Lawrence Block - Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 129, No. 6. Whole No. 790, June 2007

I crept toward the lean-to, knife held ready. My heart thudded in my chest. At the edge of the plywood, I stopped, listening. There was no telltale sound, no flicker of lamplight. I wondered if I’d been wrong. I half hoped I was. With a breath, I wheeled around the corner, knife held high.

There, lying on the ground, was Alison. Her hands and feet were bound with duct tape. A thick strip of tape sealed shut her mouth. Her eyes flitted behind closed lids. She was still alive.

“Alison,” I whispered, shaking her gently. “Alison, it’s me, Tim. I’m here to rescue you.”

From behind me, I heard the snap of a twig in the darkness. Sudden, close. I spun, slashing wildly. Blade caught fabric, and my attacker screamed in pain. Too late I saw the rock in his hand, swinging toward me. It connected with my temple, and I went down.

My vision swam. I forced myself to my knees, tried to stand. Then the rock came down again, and everything went dark.

I woke by degrees. My head throbbed. My stomach roiled. My tongue felt too big for my mouth. Alison lay beside me, unconscious and still bound. I flexed my arms beneath me. They were leaden and stiff, but free.

I lifted my head and looked around. A lantern flickered in the center of the room. Beside me was a set of chipped, yellowed plates, arranged according to size. Hunched over the cot at the far end of the room was Isaac, his back to me. As I watched, he lifted his arms above his head, fists clenched together, and brought them down, hard.

I climbed unsteadily to my feet. On the cot lay a boy. Isaac raised his fists and brought them down again. They slammed into the boy’s rib cage with a dull thud. I winced. He raised his arms again.

“Isaac,” I said. The word felt foreign in my mouth.

“You’re not meant to see this,” he growled, not turning.

“Isaac, leave him alone,” I said, creeping closer. Isaac’s knife lay beside him on the floor, glinting in the lamplight.

“You’re not meant to see this!” he shouted, spinning toward me. I lunged for the knife. Isaac just watched.

“Get away from him,” I said, brandishing the knife before me.

“Tim—”

“Now, Isaac.”

Isaac backed away. I circled toward the cot, my eyes never leaving Isaac. Once he moved beyond arm’s reach, I turned my attention to the boy.

Billy McMahon lay still on the cot, eyes closed. His nose was bloodied and crooked, and he wasn’t breathing. Across his chest was a single shallow gash, streaking his shirt with blood. The gash of a pocketknife.

Isaac’s knife clattered to the floor beside me. “Billy?” I said.

“That’s what she called him,” Isaac said, nodding toward Alison, “right before he gagged her.”

“Is he dead?”

“Yeah.”

“You did this?”

He nodded. “I was waitin’ for dark,” he said. “Figured if he saw me comin’, he might hurt her. But then you showed up, an’ he...” Tears shone in Isaac’s eyes. “He was gonna kill you.”

I thought of Isaac, hunched over the boy. Fists against chest. Pounding out a rhythm. A heartbeat. “You were trying to save him, weren’t you?”

“Way I see it, he wasn’t mine to take.”

“Isaac, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I expect that’s true.”

Suddenly Isaac straightened, cocking his head. I opened my mouth to ask what was wrong, and then froze. I heard it, too. Dogs. Distant, but approaching fast.

“Isaac, you have to go,” I said.

“The girl needs help,” he replied. He collected his knife from the floor and crouched over Alison, cutting her free.

“Isaac, they’ll be here soon. You have to get out of here, give me time to explain...”

It was too late. They were just outside the shack.

“We know you’re in there! Send out the children!”

“They ain’t gonna let me go,” Isaac said.

“I’ll tell them what happened. They’ll understand — they’ll have to.”

“They won’t.”

“You don’t know that,” I said.

“I do, an’ so do you.”

“Then I’ll stall them,” I said. “Buy you time to—”

“To what? Ain’t no other way outta here.”

“Damn it, Isaac, I don’t know!”

Outside, the dogs brayed. The man called out again. “Release the children now!”

“Look,” I said. “You have to let me try.”

Isaac smiled. “You’re a good man, Timothy.”

“Sure,” I said. “Now help me get her up.”

Isaac lifted Alison and handed her to me. I got my arms under her back and knees and held her tight.

“Tim?”

“Yeah?”

“Be safe.”

“You, too,” I replied.

I approached the door. “We’re coming out!” I shouted. I kicked open the door and stepped outside, stopping just beyond the threshold. A half-dozen lanterns pushed back the darkness. The search party was maybe twenty feet away, mostly uniformed, guns at the ready. My father was there, and Alison’s as well.

“Is the girl hurt?” shouted one of the officers.

“She’s out,” I replied, “but I think she’s okay.”

“Is there anyone else in the cabin?”

“Yes,” I replied. “But he had nothing to do with this.”

“Son, if you could just walk slowly toward us...”

“I can’t — not until you promise me he won’t be hurt!”

“Just step aside, son. Everything will be just fine.”

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” I replied. “It was Billy. Billy McMahon.”

“You lyin’ son of a bitch!” A man stumbled toward me, stopping midway between the shack and the search party. He was unshaven and reeked of whiskey. A lantern swung precariously in one hand. “Nobody talks about my boy like that!”

“Sir, step away from the cabin,” said an officer.

“The hell I will! You tell me where my boy is!”

“He’s dead.”

He charged me, screaming. A single shot rang out. Blood sprayed red from his shoulder, just a graze, but he spun and fell. The lantern shattered as it hit the ground.

The weeds were dry and brittle, and caught instantly. I stumbled backward toward the stream, Alison heavy in my arms. Flames engulfed the bank, cutting us off from the rescue party. Isaac’s shack went up like so much tinder.

I splashed into the water. Fire rained down as the canopy caught. Thick smoke seared my lungs. The entire forest was ablaze. My face stung from the heat. I heard nothing but the roar of the flames.

The stream was barely two feet deep. Not deep enough to stop the flames. I kept low to the surface, dragging Alison along behind.

The waterfall, I thought. Our only chance. I struggled on, choking on the acrid, poison air. I was dizzy. My vision went dark, and I slipped below the surface.

Fingers tangled in my hair. Yanking. My head broke the surface of the water. I gasped, suddenly alert. Beside me was Alison, wide-eyed and frightened, but awake. She put an arm around my shoulder, and together we pressed on as the world burned around us.

By the time we were found, we’d spent ten hours huddled together beneath the fall. Eighty acres burned that night, they told us. Had the wind shifted, it might have been eight hundred.

Billy’s father died in the blaze. Mom said better that than know the truth. I don’t know, maybe she was right. The truth is never quite as simple as we’d like it to be.

I sit and sip my tea, watching over the porch rail as the sky lightens in the east. Behind me, the screen door creaks. Alison steps out into the pre-dawn half-light wrapped in a bathrobe, her hair mussed from sleep. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asks.

“Guess not,” I reply.