Upon awakening, the little boy’s movements were slow, sluggish. At first he was unaware of the softness nestled close to his chest. But when he came fully awake, he wanted to howl with glee at the comforting feel of his little dog.
“Duffy!” he cried. “How did you find me? Where did you come from? Where’s Aunt Lorrie? Good girl, you can lick my face all you want,” Davey laughed happily. “I’m so glad to see you!”
He put his arms around his dog and hugged her, then suddenly remembered why he was hiding under the carousel. “We have to be quiet, Duff. You can’t bark and don’t run away this time. It’s good you’re here, Duff. I don’t know my way back to camp and you can show me the way. Boy, is everybody going to be surprised when we come back together. Just you and me, Duff. We’re a team, just like Mom and Dad. I only wish Mr. Sanders was with you—he’d know what to do. But he’s in Florida with Mom and Dad.”
It was good talking to Duffy. Davey felt reassured that soon he would be safe at home. “You’re all wet,” he noticed suddenly, “and so am I.” But Duffy’s companionship relieved some of his hunger and weariness—as long as Duffy was with him, he could talk to her and it would make the hike back to camp easier.
Brows puckered, he decided it must be very late. “We’ll just have to wake Aunt Lorrie up, right, Duff?” He smiled to himself in the darkness, visualizing the expression on his aunt’s face when he opened the door of the RV. Duffy whined low in her throat and continued with her furious licking.
“You’re tickling me, Duff! We’ve got to get out of here. Do you think you can find your way in the dark?” Davey grunted the question from the effort of inching out from under the carousel. He shivered in his wet clothes. Now that he was exposed to the wind, he could feel the cold all the way down to his stockinged foot.
“Be quiet, Duff, real quiet. I don’t know where that man is now but I know he’s here somewhere, waiting to catch me. I’m going to be right behind you. If he catches us this time, he’s going to kill us both. I don’t want to be dead, and I don’t want you to be dead, so don’t bark,” he cautioned in a firm voice. Duffy trotted off with Davey following close behind.
The rain was coming down steadily and Davey was cold. Duffy must be cold too. The pavement dipped—Duffy growled but it was too late. Davey’s foot slipped and he found himself in water up to his chin. He thrashed about wildly as he struggled to reach higher ground. The rain continued to beat down in steady driving torrents. Carefully, not allowing himself to panic, he trod water till he was at the edge of the little pond. He groped for a handhold, only to find himself slipping back into the water. Duffy stood sentinel, barking loudly to offer encouragement. Her stubby tail swished furiously against her haunches as she crept up to the edge then backed off.
“It’s no use, Duff,” Davey called out. “I can’t get out of here—there’s nothing to hold on to. I need someone to pull me out. Quiet Duff, stop barking and go get Aunt Lorrie. Go on, girl, go get her. I’m not going to drown. I know how to float on my back. Go on, girl. Go!” Purposely, with all his might, he forced his voice to be like his mother’s when she gave an order. “It’s the best thing for me, Duff. Go get Aunt Lorrie.”
Davey watched Duffy run away and hoped she’d understood him. He rolled over in the water. It was better lying on his back than playing dead-man’s float. He never wanted to play that game again, not now that he knew what being dead meant. Blackness engulfed him, closing off the world. He could feel fear closing in too, choking off his air. He stiffened, feeling himself going under, the weight of his clothing dragging him down. Tentatively, he straightened his legs, the one shoeless little foot stabbing out a speculative toe to touch bottom. There it was, not very far down, but it felt slick and slimy, unpleasant. Yet, by standing on tiptoe, his head and face were out of the water.
He could feel the tears pricking at his eyelids, but then he imagined what Mom would say at a time like this. “David, crying solves nothing. You must use your brain and think. Tears are a sign of immaturity. You must reserve your tears for important things, such as grieving and weddings.” He wasn’t exactly sure what grieving was, and he only had a vague idea about weddings, but what he did know was that Mom wouldn’t consider that the position he was in called for tears. He swallowed hard and wished for a light so he could see how big the pond was and find a way out. He had a light! Mr. Sanders had given him the penlight and it was still in the zippered pocket of his sleeve. He would have to unzip his jacket and take it off, or at least get his arm free of the clingy, nylon windbreaker.
Experimentally, he shifted his arm, trying to take it out of the sleeve, working at the zipper and sleeve under water. He had to balance himself on his toes so he didn’t go under. He yanked at the zipper and managed to get it down halfway, and then it stuck. His toes gave out and he slipped beneath the water. Gagging and spluttering, he rose to the surface and flailed out with his arms. His teeth began to chatter and he had to control them, because the more noise his teeth made the colder he felt. Flopping over on his back, the way he’d been taught, he let the rain drizzle down on him. It reminded him of a waterfall he had seen in one of his picture books. He wasn’t afraid of the rain or the water. He just had to think of a safe way to get out of the pond.
