part0058

Blake Redmond gazed at the world on the other side of the door. It was as dismal as the world he’d just stepped out of. A long hallway with dark walls and darker floors went on forever. Three doorways were carved out of the left side of the wall, two on the right wall. At the end of the narrow hallway, another door beckoned him. His freedom lay beyond one of these six doors. And behind any of them could lurk The Big Man in Dark Sunglasses.

He stood there for a long time. Staring at the six doors. At the dark walls, stained with something that looked like ketchup. Or blood. At the black wood floors that may as well be a pit of lava. Because Blake knew he wasn’t going to take one step forward.

There would be no welcome-back celebration at school. No kids cheering his escape from The Big Man in Dark Sunglasses. But there’d be plenty more kicks in the butt, books flying across the corridor. And that white line on the shiny gym floor with only one pair of sneakers left standing on it.

Blake backed up and quietly closed the door, retreating to the safety of his prison. To a room that had no white lines on its floor.

Halfway up the hill, Ben realized it wasn’t the cakewalk he’d sized it up to be. The road was at the top, he was sure of it. His toes tingled. He’d watched enough of The Discovery Channel to know what frostbite was. And what it could do to you. Maybe he could go back and try again tomorrow. No. There was no tomorrow. Even if he went back, he’d never be able to go back in the way he’d gone out. This was the only way. He grabbed at a tree root protruding conveniently from the slope and pulled himself higher up the hill.

He wondered if Anna missed him. Hell, he never thought the day would come when he’d miss her. But right now, there was nothing he wanted more than to be right smack dab in the middle of one of her tantrums. If he got out of this mess alive, cross his heart and hope to die, he was going to be a better big brother to her.

It was always something. A business trip. A book tour. Or another stupid book to write. He knew Mom wasn’t happy. Hadn’t been for a long time. He’d heard the late-night sobbing coming from the bedroom. And the fights. Mom was always saying, “Keep it down or the kids will hear you.” If only she knew the kids were standing right there on the other side of that locked door.

Maybe this whole thing would bring them back together. He’d heard about these kinds of situations bringing families closer to one another. What if he didn’t make it out of here? What was already bad between his parents would only get worse. And God help Anna then.

Another jutting branch reached out to him, as if it knew a kid in a soccer uniform would one day need to climb his way up from hell. Almost to the top now. His uncleated feet slipped and, if not for his friend the jutting branch, he’d be crumpled in a heap thirty feet down. The branch was strong. He held on tight with his right arm, grasped for the top with his left. His hand patted a flat surface. He’d made it.

Swinging from branches was Ben’s specialty. He and Donnie Myers used to see how many trees they could swing to. Ben still held the record (seven), even if it meant half a dozen trips to the emergency room and a couple of weeks in various casts or slings.

He used what strength he had and launched his body upward. His first two attempts failed. The third almost did him in. On the fourth, he landed hard. On pavement. Back from hell.

Bud stopped. The footprints ended where he stood, as if a giant hawk had swooped down and snatched the kid up from this very spot. Was the kid covering his tracks? No, he’d be too damn cold to bother. What, then? A gust of wind slapped him in the face. Swirls of white dust danced around his feet. Damn. There was no giant hawk, no kid. Just good old Mother Nature making his life more miserable than it already was.

He surveyed the area with his flashlight. Almost-impossible-to-penetrate thicket to his right. A steep incline to the left. Using the light as eyes, he studied the slope. It’d be tough for the kid to negotiate. He turned away from the slope, started back. His brain grabbed hold of his ears, turned his head back to the slope. He shined the light on it once more. This time he saw it clear as day. A disturbance in the perfect landscape of snow.

Ben moved slowly down the highway. His feet screamed with every step, his body trembled uncontrollably. Where were all the cars? Maybe it was the middle of the night. Still, even an occasional trucker or cop was sure to pass by. He had to keep moving. To get as far away as he could. To keep from freezing to death.

Bud struggled up the final feet of the incline. He hefted himself onto the roadway. Splayed out, legs jelly, heart ricocheting off his ribs. If a semi came barreling down the road right now, he’d just let it roll right over him. If he ever decided to go the kidnapping route again, he’d sure as hell get his ass in shape first.

His heart nestled back into its cavity. He propped himself up on one elbow. Snow danced around his face like those annoying little gnats that used to reside on the porch of the halfway house he’d called home for close to a decade. He squinted, focused on the line running down the sleet-slick, moon-bathed highway.

The kid staggered along the white line. The way his body jerked and dragged itself, catching him would be easier than catching a social disease from Lynette. A flicker of light beyond the kid.

Just like the ones Ben had seen before. Only these were a lot closer. Ben tried to run. His right leg wouldn’t cooperate. He waved his arms. The headlights were close. But not close enough to see him.

His face hit the icy road hard, ruining the orthodontic work Doctor Samuels had been so proud of. His shoulder was on fire. A swarm of bees swam in his head. He was moving backward, his face sliding through the slush-ice that blanketed the roadway. The headlights swept across the ground before him, highlighted the streak of red his shattered mouth left in its wake. The car whizzed by, spit chunks of ice at his face. So close he could’ve reached out and touched the tread on the tires.

He felt the vises grip tighter around his ankles, and he knew it was the hulk with the leathery face from those old spaghetti westerns. His face bumped over something hard and sharp. He watched the car’s taillights fade until they were gone. Gone. Like any hope he had of escaping again.