“Okay, okay, I can do that.”
Shep opened the door and went out. Behind him, the lock clicked. He kneeled on the front steps and listened. A breeze rustled through the trees, and tugged at his hair. The night was cool, but comfortable. Stars twinkled brightly in the sky. He was shaded from the street light by a leafy oak in the front yard.
Most of the surrounding houses were dark. One or two had porch lights on, but all inside lights were off. He wished he had a cigarette.
When his legs started to cramp, he hopped off the steps and ran to the base of the tree. In shadow, he looked around.
Nothing.
He walked slowly around the house, sticking as much as possible to shadow. The perimeter seemed secure. Inside each window he detected the faint blue glow of the window alarms.
Back at the front steps he sat down. He was shivering a little. The night was cooler than he had thought.
Something had disturbed both himself and Bonnie, but he could find no trace of it.
Across the street, a shadow parted from a patch of darkness and scuttled across the front yards of two houses, visible for a moment in a stray slash of light. Shep glimpsed arms moving.
“Bingo.”
Bent low, sticking to shadow, he moved into the yard, then across the street.
It was the same dream.
She was bent over him, her red hair tickling his cheeks and his nose, and her mouth was touching his chin, and her tongue was reaching out and wetly tickling his lips, and he could taste her spit and her lipstick. Evan tried to turn his head, but he could not budge. The room was spinning slowly.
“Don’t fight it,” she said softly, and her breath was warm on his face. “Don’t fight us. You’ll like it.”
The ceiling was a white blob overhead, and the shadows in the corners were pillars holding it up. The redhead stepped back and he saw now that she was naked, naked as anything, and there were others in the room, too, coming out of the corners, moving closer to him.
“I’m dreaming,” Evan said. “I’m dreaming, and I’m going to wake up, and you can’t scare me!”
His dad moved into his field of vision. Smiling.
“Hello, son.”
“Dad! Don’t! Don’t let them get me!”
“They’ve already got you, Evan.”
And then he wasn’t spinning any more, he was staring at one of the walls, the one with the door in it, and the redhead was turning the door handle, and she was smiling at him, and the door was opening, and it was dark in that other room, through there, very dark, wet dark, and something was moving in that dark, something big and heavy, something that couldn’t move very well at all, coming out of that darkness.
“Don’t fight.”
But his dad was backing away, and the redhead was backing away, and the others were edging into shadow, and suddenly he could see something in the darkness of the doorway, something pale and long, almost like a hand, pulling itself across the floor.
Evan screamed.
“I’m dreaming! I’m dreaming! You can’t hurt me!”
And suddenly he knew that he was dreaming. He could feel the bed beneath him, even though he was still in that other place. He could feel his eyes closed, squeezed shut.
He tried to open his eyes. He could not.
“Mom!” He screamed it at the top of his lungs. “Mom!”
The thing in the doorway was shuffling closer, and he could hear wet grunts and breathing.
He sat up in bed, feeling blindly. His feet hit the floor. He ran his hands over his face. Maybe he could open his eyes manually, and when he saw his real room, then this place would disappear and he’d wake up completely.
He tugged at his eyelids. He could not open them.
“Mom!”
His panic was rising now, surging through him like electricity. He jumped off the bed. His shoulder hit the wall. He bounced into the bookshelves.
“Mom! Mom! Mom!”
The thing in the doorway reached for him, and he now saw that it was a hand, covered in sores and dripping something dark and wet.
“MOM!”
And as his heart exploded in his chest, he did wake, and found that he had been lying on the bed all along. All of it had been a dream. All of it.
He was panting for breath, soaked in sweat.
He was in his own room.
“It was a dream. It was. It was.”
He looked toward the window. A blue line arched across the glass. He saw wires where there had been no wires earlier in the night.
He sat up in bed, tossing off his sheets. And as he stared at the window he felt dizzy, and the view swam before his eyes then back into focus.
Evan held his breath. Something was different. It took him only a second to figure out what it was.
He was still looking at the window, he could still see the blue line across the bottom, but he was looking at it from the outside. He could still feel the bed beneath his legs.
“Oh, boy.”
The same thing that had happened at his grandparents.
He stood on wobbly legs, hands held out in front of him, and moved toward where he knew the window should be. From his outside view, he saw himself appear in the window. And suddenly he was very close to his own face, pressed right up to the glass, staring into his own blind eyes.
“Mom! Mom!”
His cry was real this time. He heard footsteps in the hallway, and then his bedroom door opening. From his outside view, he saw lights explode in the room. He saw a shadow come up behind the boy in the window. A hand touched his shoulder.
In a blink it was over. He was sitting on the bed. His mom was standing over him.
“Evan, what is it? Are you okay, honey?”
He turned to her and saw that she was holding a gun, and that she looked very worried.
“They’ve come,” he said.
“Who’s come?”
“Them. They’ve come for me. They’re here.”
“What are you talking about?”
A scream filled the house. It came from the living room. It rose in pitch, so high that Evan thought his ears would burst, then fell again. A siren.
Mom’s face went white.