He was concentrating on testing the bottom with his foot to find a shallow place to get a foothold, when he heard a muffled curse. A dim circle of light played near him. Cudge! If he went under the water, he could only stay under until he counted to four. He would make noise coming to the top and then he would have to take deep breaths. Cudge would be sure to hear him.
When the light reached the edge of the little pond, Davey could make out the big man’s work boots and wet trouser legs.
“You’re really a pain in the ass, kid. You made me tramp this goddamn place in the rain for hours. I thought you might have gotten away while I went back to the truck to get the flashlight. Guess I was wrong. Get over here and I’ll pull you out. C’mon, over to the edge. Move it!”
Davey hesitated. To put himself into the hands of the man was unthinkable.
“Better do what I say, kid. I got your dog. I’ll hold her under the water and finish her off real fast. Move it!”
He’d got Duffy?
“You hear me, kid? Get your ass over here so’s I can grab you. You want to see your dog drown?”
He had got Duffy! Davey obeyed unwillingly. Maybe it was better to be out of the water. Maybe he could get away from him again. As long as he didn’t hurt Duffy. Please don’t let him hurt Duffy!
The little dog snapped and snarled as Cudge reached down to lift Davey out of the pond. He hauled him out effortlessly. “I thought I heard this mutt of yours. Even the rain couldn’t muffle her barking.” He set Duffy down on the ground and immediately she attacked his leg. “Call her off, kid, or I’ll kick her from here to kingdom come.”
“Duffy! Duffy—down girl. Down!” The dog sat back on her haunches and tilted her head, deep growls rolling in her throat.
“Pick her up!” the man ordered. “Pick her up and carry her. I got someone I want you to meet. As a matter of fact, he’s dying to meet the both of you.”
“My aunt is going to find me,” Davey said, feeling his lower lip quiver. “She’s going to come and get me and take me away from you. And Duffy, too!”
“Well, ain’t your aunt gonna be surprised when she gets here and you’re not. C’mon, walk! My friend is waiting.”
Davey knew he didn’t want to meet anyone this man knew. Still, he couldn’t resist asking “Who?” in the hope that it might be Brenda. Maybe he was wrong and Brenda was okay; maybe the man hadn’t hurt her.
“The sign says his name is Samson. A real live lion, like in the jungle. The kind that eats kids like you and doesn’t even burp. Now shut up and walk!”
Lorrie and Sanders came to a standstill in front of the Space Port. When the park was open it would be packed with kids plunking their quarters into video games like Space Invaders and Indy 500. Now it was deathly silent.
“He’s here,” Sanders said bitterly, “I know it!”
“What now?” Lorrie asked, despair in her voice.
“I’m going to call in to see where our backups are. And I want my section chief to get in touch with somebody to organize turning on all the goddamned lights in this park. Even if Davey’s not in the park, but somewhere nearby, the lights should attract him.”
“Good idea. But wouldn’t the storm have knocked the power out?”
Sanders’s face fell. “Well, it’s worth a try. Anyway, it’s time to call in.” He walked over to the closest building and sheltered under its eaves.
Lorrie waited nearby, her nerves shattered. As soon as Sanders had finished the call, she was at his side. “Well?”
“They’re on their way.”
“And the lights?”
“I don’t know. They’re going to try, maybe use the generator.”
“Let’s go back down the main concourse,” Lorrie suggested. Even though she was exhausted she just couldn’t give up.
“Right,” Sanders said grimly. It was worth another try.
They walked side by side, their flashlights fanning the ground, searching for clues that might lead them to Davey. Each kept their thoughts to themselves. It was beginning to look as though they were on the wrong track. Every lead was cold.
“Hey, watch out,” Sanders cautioned. “What’s that?” His light sought out the shiny object that had reflected the beam back at him. “There!”
Lorrie’s eyes followed the beam of light. The disc was silver, shining and new. A quarter. She picked it up, holding it for Sanders to see, her manner almost reverent.
“Hot damn!” Sanders slapped his thigh. “That’s one of the quarters I gave Davey. I know it is because of the nail polish on the edge!”
Suddenly their steps were lighter and their gloom lifted. “Davey!” Lorrie called, loud and clear, the rain drizzling into her mouth unnoticed. “Davey!”
Strong fingers reached out and yanked at his collar, pulling him backward so violently that he almost lost his hold on Duffy. Davey hadn’t realized how heavy the little dog was until he’d had to carry her for so long. They had left the main amusement park behind now and were circling the far side of the parking lot, heading for the trees again. The rain had almost stopped and the wind had died down. The air was cold and Davey was colder. His one shoe squished with each step he took, and he could feel a blister growing on the bottom of his foot.
