R. Stine - Red Rain

“What it meant was good-bye.” Sari was staring hard at him now.

“Huh?”

“I wanted to say good-bye, Andy.”

“But. . we just said hello.”

She shook her head. A smile crossed her face. It seemed so out of place. “Andy, you’re sweet.”

“Sweet?”

“But you’re such a jerk.”

He blinked. He waited for her to continue.

“We had lunch, right? We sat across from each other? We talked. We ate. We even held hands for a few minutes?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So you didn’t see the ring on my finger? You’re supposed to be a cop, Andy. You’re supposed to see everything?”

She waved her left hand in his face. The ring sparkled in the sunlight from the window.

He felt the muscles tighten on the back of his neck.

“I married Rod, see.”

“What the fuck? You married the tennis hat guy? When?”

“Sunday. We got married last Sunday. So I wanted to tell you. You’ve been calling me and following me and trying to bring back the past and-”

“Only because I still have feelings for you.”

Stop sounding like a girl.

“That’s why I wanted to say good-bye.” She stood up and searched for her T-shirt on the floor. “I have nice memories, too, Andy. So now we had another nice memory and a nice good-bye.”

“Jesus, Sari.”

His phone beeped. It took him a moment to remember it was in his uniform pants draped over the bench at the foot of the bed. He heard Chaz’s voice: “Pavano? You there? Got an early call. Pavano?”

Andy lurched to the bottom of the bed and fumbled the phone from the pants pocket. “Chaz? What’s up?”

“Where are you? Got to roll.”

“Uh. . Nowhere. I can meet you.”

Sari, straightening her T-shirt, squinted at him. “Nowhere?”

Pinto gave him an address on Madison Street.

He clicked the phone off and stuffed it back in the pocket. He scrambled out of bed and grabbed up his clothes. “Hey, Sari-it’s been real. Happy marriage. I enjoyed the honeymoon.”

“Ican’t do this, Chaz. I admit it. I don’t have the stomach for it.” Pavano hung in the doorway, unable to step into the small bedroom.

Pinto scowled at him. “Are you actually trembling? Pavano, how long were you a cop in the city?”

Pavano swallowed. His Adam’s apple rode up and down his throat. “You know I was Housing Authority. I never. . I never saw anything like this. I. . don’t think we should fucking be here.”

“We’re fucking here, aren’t we?”

“First the guy in the car. Now this. I’m having such a bad day. This isn’t working out for me.”

“It didn’t work out too good for this kid, either,” Pinto muttered. “Actually, you’re doing better than he is. That cheer you up?”

“You’re a riot,” Andy said, eyes on the window. Avoiding the corner by the bed. Avoiding it.

A few minutes ago, I was in bed with Sari. And now. . a fucking horror show.

Pinto softened his tone. “Look, we got the call. We’ll do what we can do. You saw me radio Vince. The crime scene guys are on their way.”

“Chaz, there’s no one here. Who made the call?”

“A neighbor. Said she smelled something bad.”

“Yeah. Smells bad, okay. Maybe we should wait for the CS to get here.”

“Take a breath, Andy. You’re not a fucking rookie. Be a pro.”

“I. . I never-” Pavano stopped himself. He forced himself not to look in the corner.

But what was that sick, sharp smell? It smelled like when Susannah burned a roast.

The bedroom was spotless. Not a thing out of place. A kid’s room without even a dirty sock on the floor. No sign of a weapon. A row of track lights across the ceiling sent bright circles of white halogen light over the room. Brighter than daylight. Cheerful.

Posters of New York Rangers hockey players on one wall. A movie poster hanging a little crooked over the desk. Pavano recognized Buzz and Woody.

His eyes moved too far and he glimpsed the dark lake of blood on the carpet. And were those chunks of. . burnt skin?

“He’s burned up, Chaz. I mean, like someone took a torch to him. Like the guy in the car. It’s fucking sick.”

“You’re babbling. Just shut up.”

“But where are the parents? Where are the fucking parents? Why was he alone in the house?”

Pinto removed his cap, scratched his thinning flattop. Beads of sweat glistened on his broad forehead. His little bird eyes trained on Pavano. “Now you’re starting to think like a cop.”

Still eyeing Andy, Pinto slid the cap back on. Then he turned and took a few steps toward the corner.

“Saltzman. The mailbox said Saltzman, right? I think I met the kid’s mother. On the pier one night. She’s divorced. I remember she’s divorced. She said the kid was troubled.”

“He ain’t troubled now. Come over here. Take notes.”

“Wh-what are we looking for?”

“Are you stuttering now? Are you totally going to lose it?”

“I feel sick, Chaz. I mean really.”

“Suck it up, man. We’ve got to look for clues. For anything. Till the ME gets here.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t fucking know.”

Pinto leaned over the perfectly smooth white bedspread. Nothing to see. “You going to toss your dinner? Do it downstairs. Don’t contaminate this room.”

“The room-it’s totally clean. It’s almost like it’s sterile or something. A kid’s room without a piece of paper out of place. No dirty clothes. No backpack hanging over a chair. Nothing. But there had to be a fire or something. Right? It smells like there was a fire.”

“Yeah. Smells like a barbecue.”

Chaz bumped open the closet door with his hip, careful not to leave fingerprints.

He sighed. “No sign of a murder weapon.”

“This is worse than the guy in the car. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Chaz whirled around. “Do you think I have?” His cigarette-hoarse voice went up two octaves. “It’s a fucking nightmare.”

Andy froze at the sound from the hall. Footsteps on the stairs.

“Vince radioed for CS backup,” Chaz said. “Has to be the ME. And he had to tell Franks. Franks will probably bring some state guys. Now we got some kind of fucking serial killer creep, right?”

The red-haired woman burst into the room, eyes wide with fright, a raincoat flying behind her. “What are you doing here? This is my house. What are you doing here?”

Andy recognized her from that night on the pier. This was the same Saltzman, the victim’s mother.

“Get her out!” Pinto waved to Andy with both hands. “Get out of here. Get her out!”

“I don’t understand,” the woman planted her feet and glared at Andy. “Why are you here? Where is my son? Where is Derek?”

“Get her out!” Pinto lurched toward Andy. “Out. Now. Out of here.”

Andy felt in slow motion. Like coming out of a nightmare. Pulling himself awake slowly.

He took the woman by the shoulders. Too late.

“I don’t understand!” Fear replacing anger. “I don’t understand. Tell me-”

“Get her out! Get her out!”

Andy couldn’t budge her. She saw. She saw the kid’s body.

“My Derek! Is that my Derek? I don’t understand. I don’t understand. Do you hear me? Talk to me. Please. I don’t understand.”

“Come with me.” Andy tried to turn her away. He held her shoulders and spoke softly. “Come with me. Please.”

“I don’t understand. I don’t understand.”

I’ve seen people go into shock before. But I’m not trained for this.

“Is that my son? Is that Derek?”

“Pavano-get her out of here. Don’t stand there. Get her out !”