Robert Crais - Hostage

“Jesus, Mars! Get upstairs and see! If he took those kids, we’re fucked!”

Mars went for the stairs without another word, and Dennis raged at the top of his lungs.

“KEVIN!! You ASSHOLE!”

Dennis threw the vodka bottle at the Sub-Zero so hard that his shoulder flashed with pain. He stalked back to the den for a fresh bottle. Even when he wanted to surrender, things got fucked up.

THOMAS

Thomas heard Dennis and Kevin fighting through the air-conditioning vent. Kevin wanted them to give up, but Dennis wouldn’t. Thomas knew what that meant: If Dennis wouldn’t give up, the three turds might stay here for days, and one of them might try to do something to his sister. Thomas had seen the way Mars watched her.

The shouting died quickly. Thomas waited for someone to come upstairs, but the hall remained silent. He decided that they were trying to sleep.

Thomas slipped back into his closet and returned to the crawl space. He thought about stopping in Jennifer’s room to tell her what he was doing, but he knew she didn’t want him to mess with the gun. He worked his way across the house, stopping at the air vents to listen, but all he heard was the television playing in the den. The rest of the house was silent.

Thomas let himself down through the ceiling hatch into the laundry room, climbing down from the hot-water heater to the washer to the floor. It was dark, lit only by some slight dim light filtering from the kitchen through the pantry. He had to use his flashlight.

Just as he reached the floor he heard Dennis shouting for Kevin and Mars. Dennis was close, just on the other side of the kitchen or maybe in the family room. Thomas panicked. He started climbing back to the ceiling, but then Mars answered Dennis, and Thomas stopped. They were talking. Thomas was still scared, but he was so close to the gun that he didn’t want to once more leave without it. He strained to listen. Dennis was cursing Kevin; they weren’t coming this way, they weren’t looking for him.

Thomas hurried into the utility room. He cupped his hand over the flashlight and flicked it on again, just long enough to mark the spot in his mind where the gun box waited on the highest shelf. He rested the flashlight on the bench, then climbed onto the bench.

He went up onto his toes, stretching as tall as he could, but the box was still out of reach. He flicked on the light again, and spotted a gallon metal paint can at the edge of the bench. He pulled it into position, put one foot on it, and stepped up. The paint can creaked, but held. He stretched high again, and this time his hands found the gun box. He had it! Thomas pulled the box from the shelf, then lowered himself from the can and climbed down from the bench. His heart pounded with excitement. The box was a lot heavier than he had imagined! It felt as if a cannon were inside!

Thomas opened the box and lifted out the gun. It felt as heavy as a brick, way too big for his hand. Thomas didn’t know its caliber or anything about it, even though his father had let him fire it once when they had gone to the pistol range. It had kicked so hard that his hand stung!

Thomas would need his hands free to climb, so he pushed it into his pants. The gun made him feel powerful, but scared at the same time; he was buoyant with confidence that he could protect himself and Jennifer, and that now they could get out, but he didn’t want to hurt anyone. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use it.

Thomas was on his way back to the laundry room when his foot slipped from under him. He almost fell, catching himself on the bench just in time. He explored the floor with his foot, and found something slippery and wet. He lifted his foot. His shoe came free with a tacky sound. Thomas turned on his light. A dark liquid like oil was spreading on the floor. He followed it with his light. It was coming from the broom closet. Thomas opened his fingers to let out more light. The oil was red.

The closet door zoomed close in Thomas’s mind’s eye as if he had telephoto vision. The cramped space in the utility room shrank as the door grew larger. The gun was forgotten, leaving only the door and the viscous red liquid seeping out from beneath.

Thomas stared at the door. He wanted to open it. He wanted to run.

He stepped across the red pool, reached for the knob, but couldn’t touch it. His fingers hovered an inch away. Open it!

Thomas gripped the knob carefully, terrified that whatever was on the other side of the door might try to hold it closed. He slowly pulled open the door.

Kevin fell out, collapsing in a lifeless heap at Thomas’s feet, his dead arms thrown around Thomas’s legs.

His throat was slashed, his head lolling on white bone; the horrible second smile was locked in silent laughter.

His eyes were open.

Thomas screamed.

JENNIFER

Jennifer listened at her door, pressing her ear to the cold wood, hoping to hear Kevin return. He only had to go down the hall to reach Thomas, but he was taking so long that she feared Mars or Dennis had interfered. Her stomach knotted and she pressed her fists into her belly in a useless attempt to make it stop. The knife hidden in the waist of her pants pricked her skin, making her gasp. She rearranged the blade to make it more comfortable.

The hall outside her door creaked.

Kevin!

She heard the nail being pulled from the doorjamb. She was excited and happy and ready to run. She wanted to see her father again! She wanted to hug Thomas so tight that he squirmed! She wanted her Mommy!

The door swung open, and Mars stepped inside, tall, wide, and massive as a bear. She jumped back so fast that she almost fell.

His smile made her think of bad boys burning ants. He said, “Were you expecting someone else?” She backed away from the door, wishing that Kevin would come back right now because Mars was so awful and gross. She forced herself to meet his eyes without looking away.

“I’m not expecting anyone except the police.” Mars nodded agreeably.

“They’ll be here soon. You probably don’t have long to wait.”

She cursed her smart mouth; she didn’t like anything he said or how he said it or his expressions. She just wanted him to leave.

Mars stepped into the room and pushed the door shut. He held the big nail that they used to wedge the door. He tapped it absently on his leg, tap-tap, tap-tap. Jennifer didn’t like that he closed the door. She didn’t like that he tapped the nail. She crossed her arms protectively over her breasts.

“What do you want?”

Mars watched her with bright nervous eyes that didn’t match with his slack-jawed expression. It was as if he wasn’t in the room with her, but was on the other side of a glass wall, here but not here, outside looking in, in his own horrible world.

“What do you want?”

“Kevin left without you.”

She felt herself flush. Her arms tightened so fiercely that her nails dug into her flesh, and she wanted to scream.

“He wanted me to tell you. He thought about it and decided it was just too risky to sneak past Dennis with you and your brother, so he went by himself. He said to tell you he was sorry.”

Jennifer shook her head, not knowing what was real and what wasn’t, what he knew or what he didn’t, or if her only hope of getting out of here had slipped out the door without her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mars came closer.

“No? Well, it doesn’t matter. All the lights are almost off.”

“What are you talking about?”

Mars seemed to grow as he got closer, filling the room. Jennifer backed away.

“Good boys turn off the lights so that no one can see them doing bad things in the dark. My mother told me that.”