They came to a cyclone fence like the one at the parking lot, only this one was higher and had spiked wire strung along the top. Davey could hardly see the top, even when Cudge held the flashlight high. Duffy was nosing into his neck and sometimes he could feel her shiver. She was cold too. He wrapped his arms protectively around her, warming her, trying to keep her from Cudge’s notice. Somehow the responsibility of looking after Duffy gave Davey the courage to go on.
Cudge was searching for something. He kept lifting the flashlight, scanning the fence, then looking off into the distance. Eventually, Cudge prodded Davey on again, leading him across the field toward the next stand of trees. The grass was short and the ground was soft and muddy. Several times, Davey almost fell, his knee refusing to support him. But he thought of Duffy and what Cudge might do to her, and he kept pushing forward.
After what seemed to Davey like forever but was only a short while later, Cudge reached out and yanked on his shoulder. “This is as far as we go. We’re gonna sit down over here, right where you can see the lion and he can see you. Bet you thought lions slept at night, didn’t you? Well, they don’t, especially not this one. He’s got his old lady in there and some cubs. He stays up all night to watch over them and protect them. He don’t want no wiseass kid coming near that fence to upset things. Know what I mean?” Cudge snorted. “You ain’t even gonna make a good bite for that big guy. He’s gonna chew you to pieces in one gulp.”
“Are you going to kill me?” Davey asked fearfully.
“Yeah. Well, no. It’s gonna be my fault but that there lion is the one what’s gonna do the actual killing. All day long I been thinking about wringing your neck, but then I came across Samson here and decided he’d have the pleasure instead. Besides, why should I hang for killing you? You ain’t nothin’ but a little brat. I don’t like brats, and you especially. I wouldn’t be out here if it wasn’t for you. Elva would still be alive, and we’d be on our way to Florida. You spoiled everything. Wringing your neck is too good for you.”
Davey was frightened. He sat on the cold, wet ground and watched Cudge pace back and forth. Duffy curled into his lap, making herself into a little ball to keep warm. When Cudge’s pacing brought him too close to Davey, she lifted her head, bared teeth and growled.
“Shut that bitch up,” Cudge warned.
Stopping to think for a minute, he lifted up his army-colored jacket and pulled off his belt. He leaned down to reach for Duffy and was rewarded with the threat of snapping jaws. “Here,” he threw the belt at Davey. “Make a leash out of this and hook it to the fence there. Now!”
Davey’s fingers fumbled with the belt. He wasn’t sure how to put it on Duffy. It was wide and made of thick leather, like his good Sunday shoes. It wouldn’t fit around Duffy’s neck without choking her. The next best thing was to put it around her middle; he slid the strap through the buckle then threaded the strap end through a hole in the fence.
The man seemed satisfied. Now he could stay just beyond the reach of the belt and Duffy couldn’t get to him. “You know what kind of fence that is, kid? It’s called horse fencing. I noticed this afternoon that they use it to section one kind of animal off from another. It keeps them from eating each other.” The man seemed to find that funny, because he threw back his head and laughed. Davey didn’t like the way he laughed. It wasn’t nice, not at all like his dad’s laugh.
Davey could make out the curving stretch of the horse fencing. The highest wire had been pulled down by a giant tree which had fallen against it in the storm.
“Don’t like the look of that, hey kid? Neither did I when I come across it earlier today. Old Samson there gave me a scare when he charged the wire. Only he don’t seem too interested in getting over. Guess it’s because his wife and kiddies are in there.”
Davey was silent, looking through the darkness to where Cudge was pointing. Duffy was restless, straining to the full length of the belt, trying to get close to her master.
“You don’t believe me, I can tell. You’re just as stupid as Elva ever was. Look, kid—I’m gonna show you something that’s gonna make you wet your pants.”
How did the man know he’d wet his pants? It had happened so long ago, when Davey was locked in the camper.
Cudge picked up the flashlight and stepped closer to the fence. There was a fallen branch lying on the ground and he picked that up too. Immediately, Davey’s eyes flew to Duffy. “Worried about your little doggy? I’ll tell you when it’s time to worry. Look! Look over here!”
Davey did as he was told. Cudge ran the end of the branch against the fence; it made a harsh grating noise which was loud in the still night air. Immediately a yellow streak charged out of the darkness and threw itself against the wire. The earth seemed to shake with the impact! Davey felt it in his belly, like he’d once felt the big bass drum that came marching behind the parade. Boom! Boom! Samson’s roar was the loudest noise Davey had ever heard, like all the thunder in the world put together in one big sound that made your ears pop and your backbone melt like ice-cream on a hot day.
Duffy yelped with fright and tried to crawl away from the fence, but the short length of leather held her back.
