Red Rain: A Novel

by R. L. Stine

  He and his twin had waited all these years for someone to take them off the island. Sag Harbor was the perfect place for them. Small enough to be quickly conquered. Big enough to show how easy it was to take control.

  The perfect place.

  Samuel picked up a slice of bacon and bit off a big chunk. Crispy, the way he liked it. Chewing slowly, savoring it, he turned and saw that Daniel hadn’t started his breakfast. He had a faraway look in his eyes that Samuel knew well.

  The lad is going to spoil our breakfast.

  “Ira”—Daniel waved to their brother, who sat at the back of the room talking with some friends—“Ira, come here. I need you to do something for me.”

  The other boys laughed at something Ira said. Then he climbed to his feet and shambled down the long aisle, hands in his jeans pockets. He stopped in front of the desk, eyeing the big breakfast plates. “When do I get breakfast, Daniel? I’m hungry.”

  “Don’t be worrying about it, bruvver. I’m going to take care of you. First, I need you to do a tiny favor.”

  Ira tossed back his dark hair. “Favor?”

  “Find our sister and bring her here. Do you know where Elena is?”

  Ira nodded. “With Ruth-Ann and some other girls. In the eighth-grade room, I think.”

  “Tell Elena her bruvvers want to see her, all right, boyo?”

  Ira nodded again, turned, and walked out the door.

  Samuel took a big forkful of eggs. He watched his twin warily.

  “When the bruvver and sister come back,” Daniel murmured in his ear, “I’ll need your help.”

  “Daniel, why? What do you want?”

  “We don’t want them anymore.” Daniel’s face hardened. His eyes appeared to freeze over.

  “Don’t want them?”

  “We need to burn them, Sammy. It’s important.”

  Samuel took a deep breath. He gazed down at the plate of food. He felt sick and knew he wouldn’t be able to eat another bite. “Are you sure, Daniel? Both of them?”

  Daniel nodded, then raised a finger to his lips. Ira was leading Elena into the room and down the aisle to the desk.

  Samuel shooed the other boys out of the room. “Perhaps you lads would leave now.” They hurried out, shoes clumping on the hardwood floor.

  “Hi, guys,” Elena said brightly. She wore a pink sleeveless shirt over white tennis shorts and pink flip-flops. Her hair fell loosely around her face. “What’s up? Are we having breakfast?”

  “No. Actually, we have to say good-bye,” Daniel said, speaking matter-of-factly.

  Ira squinted at the twins. “Good-bye?”

  “Yes. We don’t want you anymore,” Daniel said. He stood up, hands pressed on the desktop.

  Samuel saw the shock and confusion on their faces. Elena pressed her hands to her hips and strode up to the desk. “Daniel, what are you talking about?”

  “We need to say good-bye to you now. We want Mum to ourselves, don’t you see.”

  Samuel had his eyes shut. He concentrated and felt them begin to warm up.

  “Whoa.” Elena shook her head. “You’re joking, right?”

  “No joke. We want Mum to love us—not you. It leaves us no choice. We have to say good-bye.”

  Daniel turned to Samuel and gave a casual wave of his hand. “Go ahead, Sammy. Burn them both now.”

  Samuel opened his eyes, felt the heat, the incredible heat, and turned it on Elena first.

  70

  Pavano holstered his Glock and grabbed the window ledge with both hands. The granite ledge was shoulder high, and it didn’t take much effort to hoist himself up onto his belly, turn, and lower himself into the classroom.

  He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. Smoke from the fires had drifted in through the open window, and he had to squint, as if peering through a heavy fog. The classroom, obviously a room for little kids, judging by the drawings hung on the walls, was empty and appeared untouched, in perfect order.

  Pavano heard voices out in the hall. Kids’ voices, he quickly determined. His legs suddenly felt heavy, his shoes rooted to the floor. He forced himself to move, stride silently to the door, where he stopped and listened for adult voices. For any clue as to who was giving the orders.

  He realized he had grown used to his rapid heartbeats and the cold fear that prickled the back of his neck and made his hands so clammy and stiff.

