“Just you?” Now Luke looks at the boy.
“No, me and my sister.”
“Go away.”
“We’re gonna get you out,” Lucy says, stepping closer to Luke. Reluctantly, Charley moves up alongside her.
“Forget it. You can’t do it alone. Where are your friends?”
“We didn’t tell them; Larry won’t let us help you. He said we should let you die because everyone thinks you already drowned.”
“Is that what you think?”
Both children shake their heads.
“That why you came here?”
Charley shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess.”
“So what happens when Larry finds out?”
A shadow of worry crosses Charley’s face. Lucy’s expression is only anger.
“I hate Larry,” she says.
It’s hard for Luke not to hate the whole bunch of them. But he forces himself to find some kindness, some forgiveness for these two. He tries to see them for what they are: little kids. Except for the color of their hair, he hasn’t noticed what they look like. Now he sees all the details—even their freckles. Their faces are sweet and very young. Despite his hopelessness, Luke is touched that they came back all on their own. It takes courage to go up against Larry.
“It’s brave what you’re doing. I appreciate it.”
The compliment is a surprise, and they smile at him. It’s the first time he’s made honest contact with any of the children.
Help has come at last, too late and too little. But despite his acute frustration with their childishness, Luke tries to remain calm and patient. Finally, he is the adult.
“I appreciate it, I do, but it’s no good,” he says. “You two can’t lift this cement alone.”
“Should we go get help?” Charley asks.
Luke doesn’t bother answering. He knows Charley is too afraid of Larry. It’s just an excuse to get away.
Then Lucy voices the thought for him. “Charley and me are afraid of Larry,” she says.
“Am not.” Charley’s instant response is to defend his honor, but inside he knows she’s right. He’s surprised to hear that she’s scared too. Like Larry, he was never sure she was.
Luke feels sorry for the kids. He remembers his own childhood bully; there’s no way out of that fear except growing up. But how do you tell a kid to wait two years? Still, he tries to assuage their shame and fear, and even trying makes him feel better than he’s felt in a long time.
“Sure you’re scared,” he says. “Who wouldn’t be afraid of a bully twice your size? I remember a kid like Larry from when I was little … He made my life miserable. Years later, in my last year of high school, when I was full grown, I saw him again at a supermarket. He was a delivery boy, this sad, fat guy, and everyone was telling him what to do, even the girls at the cash register. It’s a short life, being a kid bully.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Charley. Just keep getting smarter, and you’ll find ways to keep away from him. Look at your sister. He can’t push her around and he knows it. You’ve got something, Lucy. Don’t lose it.”
The children stare at Luke in amazement, seeing him for the first time as a real person.
Even Luke sees the difference. Feels the difference.
And then Charley thinks, what if their father got trapped like Luke and nobody helped him?
“Mister?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry,” Charley says.
And then Lucy says, “Me too.”
“It was wrong what you kids did, but maybe I was wrong too.”
“You didn’t do anything bad,” Lucy says.
“That’s what I always tell myself—nothing really bad. But nothing really good either, and a lot of wrong. Too much wrong.”
That’s when the children look down then quickly step back.
“What?”
“Water,” Charley says. “Look, like a little river.”
“Is it raining?” Concern is back in Luke’s voice.
Lucy moves to the entrance of the sewer. “Uh-uh, no,” she says. “It’s not raining.”
“Oh shit!” This contact with the children has revitalized Luke enough for him to feel alarm. “It has to be raining someplace.”
Just at that moment, thunder cracks and a heavy downpour begins. Almost instantly, the trickle of water widens to a stream, and Luke feels it bubbling up the side of his body.
“Oh God, help me, please!”
The children are horrified, instantly understanding the threat.
“Get on the other side, Luce,” Charley yells, grabbing one end of the beam that runs the length of Luke’s body. Lucy splashes through the rushing water to the other end, but her fingers aren’t long enough to reach around. She tries to get underneath the board and shove it up with her shoulders, but it doesn’t move no matter how hard she pushes. Even together the children don’t have the strength to move the wood. They try to shove the cement away, but it won’t budge either.
With all the fight that his newfound will to survive brings, Luke struggles to force his trapped body up against the debris. Nothing moves except the water, which keeps rising and surging.
Down on their hands and knees, the children dig and rip at the sand like frantic puppies, trying to divert the water away from Luke. The current is too strong; their channel overflows instantly. One fast torrent seizes Lucy and thrashes her against the wall of the sewer. She screams, and Charley fights through the deluge to grab her and drag her over to Luke.
They try to pull Luke by his free arm but nothing helps. Both children are crying with terror, but they don’t give up.
The water mounts quickly. Now Luke can see a possible escape: if the water gets high enough to buoy the debris, the beam will be light enough for the children to move it.
No. If the water gets that deep it will be over Lucy’s head. She’s so small and weighs so little. She’ll be washed away.
A powerful wave of determination obliterates Luke’s terror, the determination not to be wrong again. He’s going to die, goddamn it, he’s going to die, but he’s going to save these children.