Davey clapped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted the noise to go away. He had been scared before, but now he was terrified. Again Samson roared, a rumbling which began deep in his chest and exploded through his fanged, cavernous mouth. Yellow eyes reflected the light of the flashlight, watching, daring, defying.
“How do you like him, kid? Pretty big, huh?” Cudge laughed but the sound was smothered by another of Samson’s warnings. “I’m gonna toss you right over that fence. That old lion only has to lift his leg and bam!” He smacked one fist into the other hand. “Just like that! Only I’m gonna rile him up a little first, sorta whet his appetite, if you know what I mean. Then he’ll be in fine form when you hit the ground.”
“You’d better watch out ’cause Mr. Sanders is looking for me,” Davey lied, hoping to frighten the man. “And when he finds you, he’s going to lock you up.”
“Mr. Sanders, huh? Who’s he?”
“He’s the FBI agent that stays at our house. He gave me money to call him when I needed him and I called him from the pay phone by the Ferris wheel and told him where to find me.”
“FBI agent? Who’re you kiddin’?”
“Okay, don’t believe me, but it’s true.”
Cudge lashed out and cuffed Davey on the side of the head. Dizzily, Davey shook his head to try to clear it. He should have kept quiet. Tears brimmed in his eyes; no one had ever hit him before. He didn’t like it one bit. He was helpless and scared. He focused on the fence, watching the lion pace back and forth, the animal’s feline eyes reflecting the light from the flashlight and adding a light of their own.
“If that Sanders fella does show, kid, I’ll throw him over to the lion right after you. Then that damn dog. What do you think of that?” Cudge bellowed. When he saw the dread on the little boy’s face, he smirked.
Suddenly all the wind seemed to go out of Cudge, and he wanted to sit down someplace dry and warm. He was exhausted, physically and mentally. Thoughts of Elva kept popping into his head and he had to push them away. It couldn’t be that he missed that stupid, scrawny broad. Why had he ever gotten mixed up with her anyway? He sat down heavily opposite Davey, leaning back against a tree. A match flared as he lit a cigarette.
Davey saw Samson walking away from the fence. He’s going back to his family, Davey thought. I wish I could go back to mine.
“I used to have a dog,” Cudge said quietly. “Well, she wasn’t exactly mine. She belonged to my grandmother.”
Davey glanced at Cudge then back toward the fence again.
“Don’t believe me, do you, kid? It’s true. I wasn’t any different from you when I was a kid. Matter of fact, I was just like you. Trouble, always trouble. Leastways that’s what my mother used to say. ‘Edmund Balog,’ she’d say, ‘I don’t know what’s come over you. You used to be such a good little boy. What made you change?’ I used to pretend I didn’t know what she was talking about. Only I did know, and I knew when I changed too. I wasn’t any older than you when I found out what lives inside me. Only I never told anybody. Couldn’t. And when I look at you, kid, I know the same devil that lives inside me is inside you too. Think about what you did to mess me up with the law, with Elva, with everybody. Yes, I know it’s there inside you too.”
His voice droned on but Davey was only half listening. The man wasn’t his biggest fear right now. His biggest fear was right there, behind the fence, with its tearing jaws and thunderous voice. Samson.
“There were times when I didn’t know why I’d ever been born. I ain’t never had a friend. You know that, kid? Never, except for Elva. And she wasn’t a friend as it turned out. You made her turn against me! She was all right till you came along. So what if I did think she was stupid? And maybe I did think about getting rid of her, but I never would’ve done it. Never! But then you had to mess everything up.
“Don’t get me wrong. Maybe you couldn’t help yourself. I never could when I was a kid. This thing inside my head would always mess me up. What’s yours like?” Cudge lowered his voice, whispering conspiratorially. “Mine is like a bull, black and tough. It’s got hooves that cut into my brain, and long sharp horns that fill up the inside of my head till I can’t think! And it’s heavy, real heavy. It pounds around in there till I can’t stand it. And then it takes over, makes me do things I’d never do on my own. It was the bull that made me kill Lenny. And Elva too. And the other night I beat up this girl for no reason, except maybe she was breathing. It ain’t my fault,” he whined.
Cudge’s voice had a strangely soothing effect on the little boy. Although his eyes never left the fence, he found that by reaching out with his fingers, he could touch the fur on Duffy’s neck. It was reassuring. Suddenly, there was a movement on the other side of the fence. The man’s voice must have disturbed the lion again. But no, it was too small for Samson. It was one of the babies, a cub, bigger than Duffy but a baby nevertheless. Davey felt sorry for the cub as it sat lopsided on its haunches, looking out at him. It must be terrible to live with a fence around you all the time. Beyond the circle of light, he could discern a larger form, or were there two shapes? The mother and father lion, he decided. A smile touched his lips. There were more cubs nursing from the mother. The thought delighted him; the mother must be sleeping, and the father was watching out so nothing happened to his family.