  Leaning against the doorframe, he peeked into the hall. No one in view, but the voices were nearby. Rectangles of light washed out from several classrooms. He stared down the row of gray metal lockers. Several of them had blue arrows painted on them, blue arrows facing up.

  Pavano started to draw his weapon, then thought better of it.

  I came in here to talk, not to shoot.

  But it was impossible to force the ugly pictures of Franks’s last moments from his mind. And impossible not to keep asking how that kid possessed the powerful and deadly weapon that had burned Franks to a crisp and made all the houses in sight erupt in flames.

  His eyes darted from side to side, trying to take everything in as he stepped into the hall. Trying to act like a real cop who knew what he was doing in an insane, dangerous situation like this.

  Pinto’s country song flashed into his mind. God is great, beer is good, and people are crazy. No help. It might be Pinto’s Bible but it was no help to Pavano now.

  His eyes scanned the large blue-and-white banner that had been hung over a row of lockers. WE RULE THE SCHOOL.

  That stupid phrase the twins had spouted when they emerged to face everyone at the school entrance. Was this really all about taking over the school? The twins weren’t really the leaders, were they? Had they been hypnotized by their kidnappers? Had all the kids been victims of some kind of mass hypnotizing or mind control?

  Pavano tried to force the questions from his mind as he moved slowly, step by step, toward the next room. After nearly tripping over a pair of white sneakers on the floor, he noticed a tall water bottle standing in front of an open locker. The locker was piled high with books and notebooks. Nothing unusual.

  He kept his back against the tile wall, his hand poised over the holster. He edged up to the next room. A small sign on the wall read Library. He listened to the voices. Kids’ voices. They spoke in normal tones. A girl laughed. A boy angrily told her to get away from him.

  Pavano peered behind him, then to the end of the hall. So far, no one had noticed he had entered the school. He was about to reveal himself to the kids in the library. Would it send off some kind of alarm?

  Does anyone else in here have that weapon, that incredible fire-breather?

  He could no longer ignore his pounding heart. His chest ached, and he could feel the blood pulsing down his left arm. He sucked in a deep breath and held it, but it didn’t help relieve the wave of panic swooping down on him.

  He stepped into the rectangle of light at the library doorway.

  “Hello. What are you kids doing?” His voice came out more shrill and menacing than he had planned.

  He saw several kids sitting at low tables with books in their hands. Three girls were side by side in front of desktop computers. Bright games on the screens. A boy near the back of the room had his head down on the table, most likely napping.

  All of the kids had blue arrows on their cheeks. Except for the napping guy, they all turned at the sound of Pavano’s voice. “What are you doing?” he repeated, a little more softly. He took a few tentative steps into the brightly lit room.

  Posters for children’s books covered one wall. Four square columns that divided the room had book covers posted up and down them. One column had a long blue arrow pointing up on one side.

  “Just doing library stuff,” a red-haired girl said with her hands still on her computer keyboard.

  “But . . . why are you here? Who brought you here? Are you being held against your will? Were you kidnapped? What’s happening here?”

  They stared at him. Made no attempt to answer his
volley of questions.

  “We rule the school,” one of the boys said finally.

  “Yes, we rule the school,” the red-haired girl repeated.

  “But who brought you here? Have you been kidnapped?”

  They stared at him blankly. “Why did you leave your homes?”

  Again, no one answered.

  Pavano decided he’d better move on. He knew the FBI agents outside wouldn’t give him much time. He wanted to solve this. He wanted to at least learn something before they came barging in. So little time, but he’d waited a lifetime to prove himself.

  He edged back into the hall. Music echoed off the tile walls from a room somewhere in the distance. He could hear only the drums and the bass rhythm. Voices in the next room made him stop. Another locker stood open, this one with a photo of a white dog on the inside of the door. The locker was empty.

  The small stenciled sign on the wall beside the next room read 7th Grade. Pavano heard voices inside. He edged to the open doorway and listened.

  “We don’t need you anymore.”

  “We want Mum to ourselves.”

  “We need to say good-bye to you now.”

  Pavano recognized the high, little-boy voice of one of the twins.

  He took a breath and stepped into the room. The twins stood stiffly behind the teacher’s blond-wood desk. There were plates of food on the desk. On the wall behind them, a poster of the president with a blue arrow on one cheek.

