Kevin O'Brien - One Last Scream

Jody’s friend had certainly come through in a pinch, too. Brad had already scurried around the house and come up with everything George had figured he might need: a crowbar, a screwdriver, and a sharp serrated-edge kitchen knife. The items were laid out on the Reeces’ breakfast table.

George put his cell phone back in the pocket of his sports jacket.

Brad aimed the remote control at the TV and hit mute. “Do you think you ought to put some of that black stuff on your face, too, Mr. M?” he asked.

“That’s not a bad idea, Brad,” he said. “But I think I’m okay without it.”

He glanced over at the mute TV. George wasn’t sure if, over the phone, the cop show had sounded like an airport taxi stand. He wasn’t even sure if his message had gotten through to anyone. He could only hope it had. He hoped his fabrication about a safe full of money in the house would keep whoever was there preoccupied. They’d wait for him now. He’d made it clear that no one else had the combination. And they’d need to keep his children alive if they wanted his cooperation. It might even prompt them to have Jessie phone him back.

He knew Annabelle Schlessinger-or her friend-hadn’t broken into his home for money. But he also knew that a 19-year-old on the lam wasn’t about to pass up the chance for a safeload of cash.

If they thought he was still at the airport, they wouldn’t be expecting him within the next five minutes.

His hand shaking, George slid open the glass door.

“You sure you don’t want me to come with?” Brad asked anxiously.

“No, thanks, I really need you here,” George said. His stomach was full of knots as he collected the crowbar, screwdriver, and knife from the kitchen table. He slipped the knife and screwdriver into the side pocket of his sports jacket. “If I can get Jody, Steffie, and Jessie out of there, I’ll send them over to you, Brad. Then you can call the cops.” He’d already told Brad this, but it merited repeating. “And if in twenty minutes, you don’t see any of us-”

“Then I call the cops, and get them to haul ass over to your place-9203 Larkdale,” Brad interjected.

George nodded, then he mussed Brad’s red hair. “You know, Jody’s very lucky to have you for a friend,” he said. “You and he will be talking about this night for a long time.”

He stepped outside.

“Good luck, Mr. M,” Brad whispered, standing in the doorway.

George gave him a nod, then ran to the hedges bordering the Reeces’ backyard. Weaving through the bushes and trees, he saw the back of his house. It had been nearly twenty hours since he’d left home to catch a flight to Portland and drive to Salem. Now, that seemed like days ago. He was beyond tired, running on his wits and pure adrenaline. And he still couldn’t stop shaking.

He noticed lights were on in the kitchen and living room and master bedroom. The kids’ rooms were dark. George couldn’t see anyone, or anything else. From the edge of the yard, he crept up toward the house, to Jody’s bedroom window. But it was too high to see inside.

Grabbing a plastic patio chair, George pushed it against the side of the house, then he stepped onto the seat. It was a little wobbly, and he clung to the window ledge as he peered into the bedroom. He saw his son in the darkness, curled up on the bed, hog-tied with his hands and feet behind him. Duct tape covered his mouth. His eyes were closed. George was overwhelmed with rage and frustration. But at least Jody was breathing.

Two windows down, he looked in on Stephanie, tied up on her bed in the same fashion, like a little animal. She was trembling. He could see the tears on her cheeks. The piece of duct tape over her mouth seemed too big for her little face.

He kept telling himself, at least they’re alive .

Their backyard sloped a bit, and the kitchen was closer to ground level. George didn’t need the patio chair to look inside the window. He heard the TV going, a small portable they kept at the end of the kitchen counter. Suddenly, someone walked right past the window, and George quickly ducked down. He waited a moment, then straightened up and peeked over the window ledge.

The intruder in his kitchen was a young man with pale skin and very black hair. He wore sunglasses and a black suit. He’d probably seen Reservoir Dogs one too many times. He looked like a cocky son of a bitch. He turned down the TV and said something to Jessie.

George could see her, tied to a kitchen chair. At least she didn’t have any tape over her mouth.

The creep in the sunglasses grabbed the cordless phone from the kitchen counter. It looked like there was a gun on the counter, too, but George wasn’t sure. Beyond the kitchen, he had a glimpse into the living room, where someone was sprawled facedown on the blood-soaked sofa. It looked like his neighbor, Mrs. Bidwell.

“Oh, my God,” George murmured, horrified.

The young man picked up the receiver from the kitchen wall phone, and started dialing. He held the phone to Jessie’s face, and then he switched on the cordless from the study so he could listen in.

All at once, George’s cell phone went off.

“Shit!” he muttered, ducking down again. He quickly dug the cell phone out of his jacket pocket and switched it off. Crouched down against the house, he gazed at a patch of lawn illuminated by the light pouring out the kitchen window. He watched a shadow looming in that silhouette. He knew the young man was standing at the window directly above him, looking out. For a few seconds, George didn’t move. Finally, the shadow moved away. “Couldn’t have been anything,” he heard the young man say. “You sure you don’t know where this safe is? I’ve just about turned the master bedroom upside down.”

George dared to peek over the window ledge again. Jessie was shaking her head. “You heard him on the phone earlier. I don’t know a thing about it.”

“It’s screwy he’s not answering his cell,” the guy muttered. Then he said something else, but he moved too far away from the window for George to hear.

George glanced at the patio chair that he’d left beneath Stephanie’s bedroom window. He decided to try getting Jody out first. Jody would be faster, and less panicked than Steffie.

Crouched against the house, George caught his breath. He’d expected to see someone looking exactly like Amelia in there. But it appeared as if the man in the sunglasses was running the show by himself.

George wondered where Annabelle Schlessinger was.

Her head throbbing, Karen regained consciousness. She lay facedown on the dirty living room floor of the Faradays’ beach house. Her hands were tied behind her with some kind of cord. She could still hear Amelia’s muffled cries for help coming from the basement. But she didn’t hear the rain anymore. Karen wondered how much time had gone by.

A shadow passed over her, and she squinted up at Annabelle. Karen almost didn’t recognize her. Her hair was cut in a short shag style. She’d also changed into a black sweater and jeans. In her hand she held the revolver that had belonged to Karen’s father.

Karen realized she must have been unconscious for at least a half hour. Annabelle couldn’t have cut her hair and changed clothes in much less time than that. Thirty minutes. George was already at his house by now.

“Is Blade here?” Karen asked warily.

A tiny smile flickered across Annabelle’s face. “You know about Blade? Well, I’m impressed.” She shook her head. “No, Blade’s in Seattle, running an errand for me. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s finished and on his way here now.”

Karen was thinking of George, Jessie, and the children. They could already be dead right now. Tears welled up in her eyes. Then she heard Amelia’s muted cries again.