It wasn’t like that in his family. If Aunt Lorrie had kids, she would be like Samson—watching and protective. But his family was different. Mom was the one who watched and took care of them, the one who said what was good to eat and where it was nice to play and work, and how things should be done. Mom liked things to be perfect, Davey thought. And she wanted him to be perfect too, but he wasn’t. Maybe if he didn’t need to get a shot every day, or wear a brace sometimes, he could be perfect. “Picture perfect” was what Mom liked to say.
A loud, belly-rumbling roar startled him. Cudge was still talking but Davey stopped listening. Samson had come back to the fence; he was standing over his cub, anxious and uneasy about the intruders. He picked up the cub by the scruff of its neck and marched back to the lioness, dropping his bundle between her front paws.
That’s what fathers are supposed to do, Davey thought, comparing Samson to his own dad. They’re not supposed to let the mothers do all the important things.
Cudge was off in a world of his own, rambling through his memories, revealing things he’d never spoken about before. And as he talked, the differences between the little boy and himself became less clear. He felt like a child again, as if he was Davey’s age, scared of the night-walking monsters that haunted him, and recognizing the monster that inhabited his own body, compelling him to destroy and to kill. In the dim flickering light, Cudge came to believe that Davey was the young Edmund Balog, capable of all things evil, and the future stretched out before him. Every moment of pain and suffering, every weakness, was inevitable. There was only one way to stop it from ever happening again and Cudge was going to do it, before it was too late. The child might look innocent but the evil had already taken hold. The young Edmund Balog was as much to blame for Elva and Candy as the adult was. And now, because of that little boy, Cudge was going to have to kill again.
Samson’s roar, when it came, made Davey clap his hands over his ears. Cudge stopped his ramblings. “I thought I told you to sit there and not move. I ain’t ready to dump you over that fence yet. The only reason that lion is bellowing like that is because he wants me to toss you over there. He probably ain’t had anything to eat for a week. You’re gonna be real sweet meat to him, kid.”
Davey drew his knees up to his chest. He was so cold he couldn’t feel anything anymore. “I didn’t do anything to that lion,” he whispered to himself over and over. Again, he saw a movement by the fence. A smile tugged at his lips. The little cub was back, looking at him through the wire.
Lightning swift, Cudge was on his feet. He clambered up the slippery tree trunk that straddled the fence, ignoring the soggy leaves and branches that were sticking out in every direction. Mesmerized, Davey watched as Cudge broke off a branch and proceeded to pound at the top of the wire fence. Horrified, he couldn’t bear the thought that Cudge might hurt the lion cub.
Samson’s roars ripped through the night as Cudge pounded again and again at the wire. Duffy joined in the noise, barking and growling, straining to escape the belt.
Cudge turned, almost losing his footing on the slippery trunk. “Don’t even think about moving, kid.”
Davey was stunned. Why hadn’t he run off the minute Cudge started up the tree trunk? He could be away by now, looking for a hiding place. He was angry with himself, and angry that the little lion cub was occupying his thoughts, that the father lion wasn’t taking it back to its mother. He could still run now if he wanted to—Cudge was halfway up the tree. He would have a small head start if he got up now; but the cub held him rooted to the spot. The cub wasn’t afraid of the pounding noise, and it wasn’t afraid of its father’s anger.
Samson backed off then advanced again. With one monstrous paw, he gently moved the cub to one side, then pushed with both front paws against the tree where it was leaning against the fence. A storm of sound erupted from the lion’s cavernous mouth; Davey shuddered but was pleased to see that Cudge was afraid and had started to back off down the tree trunk. The cub was safely back with its mother. Davey sighed with relief.
“That was just for starters,” Cudge said, wiping his hands on his sodden jeans. “I wanted to show you that that lion means business, and so do I. You getting the message, kid?”
Davey nodded.
Cudge returned to his spot against the tree trunk. He started talking again. Davey knew that was good—he didn’t seem so mean when he talked. He kept saying the same things over and over and Davey wished he knew why. He didn’t really want to think about Cudge, or why he did anything, but he needed to think about what to do if Cudge dragged him up the tree trunk and tossed him into the lion’s mouth.
The lion continued its pacing close to the fence.
Cudge’s voice was making him sleepy, but Davey couldn’t give in now. He had to stay awake and plan how to escape.
“Come here,” Cudge said hoarsely, crooking his finger for Davey to get up and go to him. “Making me come and get you ain’t gonna help now.”
Davey didn’t waste a minute. The second he was on his feet, he bolted off into the trees, away from danger, away from the man. Cudge crashed through the trees after him, grunting and panting, but Davey was running fast now, down the hill, towards the level ground. The earth was muddy and soft, making it difficult to run, but he wasn’t going to stop until he was safe.