  He recognized Ira and Elena Sutter hunched in front of them, cowering together, hugging each other in terror.

  “Remember me? Sergeant Pavano? I’m . . . a policeman.” The words sounded wrong, as if he were speaking a foreign language. But he knew he had interrupted something.

  Ira and Elena spun around, eyes pleading with him. “Help us. Don’t let them burn us.” They started to run up the aisle toward Pavano. But something . . . some kind of unseen force . . . stopped them halfway between him and the twins. Unable to move forward, they sank back against the chalkboard on the wall.

  Daniel shook his head and stared at Pavano. “What a shame. What a shame. Don’t you agree, Sammy?”

  “What a shame,” Samuel echoed.

  Pavano felt a chill. “What do you mean? What’s going on here?” He avoided Samuel’s red eyes. Maybe if he ignored them . . . “Listen. Your mom is waiting for you outside. I need you to come with me now. I need you to trust me. Will you come with me?”

  No one budged. Daniel narrowed his eyes at Pavano. “I don’t think we can be trusting you, sir.”

  “Why not?”

  “We trust ourselves now. We rule the school.”

  “I heard that. But it doesn’t explain what’s going on here.”

  “We don’t have to explain.” Daniel nodded to his twin.

  Samuel stood taller, then aimed his eyes at Pavano.

  “Hey, what the hell. What the hell are you doing?”

  Samuel aimed a glowing scarlet beam of light. And Pavano felt a burst of pain, just above his eyes, like a searing hot knife blade in the middle of his forehead. Then he heard a tearing sound—like fabric ripping—and felt hot blood spurt down his face.

  With a cry of pain, he ducked his head, tried to elude the scorching beam from the kid’s eyes. He cried out again as another beam seared his hair.

  Too dizzy to stand, he dropped to the floor and rolled between the desks. Ira and Elena, still pinned against the wall, cried out.

  A red beam shot over Pavano, made a sizzling sound as it slanted over the floor behind him.

  I’m not going to fail this time. I’m not going to die. I’m not going to fail.

  Head reeling, blood trickling into his eyes, Pavano tightened his muscles, readied himself. With an animal roar, he leaped to his feet, tried to dodge the blast of light, but the roar turned into a scream of pain as his shoulder exploded.

  The blast knocked him back to the floor. He writhed on his back, unable to shake away the scorching waves of pain, tasting the hot blood flowing from the gash that split his head.

  With an agonized moan, he managed to pull himself onto his side. Through the wash of blood, he glimpsed the classroom doorway. Saw the figure move quickly into the room. And gasped: “What are you doing here?”

  71

  Mark didn’t answer as he burst into the room at full speed. He saw Ira and Elena huddled in terror in the middle of the room and he knew he had to move fast. He knew he had surprise on his side.

  A jumbled text message from Lea had made him think the kids were being held in the school. It read: Kids school help. Her second text was just as frantic: Twins evil dangruss.

  When Mark sneaked in through the basement entrance, he nearly fell over the charred body of Mrs. Maloney. The sight of her corpse, burned black and tossed on the basement floor near the furnace room, sent him into a breathless panic. Ira? Elena? Are the kids being burned, too?

  Now he tore into the classroom, intent on saving his children. He had seen the cop go down. Saw the tear in the cop’s scalp and the blood flowing down both sides of his face. Saw the cop thrashing on his back in pain.

  Mark roared down the aisle and heaved himself over the teacher’s desk. Eggs and potatoes went flying, and the plates crashed to the floor.

  Startled, the twins froze.

  Sliding over the desk on his stomach, Mark shot out both arms in a desperate grab for the two boys. He tightened his fingers in their hair and smacked their heads together as hard as he could.

  The collision made a clonnnk sound like wood smashing against wood.

  Samuel grunted in pain, as the fire in his eyes dimmed like a car cigarette lighter dying.

  Cursing, Daniel squirmed and tried to spin away.

  Hold on. Hold on. You can do it.

  Mark squeezed his fingers into their hair, and with a grunt of effort, smashed their heads together again with all his strength.