“Get out of here!” he shouts. “Go! Now!”
They’re too frightened and confused to move.
“Get away!” Luke shouts. “Go! Get the hell out of here!”
But they’re crazed beyond sanity with the idea that they have to help free Luke. To break the spell, Luke grabs Charley by the throat and squeezes tightly, hurting him into reality.
“I’ll kill you if you don’t leave! Get her out of here!”
Terrified and sobbing, Charley pulls Lucy up. Dragging his sister’s arm, he staggers off through the deep, rushing water into the relative safety of the storm. Outside he slips and falls; Lucy helps him up and he brushes himself off, hard. Harder than he has to.
“We’re gonna get Daisy, and if we can’t find her, we’re gonna go to the police,” he shouts.
“Okay,” Lucy says.
CHAPTER FORTY
As the water reaches Luke’s face, mercifully, it falls. Not all the way, just down to his shoulders. This time the cushion stays under his head. Exhausted from terror, he rests back—
And sees Larry standing above him, pointing a gun at his head.
Luke knows instantly it’s not a toy. The kid is a fucking psychopath.
“What are you doing?” he asks. His tone is quiet, almost hopeless.
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m gonna shoot you.”
“You’re crazy.”
“You don’t have to be crazy to shoot somebody. Especially you. Nobody will care. My dad says that’s why we have such big taxes, to pay for homeless bums like you. Besides, I told ya, everyone thinks you drowned anyway.”
“Not the twins; they don’t.”
“So what? They’re not gonna tell anyone if I say not to.”
“Maybe not them, but what about Charley and Lucy?”
“They won’t either.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sure. Ya know why?”
“Why, big shot?”
“’Cause I’m gonna kill them.”
“Oh Jesus …”
“Lucy first. I don’t know about Charley. There are other people I want to shoot more.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The Fourth of July picnic. Everybody in Shorelane goes. All I have to do is point and shoot. I’ll hit ten people with one shot. It’s that crowded.” Larry smiles. “I can’t miss.”
“Listen to me, Larry. You don’t have to kill anybody. If I get out of here, I’m not going to say anything to anyone. I swear.”
“No, see, I wanna shoot you.”
“’Cause you think I’m not telling you the truth. You think I’m going to go to the police. Hey, I understand. I wasn’t always honest with you, but that was before. I don’t feel the same way anymore. If I say I’m not telling, I’m not telling. You can have a whole new fresh chance.”
Larry considers the offer and decides against it. “Uh-uh. I’m gonna shoot you.”
“Why?”
“I got my own reasons.”
“No matter what it feels like this minute, I swear to you, no reason you have is good enough to kill someone. Do you have any idea what murder is? In an instant, someone’s life is gone. A whole family ruined, theirs, yours, all these people destroyed forever. Maybe you’re too young to understand forever.”
“So what does that make me? A fuckin’ moron?”
“Larry, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that to you. You’re just a kid. I was desperate.”
“A lot of people think I’m stupid, but they’re all gonna be surprised. Real surprised. When you got a gun, nobody calls ya fatso or dummy or fuckin’ moron.”
“Yeah, maybe not when you’re holding it to their heads. But you’re wrong about people saying lousy things. Those people are always around. Nothing they’d like better than to ruin your life. Don’t let them. It isn’t worth the payback.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Larry. You’re just a kid. What are you? Twelve? You’ve got a whole life ahead of you. I’ll be honest: I can’t like you very much. You were rotten to me, but I don’t want you to die. God, in a couple of years it’s all going to be so different.”
“What do you know?”
“I don’t know much. I wouldn’t fuckin’ be here if I did, but I do know that this is wrong. Okay, maybe people push you around, but you push Charley and those other kids around too. That’s what happens to guys when they’re young. It’s bad, but you don’t go killing anybody.”
“Shut up.”
“Why should I? You’re going to kill me. I might as well say what I want.”
Luke means it. He’s trapped under a hundred and fifty pounds of cement and unmovable wooden beams, water creeping up to drown him, a fuckin’ moron kid has a gun to his head, and he feels good.
Like a man of substance. Finally.
Look, Ma. I did get someplace.
“What’s so funny?” Larry sees Luke’s smile. “You think I won’t shoot you?”
“Just don’t hurt Lucy.”
The rain has picked up, sending a new surge of water into the sewer. It laps at Luke’s chin. He raises his head, extending his neck like a seagull in water.
“Maybe I won’t shoot you,” Larry says, toying with the gun in his hand. “Maybe I’ll just let you drown. Save my bullets for extra people. Lucy.”
“Please, Larry, she’s just a little girl. Don’t hurt her.” Luke strains to turn his head, but he can no longer see Larry. Water splashes in his face, blinding him; when he opens his eyes, the sewer is empty.
“Larry!” he shouts. “Don’t do it!”
The rushing water picks up one of the tools the children left behind and rides it up against Luke’s body, whacking his chin and scraping across his cheek as it whips past him on the fast-moving current. He can feel debris accumulating under his feet and pieces of it knocking against his legs as the water picks up an undertow power. With each new wave, the four-by-eight beam that runs the length of his body lifts slightly for an instant and then comes down again.