Suddenly he heard a bark from behind him. The sound pierced him. Duffy! He had run away and left Duffy!
“Hey, kid! Guess what I got that’s yours!” The bellowing laugh was followed by an angry yipping and a whimper of pain. There was nothing else to do. He had to go back. He couldn’t let Cudge hurt his dog.
Heedless of the branches scratching his face and neck, Davey stumbled back up the incline, gasping as he fell over tree roots and slipped on the wet leaves. At first, he thought Cudge had gone and taken Duffy with him. He could hear Samson snarling, but couldn’t see him.
Then Davey heard that hated voice. “Up here, kid. I thought you’d come back. Look what I’ve got—but I won’t have it for long!”
Davey looked up at the fallen tree straddling the fence. Cudge was lying on his belly along it, his arm hanging down over the wire. He was laughing. Duffy swung from the belt looped around her middle, just feet away from Samson’s reaching claws, her short legs twitching, her head arched back in terror. The lion snarled, its jaws snapping, saliva stringing from its mouth.
Davey felt as if his heart would burst. “No! No!” His feet found a hold on the tree trunk; it was slippery and wet, and he had to dig into the bark with his fingers to hold on. It was so high, higher than he’d ever been before.
Duffy swung out again, lower this time. At the last second, Cudge yanked on the belt, pulling her out of Samson’s reach.
The lion stood on its hind legs, clawing at the furry object swinging overhead. Growling, it attacked again, just falling short of its prey.
Davey climbed higher, faster, reaching out for his dog. The trunk was too wide for him to hold on to, and he slipped, falling into its lower branches, nearly going over the fence himself, right down into Samson’s mouth.
Cudge didn’t seem to notice that Davey was just underneath him. He swung Duffy out again and the belt came to within inches of Davey’s grasp. It hung there for a breathless moment before Cudge hauled Duffy out of Samson’s reach.
“Hey, kid, come and see. Where are you? Don’t you want to feed the lion?” Cudge shouted out, laughing nastily. “You’d better answer before your dog turns into this cat’s breakfast!”
Davey stretched out, feeling the branch bend under his weight. He held his breath. He had to be ready; his hands had to be strong to grab Duffy away from Cudge.
The next time Cudge swung Duffy out over the lion’s head, Davey reached out as far as he could. He caught the dog but she was too heavy to hold. He felt himself losing his balance. Grasping the end of the belt, Davey swung the dog toward the fence. He prayed it wasn’t too high, that Duffy would survive the fall. At the last second, he released the belt, and waited for what seemed an eternity to see that Duffy had cleared the fence and dropped to safety on the other side.
“Hey! What the—?” Cudge looked around wildly, then spotted Davey below. He reached down through the branches to grab him but Davey ducked, avoiding Cudge’s hand by a narrow margin. Again, Cudge groped for him. Cowering backward, Davey was afraid to move for fear he would fall into Samson’s mouth. Curses sounded above him. He couldn’t see Cudge, but he knew where he was by the arm searching through the branches.
Samson roared again, his yellow eyes staring at a point above Davey’s head. The strength flowed back into Davey’s limbs. His brain started to send signals to his body. Wait, he told himself, wait.
He heard the shift of Cudge’s body above him, and saw the man’s change of position in the lion’s yellow eyes. As Cudge’s arm came reaching out again, Davey gripped it with his knees, locking his ankles together. He heard Cudge grunt and saw the lion ready itself to spring. Swiftly, with all the strength he possessed, Davey pulled hard at the trapped limb.
The sudden action caught Cudge off guard and he lost his balance. He began to fall through the branches and reached out for something to stop his fall. But there was nothing. Only the yawning jaws of fate waiting for him.
Davey closed his eyes and forced himself to shut out the terrible sounds from inside the lion’s cage. He was safe at last. Safe.
He slid down the tree limb, feeling a sense of his own power. But the minute his cold, numb feet touched the wet ground, his legs gave out on him. He needed to rest a minute. Rest. Just for a minute.
There was a soft sound close by. Duffy. He wanted to see her, to check if she was all right. But it was still too dark. He needed the flashlight. A sigh escaped him as he forced his fingers to work. Off came the jacket and down came the pocket zipper. His fingers worked at the switch but nothing happened. He banged it against his knee; it was too wet. Again, he flicked the tiny switch and this time was rewarded with a feeble light. Quickly, before it faded, Davey shone it on Duffy. His fingers felt all over her dark fur, searching for bloody gashes and wounds. Only once did the little dog yelp with pain—when Davey was removing the leather belt from around her middle.
“You’re gonna be fine, girl. Your tummy’s just sore. Let’s see you walk, Duff. Can you walk?” The optimistic tone of her master’s voice revitalized Duffy. She could be her old self again if Davey could.