  Without even a groan, their jaws went slack and their eyes rolled up. Mark loosened his grip on their heads, and they slumped to the floor behind the desk.

  Gasping for breath, he lowered himself to the floor, then turned and motioned frantically to Elena and Ira, frozen in the aisle, gaping at him in shock. “Dad! How did you get in here?” Ira cried.

  “Hurry! Out of here!” He hurried over to them and wrapped them in a tight hug. “You’re okay? You’re not hurt?” They nodded. Mark glanced at the twins, still unconscious, piled on top of each other on the floor. He knew they wouldn’t be out for long.

  “No time! No time! I have to get everyone out.” He guided them urgently toward the open window and watched as they eased their legs over the ledge and disappeared over the side.

  “I’ll be back!” he called to the cop thrashing in pain on the floor. “I’ll come back for you.”

  He sucked in a deep breath, coughing from the smoke-filled air, and took off running down the long hall to the front doors, shoes skidding on the tiles. He grabbed the door handles, fumbled with the bolt that held them locked, shoved it aside, and flung the doors open wide.

  Then he turned and tore back down the hall—all a blur of shadows, the walls, the rows of dark lockers, the classroom doors.

  You can do this. Keep going. You can do this.

  “Out! Everybody out!” His hoarse screams rang off the walls. “Everybody outside!”

  Flinging open doors, he shouted at the kids sitting at the tables, on the floor, on window ledges. “Out the front door! Your parents are waiting! Out! Get moving!”

  The halls were suddenly alive with jubilant shouts and excited kids stampeding to the doors. Whatever hold the twins had over these kids had ended, and they rushed to celebrate their freedom.

  Heart pounding, Mark remembered the wounded cop. He dove into a classroom, careened off a wooden table, bounced to the window, and threw it open. Through billowing curtains of black smoke, he saw cops and feds in several windows down the row.

  “Cop down!” he screamed. “There’s a cop down inside! He needs
help.”

  FBI agents and uniform cops swarmed to the window, and then black jackets were everywhere, in his window and at the door. They didn’t seem to recognize him or remember that he was a fugitive.

  “It’s the twins! I knocked them out. But the cop was hurt. The twins did it. You have to take them.” Mark realized he must sound crazy.

  A stern-faced cop grabbed Mark’s arm. “Just take us to the cop, okay?”

  He led them into the hall, nearly silent and empty now. Trotted toward the classroom. Was this the right room? Yes. He saw the poster of the president with the blue arrow on his cheek. Black smoke billowed into the room from outside.

  Pavano had pulled himself to a sitting position and was gripping his head with both hands to stanch the flow of blood. Two cops rushed to his side, one of them shouting into a radio-phone for help.

  Mark waved the FBI agents to the front of the room. “The twins. It’s the twins. They’re the killers! I’ll explain later. Just grab the twins!”

  He saw their skeptical looks. They hesitated, then moved toward him, suspicious. “Who are you, mister? How’d you get in here?”

  Mark shook his head. “I’ll explain everything. But you’ve got to get these twins. I knocked them out. Get them. Behind the desk. Watch out . . . Watch out for the eyes.”

  The agents drew their weapons and he stood back. He watched them go into a stalking stance as they approached the desk.

  “The twins. They’re on the floor. I . . . I knocked them out. We got them. We got them!”

  Two agents lurched behind the desk. They appeared to freeze, as if someone had pushed a pause button. Slowly, one of them raised his gaze to Mark. “No one here. No one.” He glanced at the open window. “We’re too late, I think. They got away.”

  72

  Mark saw Lea walking determinedly down the middle of the Sag Harbor pier, eyes searching for him among the two rows of parked cars. He could see her distress from her body language, arms tensed at her sides, hands balled into fists, shoulders slumped, strides clipped and rapid.

  He waited at the far end of the pier, the meeting place he had suggested that morning. Behind him, the water of the bay lapped darkly against the pilings below. The white yachts lining both sides of the pier stood as still as if on land, too big to be rocked by the gentle waves. One enormous yacht had a red Porsche parked on its wide stern and white-uniformed staff carrying breakfast trays to the main cabin.