“Oh Jesus no.”
With the gun in one hand, holding him with her other, she dragged him into the hallway.
Shep followed the shadow into the park.
He stood by the bench he had sat on only a few days ago, and watched. The park was dark, filled with shadows that seemed to move.
“Shit.”
He wished now that he had taken the gun. Bonnie would never use it. She didn’t have it in her.
He moved away from the bench, deeper into the darkness. His shoes scuffed on gravel, then became silent again on grass.
He could hardly see in front of his nose. In the adjacent street, through the park, the lights were still burned out, and darkness reigned.
He walked another ten or fifteen yards then stopped and dropped to his knees. If he could not see, then neither could he be seen. But in this case, that worked much better for the hunted than the hunter.
“You fucker,” Shep muttered.
Five feet in front of him darkness swirled and something moved. He heard a grunt.
Shep launched himself, reaching out with his hands. His fingers caught on fabric, but slipped free. In stray light from the street, he now caught glimpses of his prey.
He lunged to his feet and ran.
“Stop! Or I’ll blow your frigging head off.”
Whoever it was, didn’t believe him, but kept running. Branches slashed at Shep’s face, and he cursed. Then he was crashing through the hanging chains of swings, tripping over the edges of a sandbox.
Inches ahead, something white fluttered. Shep lunged forward, and this time his fingers made purchase on a nylon coat.
“Got you!”
He dragged his quarry down, and began pounding into the darkness. His fists connected with flesh and bone, but no sounds of pain
emerged.
Something smacked into his nose. Stars exploded inside his head. The quarry was loose again.
Shep shook off the lucky punch, scrambled to his feet, and ran again. Ten feet ahead, a running shape emerged into light. A young man. Late teens, Shep guessed. Ruffled, bleeding, and limping. Just a goddamned kid!
He caught up in six strides and threw the kid to the ground.
“Hold it right there, or I’ll kill you,” he said through gasps for breath.
The kid scrambled away.
“Oh, you stupid …”
Shep had had enough. He dragged the kid to his feet and punched him square in the face. Again. Again. Tearing flesh, breaking teeth. Blood flew. But the eyes in the battered face showed no fear. In fact, they seemed to regard Shep with disdain.
Anger of such intensity that Shep could hardly believe it sliced through him. This freak, this animal, this inhuman piece of shit, was laughing at him. Laughing!
With a cry of frustration and anger he stabbed his index finger into the kid’s swollen left eye with such force that the eye membrane tore. Hot liquid splattered Shep’s hand.
In his grip, the kid went slack and fell to the ground.
“You bastard,” Shep muttered, regaining his breath.
He brushed himself off, wiping his gory hands on the grass.
Behind him, in the darkness, a siren tore through the night.
“Oh, shit.”
The man on the ground stirred. A decoy. Shep kicked him in the face and heard bone crunch. He had been tricked. Again.
He turned and ran back into the darkness.
The front door splintered and burst open as Bonnie slapped at the hall light, trying to put it off. And suddenly there were two men standing in the vestibule staring at her. One was an older man, wearing a plaid shirt and blue jeans. He held out his hands in a placating gesture.
“Let me talk to you,” he said.
Bonnie pushed Evan behind her.
“Mom,” Evan said softly. “Mom.”
“It’s okay, sweetie, it’s okay, I promise, it’ll be okay.”
She raised the gun and pointed it.
“Get out, or I’ll shoot.”
“Please,” the older man said.
The younger man, who was wearing a dress shirt and slacks at least ten years out of style, kept his eye on the gun.
They stepped toward her together. Bonnie squeezed the trigger. Flame leaped from the barrel of the gun and the wall behind the two men ruptured with an explosion of plaster.
“I mean it! I’ll shoot! I won’t miss again!”
Bonnie stepped backward, pushing Evan. The boy was hugging tightly to her leg, impeding her.
“Evan, please,” she hissed. “Go into the bathroom. Lock the door.”
The two men moved toward her again. Bonnie squeezed off another shot. This time she scored a hit. The young man on the right grunted and fell to the floor, blood spurting from a ragged tear in his neck. Bonnie fought off faintness.
“I told you! Now get back!”
The older man stopped advancing. Behind him, in the doorway, another shape appeared. Then another. She could not tell whether they were male or female. The siren continued to shriek, and Bonnie’s head throbbed at the sound. She felt dizzy, and sick, and terrified.
The gun was trembling in her hand.
“Get away! Get away!”
Evan had let go of her leg, and he called to her.
“Mom! Mom! Come into the bathroom!”
Bonnie did not turn around. With the gun held out in front of her she stepped backward. The older man lunged at her, and she fired another shot. He grunted and tripped, blood pouring from his side, but did not fall. Instead, he stumbled closer.
Bonnie screamed and fired another shot. She heard glass shatter, and suddenly the house pulsed with light.
The lamp stands in the living room made two loud pops, and she could see nothing but glare. Shapes swam in the brilliant light.
“Mom!”
She fired another shot. Another.
More glass breaking. More light.
She raised a hand to cover her eyes.