“Come on, Duff,” Davey said. “We’re going to find Aunt Lorrie.”
Davey wasn’t sure which way to go to find the hole in the fence. He started toward the Ferris wheel then heard someone call his name.
“Aunt Lorrie?” he called back. “I’m here! Aunt Lorrie, I’m here.” He tried to run but his legs and feet were too painful.
Lorrie stopped. “It’s Davey. Oh, my God. It’s Davey.” She began to move again, listening carefully to work out where Davey’s voice was coming from. A moment later, Duffy came tearing toward her. Behind her, Lorrie could see Davey limping.
She held out her arms and Davey fell into them, hugging her with all his might. “Oh, honey, are you all right? I’ve been so worried about you, so afraid for you.”
“I’m okay,” he said against her neck. “I’m better now.”
“Hey, Davey,” Stuart Sanders said.
Davey leaned back. “Hi, Mr. Sanders. I did what you said and called you, but all I got was an answering machine. I couldn’t leave a message because that man was chasing me.”
“What’s his name, Davey?”
“Cudge.”
“Where is he now?”
Davey looked back the way he’d come. “He fell out of the tree and . . . and Samson got him.”
“Samson?”
“The daddy lion,” Davey explained.
The color drained from Lorrie’s face. She pulled Davey closer and pressed his head against her shoulder. “Don’t think about it, Davey. Don’t think about anything but going home.”
“I’m hungry, Aunt Lorrie.”
Lorrie swallowed hard. “I bet you are.”
“I lost one of my shoes.”
Lorrie grinned. “Who cares about that?”
“And I ruined my new jacket.”
“No big deal.” She was still grinning.
“Where’s Mom and Dad?”
Lorrie looked to Sanders for help with that one. The agent ruffled Davey’s hair. “They’re still in Florida, son. But you’ll see them soon.”
Davey’s features closed up. “Did you call Mom and Dad and tell them I was lost?”
“You bet. Right away.”
Davey nodded. “I’m kind of tired, Aunt Lorrie.”
Concern filled Lorrie’s face. “Then let’s get out of here and get you back to the motor home and into bed.” Tenderly, she held Davey against her and began to walk toward the exit.
“Are you coming, Stuart?” she asked, when he didn’t immediately follow.
“Yep, sure am. I’ll take care of this mess later. Right now Davey’s the most important thing.”
Lorrie sat next to Stuart on the motor home sofa, waiting for Davey to wake up. A little over an hour ago, Feeley had called and given them the news about Sara. Lorrie hadn’t been able to believe it at first. Sara dead—it just didn’t seem possible. She had always believed Sara to be indestructible.
“Poor Davey,” she said, squeezing Stuart’s hand. “Don’t say anything to him right now. He needs to recuperate from this trauma first.”
Stuart had expected Lorrie to go into shock, but she hadn’t. He supposed it was because she was a doctor and dealt with death on a daily basis.
The moment Davey stirred, Sanders got up and tiptoed over to the bunk. Davey lay with his eyes wide open, staring at the roof of the RV. Duffy, freshly bathed, was snuggled against him.
“How’s it going, kid?” Sanders asked as he sat down on the edge of the bunk.
“Okay, Mr. Sanders.”
“I’m real proud of you, Davey. I think you’re the bravest little boy I’ve ever known. You can join my team anytime.”
“You aren’t leaving, are you?” Davey asked.
“Not on your life. I made a date with Duffy to buy her the biggest steak in town. I have a date with you too, and your aunt.”
He could feel that lump in his throat again.
Roman DeLuca was being escorted down the studio corridor by an assistant director. The jury had reached its verdict during the early morning hours, and now DeLuca was going to be interviewed on a television news program.
The accused had been found guilty, which made DeLuca a winner in the public’s eye. It would probably help to put him in the governor’s seat. He was ready to smile for the cameras, and tell the world that justice had been served, but inside he was seething. It hadn’t been meant to turn out this way, and all because he had miscalculated the determination of one person—Sara Taylor. He had achieved his goal—Jason Forbes’s killer hadn’t been linked to the syndicate, and probably wouldn’t be now—but it would all have gone a lot more smoothly if Sara Taylor had been more cooperative.
The moment DeLuca stepped into the studio, the reporters began shouting out their questions. They liked Roman DeLuca, they knew he was climbing the ladder to success. He even looked the part with his bronzed face, his immaculate white shirts and custom-made suits.
Flashing his brilliant smile, DeLuca listened attentively to the first question. He sobered at once as he replied: “I’m shocked. There are simply no words at a time like this. My sympathy goes out to Mr. Taylor who made such a brave and admirable contribution to justice.”
“Mr. DeLuca, do you know of any reason why Mrs. Taylor would ignore the warning shouts to get off the runway? Is there something the press isn’t being told?”
