I opened my eyes, the morning sun shining into Robin’s guest room. The feeling swept over me that something wasn’t right.
I jumped up and made sure Brandon was still next to me.
He was. Curled up on the other side of the bed. Still in his clothes. Where we’d lain down just a few hours earlier.
Thank God!
He murmured, his eyes blinking narrowly. “What’s wrong, Mommy?”
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.” I stroked his face. “Go back to sleep, honey. It’s still early.”
I reached for my cell and saw it was 8:26 A.M. Then it hit me what all my nerves were about.
Five hours had passed since he left me, and I hadn’t heard back from Patrick.
Today was the day we said we’d go to the police with everything that had happened. My phone showed the two calls I’d made to him during the night, unanswered, and the text, telling him that I was at Robin’s, whom I’d woken up at three in the morning after dropping off Elena with the tale that I had Brandon and that I couldn’t go home, and who said to me, “Please, Hil, don’t say another word, come on over. With the kids away, I have a couple of extra rooms.”
My last message to Patrick was at 4:26 A.M., after I’d sat up with Robin for a while, explaining some of it, as little as I could actually, before finally dropping off to sleep. He would have gotten back to Staten Island around 3:30 A.M. He said he’d call me as soon as he knew something about Mrs. O’Byrne. That was five hours ago. This wasn’t like him. I’d been a little concerned before I’d fallen asleep.
Now the concern had ratcheted up to worry.
Something wasn’t right.
I left Brandon in bed and threw on my jeans. I went into the bathroom and peed, and tried Patrick again.
The call immediately connected to his voice mail.
I left a message, my third: “Patrick, I never heard back from you. Are you okay? I’m at my friend’s. Everything’s okay here, but I’m worried. Please call me when you get this message.” I went downstairs.
Robin was in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee, dressed in a beige and red sweater that picked up the color of her long auburn hair. “Coffee’s over there,” she said, pointing to the counter. “Want some?”
“Sure.” I sat down at the counter.
She poured one out. “Sugar’s here and milk’s in the fridge.”
“Thanks.”
“So how’d you sleep?”
I had told her the basics early this morning when we arrived. Leaving out Landry, and that I’d just had a gun pointed at me in the act of bartering back my kid. And that I’d probably played a hand in getting someone dropped in the river. Just basically that I had taken some money and I was scared to go home. You remember when I told you I had a way to get some money . . .
“Rob, I can’t thank you enough for letting Brandon and me come here.”
“Don’t be silly.” She waved it off. “I probably would have been up anyway to pee. I just hope everything works out, hon. Is there anything I can do?”
“No, nothing.” I shook my head. “I’m just a little freaked out that I haven’t heard from Patrick.”
She had the news on, the CBS morning show, and I was hoping something might be on about the fire and Mrs. O’Byrne when it was time for the local news. Maybe Patrick was just too exhausted and had passed out at his house like we had here. What if he ran into the flaming house? What if something had happened and he was injured? Or worse . . . He loved that woman like his own mom. I glanced at the time: 8:43 A.M. Eight or nine minutes or so to the local news.
To my surprise, Brandon shuffled in, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it, Mommy?”
“Why don’t you go back to sleep, honey? You’re not going to school today.”
He climbed onto a stool at the counter. “I’m hungry.”
“There’s some cereal in the cabinet,” Robin said. “The kids still love it when they come home.”
I said to him, “Why don’t you go into the family room and put on the TV? I’ll bring some in . . .”
“Cap’n Crunch.” Robin helped me out.
“You love Cap’n Crunch, don’t you?”
I walked him out and he curled up on the couch with a pillow and put on the large-screen TV. The Cartoon Network came on.
“Just stay in the TV room,” I said. “I’ll be right in, okay?”
I didn’t want to upset him, any more than he’d already been. But I knew things were about to change. It was no longer possible, or more so, right, to keep what had happened over the past two days hidden any longer. When Patrick called in we had decided he would arrange a meet with friends of his in the NYPD and we would lay it all out to them. About the money, about what happened to Rollie. Charlie. Landry. By the end of the day, who knew if I’d be booked on charges or even held in jail? It was no longer about just taking the money; it was that people had died. Innocent people. I had no idea where that would leave me with my son. But it was too late for that.
When I got back in the kitchen, Robin was tying up a bag of trash. “I have a business appointment I have to run out to. Is that okay? I could always cancel it and stay, if you need me.”
“No, Robin, you go about your day.” I went over and gave her a warm hug.
“I’ll just take this on the way out.” She pulled out and opened the bin. “And where the hell’s my bag? I just had it somewhere. Maybe it’s back in my room. I’m always crazy these days. How about I call you as soon as I finish up?”
“Okay. Robin . . .” I caught her as she was about to head out of the kitchen. I smiled, both worried and appreciative. “I don’t know how to say thanks.”
She smiled. “Things are gonna work out, honey. You’ll see.”
She left and I went into the cabinet and took out Brandon’s cereal. I found a bowl in a lazy Susan and a tray leaning against the wall. I brought it in and thought I heard the door close as Robin called out, “Talk to you later!”
Brandon was already immersed in some Transformers cartoon.
I went back in the kitchen and checked my phone again. Still nothing. I watched the news for a minute, something about a woman who was helping homeless people get off the street; I was growing more and more concerned. I noticed the garbage bag still on the floor. Robin must have forgotten it. The TV announced the local news would be on in sixty seconds. I closed the bag and took it out to the garage where I assumed the trash containers were. I opened the door and saw the trash bin next to Robin’s car.
My heart almost exploded.
Robin.
She was on the garage floor, crumpled against her car, her head slumped to the side. In horror, I fixed on the flower of dark blood pooling on her sweater. Her jaw was slack and her eyes were open and fixed in a terrifying expression.
I screamed.
I ran toward her, knowing it was too late, unable to believe the horrifying sight I was facing.
And then the most paralyzing shock of fear stabbed me. Brandon.
My eyes darted back into the house.
“Brandon!” I screamed, knowing instantly what had happened and that he was in danger. I ran back inside through the kitchen and into the TV room. The TV was still on, the Transformers on the screen. The cereal bowl was still on the tray where I had left it.
He wasn’t there.
Oh my God! Panic ripped through me. I ran back into the hallway, shouting throughout the house. “Brandon! Brandon! Where are you?”
Why wasn’t he answering?
I hurried to the front door. It was shut. My heart was beating like crazy. I spun, looking frantically in every direction. I knew who it was. I also knew it wasn’t Brandon he wanted.
Then I fixed on something and stopped.
The outside doors to the patio were open. They hadn’t been a minute ago. And there was something there I also hadn’t seen. A metal can with a long spout. Like an oil can.
My eyes fastened on it as my heart started beating in escalating terror.
I sprinted through the house, screaming in every direction, “Brandon!”
Suddenly, “Mommy,” I heard him call. “Mommy, in here!” It sounded like it was coming from the living room.
I ran down the hall. “Brandon, where are you? Answer me, honey. I—”
He was there in front of a love seat next to Robin’s couch. My first instinct was to let out a breath in relief. That he was okay.
But the breath never got halfway out of my chest.
Landry was sitting next to him in the love seat, a hand tucked around my son’s waist.
His other hand had a gun in it.
The muzzle was pressed so tightly underneath Brandon’s jaw, it forced his face upward.