, Honey.”
Overwhelmed, I couldn’t speak. Peach was watching me closely, her brown eyes bigger than ever, but I was no longer able to return her stare. I couldn’t even chew my waffles. The syrup had congealed in my throat.
“And that me
ans,” Mom went on, “that I can’t let you leave the house today.”
I frowned at her.
“It’s not a punishment, Will,” she rushed on. “Please believe that. It’s to keep you safe. All signs point to that…escaped killer being the one who took Kylie Ann Lubeck, and that means no child is safe. Not until he’s apprehended.”
“Mom, I…”
I trailed off, seeing the look in her face. Her lips quivered. Her cheeks started to dimple. Then she was cupping her mouth. Her shoulders spasmed. Fat tears spilled over her bottom lids.
I felt like throwing up. I didn’t know whether to leave the room, to comfort her somehow, or to simply look away.
I looked away.
My sister asked, “Are you okay, Mommy?”
Mom coughed out a sob. “Mommy’s fine, Sweetie. And so are you two, thank God. No thanks to me. But now we’ll set up some ground rules to make sure you stay safe.”
I didn’t like the sound of that, but then again, the whole atmosphere in the kitchen was off to me—Mom’s weeping, my own confused emotions, even the lighting was peculiar, the sky outside having gone a sickly shade of yellow. Distantly, I remembered Barley’s comment about the impending storm, how cataclysmic it was supposed to be.
“I don’t want either of you leaving the house,” Mom said. “Not without me.”
“We can’t even go outside?” Peach whined.
“You can go outside if Will is with you, but under no circumstance are you to leave the yard. And neither one of you should leave the other’s sight.”
“And where will you be? Sleeping?” I asked before I could stop myself.
Mom cringed a little, but she didn’t get mad. “I deserve that. I’d be angry at me too. I’ll do better from now on.”
I watched her dubiously.
“I promise, Will,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I’m going to change. I just…I just need your help, okay?”
I had absolutely no faith in her but decided it was pointless to argue. If her resolution lasted a day or two, that would at least be a change in our pitiful routine. Up until that point, I’d assumed my mom would be a drugged-out zombie for the rest of her life. Having her back was kind of a novelty.
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