DeLuca put on what he called his sincere, humble smile. “Haven’t I always been open with the press?” Not waiting for a reply, he continued somberly: “I understand there was some personal problem at home concerning the Taylors’ son. Mrs. Taylor was distraught so Federal Agent Jonas was assigned to take care of her. The whole incident was very unfortunate and I’m truly sorry. Mrs. Taylor was a remarkable woman in many ways.”
“What kind of personal problem, Mr. DeLuca?”
“Now, if I told you that it wouldn’t be personal any longer, would it?”
“The Taylors have a hemophiliac child, don’t they?” A chunky man in a sweat-stained blue shirt shouted to be heard over the chattering throng.
“Yes, they do. Now, if that’s all, gentlemen, I have a hard day ahead of me and I’m expected at WKBA’s television studio.”
“Mr. DeLuca, do you still have ‘no comment’ on your plans to run for governor?”
DeLuca grinned: he was on solid ground now. “I think, ladies and gentlemen, that . . .”
Agent Jonas listened to the suave, controlled voice. That bastard. He hadn’t lied, he hadn’t fabricated a thing. Up front all the way with the media. What right did the attorney have to use him like that? Implying that he, Jonas, had overplayed his hand and used a thug’s tactics. DeLuca was the one who’d said “take care of her.” How could he have known that the prosecutor just wanted her kept out of the courtroom. Christ, even Sara Taylor had misunderstood!
Davey’s mind wandered as he sat quietly in the small chapel. He wished he could be outside with Duffy, running through the leaves, or talking to Digger on the CB. He didn’t understand the meaning of the words the minister was saying, and he didn’t like the way people kept looking at him. Most of all, he didn’t like the words Memorial Service. He began to fidget.
Lorrie watched Davey out of the corner of her eye. The little boy didn’t understand what was going on; he shouldn’t have to be here. Instantly, she was contrite. What an awful thought. Of course he should be here! After all, the service was for his mother.
How sad, she thought as she let her gaze circle the small chapel. Aside from her and Andrew and a few of Andrew’s business associates, the only other person present was Stuart Sanders. Private memorial services were very lonely, but Andrew had wanted it that way. How sad that only she and Andrew were grieving; but, as long as she was being honest, she was also relieved in a way.
The short service was soon over. Outside, in the brisk, autumn air, Andrew didn’t seem to comprehend where he was. His luggage was in the car parked at the curb; he was going away. He knew he should be saying something to Lorrie, but he couldn’t think of the words. If the service had been for him, Sara would have known the right thing to say. Now that he was on his own and had to think for himself, he felt lost. Davey. He had to say something to Davey before he left. God, what could he say? Where were the words? Where?
Davey stood awkwardly between Stuart Sanders and Lorrie. His round gaze was speculative. “Dad?”
“Yes, son.”
“Will you be gone a long time?”
“I don’t know, Davey, I just don’t know. But you’ll be fine with Aunt Lorrie. She’ll take good care of you.”
“I know. Aunt Lorrie is going to get all my things and my CB and take them over to her house this afternoon.”
Something pricked at Andrew’s eyes. “I know that, Davey.”
Manfully, Davey extended his hand to his father.
Andrew felt his eyes begin to smart. He took his son’s hand in his own. “I’ll call you when I get settled.” For an instant Andrew felt as though Sara were with him, arranging the last-minute details, offering her approval.
“Okay, Dad. Drive carefully and don’t forget to stop for gas.”
“I won’t, Davey. You take care now.”
Davey nodded.
Stuart Sanders’s penetrating gaze rested on the small boy in the gray suit. His lips narrowed to a grim, white line and he nudged Lorrie. “Is it my imagination or did Davey get taller in the past several days?”
Davey watched his father climb into the blue sedan. His eyes didn’t leave the road until the car was long out of sight. Then he turned to face his aunt and Stuart Sanders. His eyes glistened momentarily in the chill October light. “Can we go now?”
“You bet,” Lorrie said, smiling down at him. “Get in the car, we’re going home.”
Davey ran for the car and climbed into the front seat. He concentrated on fastening his seat belt. When he’d finished, he looked out the window and saw Aunt Lorrie and Mr. Sanders standing by the driver’s door, kissing. They had been doing a lot of that in the last few days—kissing and giving each other mushy looks. And they’d been hugging and kissing him a lot, too. He had pretended not to like it, but he did. He liked it a lot.
Aunt Lorrie had said that he’d suffered no ill effects—whatever that meant—from not getting his shots and that he was going to be just fine.
Mr. Sanders opened the car door and Duffy jumped in. She climbed onto Davey’s lap and licked his face. Mom would have scolded Duffy and made her get down but Aunt Lorrie just laughed.