He can’t drown. He has to get out. He has to stop Larry!
But there’s no way. He’s locked in the sand. Even though the water level stays below his face, the swells splash over him, taking his breath away every time he starts to get it back. The agony of knowing that only he can save Lucy pulls at Luke’s heart. Every inch of him screams out for the chance to save her, and the battle against powerlessness and death becomes so fierce that it begins to twist his trapped body into small movements.
Though the rush of water lifts the timbers only millimeters, each time it does Luke’s body swells with the strength of resolution. Combined with the advantage of the current, his sand coffin spreads deeper and wider. In a moment, he’s able to arch his back, allowing the water to seep under, giving him a small leeway he didn’t have before. A thin branch of hope sends life to his limbs; blood and life force combine with the rush of water until Luke can wiggle one leg out from under the cement slab.
One leg free!
It takes all Luke’s concentrated power to lift the limb that has atrophied into weakness after four days of movement limited to wiggling his toes. On will alone, he forces his leg up through the water, high enough to kick into the air. High enough for Luke to see his own foot for the first time in four days.
He can do it!
He must do it.
If the water were to rise just a little higher, three inches maybe, the level would be below his face but deep enough to float the wood. That’s all Luke needs to scramble out from under.
If survival is the most extreme life force in nature, survival driven by the mad desire to save another life doubles its might. Luke knows he must survive or Lucy is dead. Until now, Luke has managed to avoid almost all responsibility, save those three special weeks as a kid with Spotty, the homeless dog. He did that perfectly, happily, but other demands would have been treated lackadaisically, taking the shortest cuts, often foolishly. This is the most powerful motivation he has ever had. Paradoxically, he’s never felt such physical power as he feels at this very moment, trapped as he is beneath this immovable weight. For the first time in his twenty-
two years, Luke may be close to understanding commitment. Perhaps, his hobbledehoyhood is truly over.
To capture a moment’s respite from the pain of his precarious position, he takes a deep breath, holds it, and allows his head to rest back on the water until he must breathe again.
Still, the water doesn’t mount high enough to move the beam. Minutes pass and Luke lies there, exhausted and weakening. He cannot hold this position much longer. Unless he can free himself soon, he will drown.
And then he hears the deluge, torrential rain pounding at the entrance to the sewer. Within seconds, a roaring torrent of water with the power of a fire hose slams into his legs, lifting first the beam, then the cement, then his whole body in its speeding torrent.
He’s free!
But he’s exchanged one cruel master for another. The rushing water speeds him helplessly along its course, powerful enough to drown him or carry him into the bay. He’s just another piece of debris riding the powerful chaos. Lost in the rush, there’s still time for jubilance, foolish or not. He’s going to make it! He’s going to save that little girl!
And then something huge and dark, the freed four-by-eight, whacks into the side of his skull, right at eye level, snapping his head back. Colored lights explode in lines and circles across his field of vision.
The beam slams him again.
And the lights go black.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
The rain let up briefly, but now it’s coming down in sheets. Charley, with Lucy squeezed onto the bar between the seat and the handlebars, peddles with all his strength toward Daisy’s house.
They ride through puddles so deep that wings of water cascade into the air on either side of the bike. Charley doesn’t slow down. He has to get to Daisy or Luke is going to drown. He saw how fast the water could turn into a dangerous river; he watched it pick up his sister and throw her against the wall. Pinned the way Luke was, Charley knew there was nothing he could do to free him.
At Daisy’s, Charley skids to a stop; Lucy slides down and he lets the bike fall. The two children speed up the front steps onto the porch, and Charley leans on the doorbell until Mrs. McDonnell appears.
“My goodness,” Mrs. McDonnell says. “Daisy’s friends. It’s so nice to see you again.”
“Could we see Daisy, please?” Charley asks.
“But you’re soaking wet. What are you doing out in such rain?”
“Please, ma’am, we have to talk to Daisy.”
“First thing you have to do is come inside. It’s just too nasty out there.”
“Please, ma’am.” Lucy is close to tears. “We need Daisy right away.”
The naturally loquacious and hopelessly friendly Mrs. McDonnell sees the children’s urgency and puts aside her desire for conversation to go find Daisy.
“We’ll just say that man got caught in the sewer and he asked us to get her,” Charley whispers to Lucy.
Lucy agrees, and when Daisy comes down the stairs that’s just what Charley says—except he adds that the sewer was on the beach where Daisy had been the other night.
The children watch Daisy’s face go white. “He’s alive?”
They nod. Daisy begins to cry.
“Oh, thank God! Thank God he’s not dead!”
Charley and Lucy back away, overwhelmed by her reaction. Even Mrs. McDonnell is surprised. As a tenant, Daisy has always been polite and quiet; she certainly never showed even a hint of this sort of emotion. Completely confused, Mrs. McDonnell asks the children if they were talking about a relative, and they both shrug.
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