“Mom!”
And then Evan screamed. A high wail of terror and pain.
“Evan!”
Bonnie turned. The bathroom door was open. Half blinded, she saw a dark shape, suddenly visible in a strip of blue light, disappearing through the broken glass of the bathroom window.
“Evan!”
Something hit her head. Something hard. The world collapsed to a pinpoint of light, flickered, then went out.
Chapter Sixteen
“Why didn’t you call the police?”
Peterson was disheveled, as if he’d been dragged out of bed. His butt was perched on the end of the coffee table, ready to slide to the floor. Bonnie, leaning into a corner of the sofa, felt no sympathy. She rubbed her temples, trying to relieve the pressure behind her eyes. The pain made her feel nauseated.
“Would you have come?”
“Of course.”
“That’s bullshit, Lieutenant, if you don’t mind my butting in,” Shep Thomas said.
Peterson turned to Shep with a look of distaste.
“I do mind. I’ll get to you in a minute.”
“It was only a noise,” Bonnie said. “We weren’t sure it was anything. You wouldn’t have come.”
“You should have called when you saw your ex-husband. You should have called then. We’ve been looking for him, you know that.”
“But you wouldn’t have done anything!”
Peterson shook his head, turned away, and rubbed his eyes. Two crime-scene technicians were working at the front door, taking pictures of the damage, presumably looking for fingerprints or other clues. In the hallway to the bedrooms, two other technicians, one a young woman, were photographing bloodstains on the floor and taking samples. The house was bright and noisy.
“Tell me again, from the point that Mr. Thomas left you alone in the house.” He turned to Shep as he said that.
“Well, for one thing, I made him leave the house to check it out.”
“From that point on.”
Bonnie told him, plucking the details from the fog of her headache. When she finished, she massaged her temples.
“Couldn’t have hurt them too badly,” Peterson said. “No bodies.”
“I know I hit one in the throat, and the other in the stomach. I saw them bleed.”
Peterson looked down at his hands.
“About the gun. Where did you get it?”
“It’s mine,” Shep said.
“I’m not talking to you.”
Bonnie shivered and hugged herself, confused and upset by the animosity between Shep and Peterson. “Shep gave it to me.”
Peterson regarded her carefully, and she did not like the look in his eyes.
“Did he give it to you and tell you to use it if you had to?”
Bonnie, who had been looking down at her lap, now looked up. Shep was studying the floor. Peterson was looking at her waiting. There was some kind of technicality being discussed here, and she had no idea what it was.
“He just left it here. It was on the fridge. I was scared, so I picked it up.” She blushed at the lie.
Shep looked up at her, and nodded almost imperceptibly. Peterson took a deep breath. He turned to Shep.
“You’ve got a permit to carry it, I suppose?”
“In my wallet.”
“I’ll need to see it.”
“Sure.”
“I don’t understand why you’re treating Shep like the criminal around here. He’s not the one who took Evan. He was trying to help me, which is more than I can say for you.”
“That’s not fair. I’ve been working hard on this case, looking for your husband.”
“But you wouldn’t believe me about this group, this cult, whatever they are! And now my son is gone!”
Her vision blurred again and she dropped her head
“We’ll
get him back.”
“He’s just a little boy, do you understand? He’s only eight years old. He was frightened of these people, and now they’ve got him. They want to hurt him. I don’t even know what kind of things they want to do to him.”
“Miss Laine, please. We’ll find these people, and we’ll get your son back.”
Two uniformed officers came through the front door, spotted Peterson, and came over.
“He was right, Lieutenant,” one said, nodding at Shep. “There are signs of a struggle in the park.”
“Okay.” Peterson turned to Shep. “Looks like you’ve done more harm than good.”
“At least I was doing something.”
Peterson’s jaw stiffened. To Bonnie, he said, “I told you that you’d end up paying him.”
“He hasn’t asked for a penny. Not one.”
“I was thinking of a different kind of price,” Peterson said.
Bonnie could hold it no longer. She lowered her head and broke into tears. She could only think of Evan, his small frightened voice. “Don’t let them get me!” The only thing he had ever asked of her, and she hadn’t been able to deliver.
Shep followed Peterson out to the front steps. The cop leaned against the outside wall and took a deep breath. Shep moved aside as a crime-scene technician carrying a handful of sample bags bustled into the house. Half an hour ago the street had been silent. That silence had been shattered, and now lights were on all along the block. Faces appeared at windows, staring out with morbid curiosity. A youngish couple across the street were sitting on their front step in pajamas, sipping beers. Shep could see uniformed officers going from house to house, asking questions. Television crews were being controlled by a slew of other officers. Peterson and Bonnie had decided to lowball the story for the media. Abduction of child by estranged spouse. Not unusual.
“Let me see your permit,” Peterson said.
Shep dug out his wallet and found the permit.
“I’m going to need a copy of this.”
“Why?”
“The gun was discharged. There’s going to have to be a report.”
“I’ll make a copy and get it to you.”
“Maybe I’ll just hold onto it.”
Nightscape Page 15
