Бентли Литтл - The Disappearance

Finally, the last group was brought around the corner of the building from the area of the Farm, all shackled together. There were Teachers in this group, and she saw the look on Absalom’s face as he was led out with the others. There was nothing kind about it now. He had no warm smile for her, only a hateful glare that told her what she already knew: this was not over.

She remained stoic as his eyes bored into hers. But inside, she was like jelly. She had left the Home, had lived in the real world, was an official Outsider. She was not the girl she had been. But somehow being here again, seeing these people, brought it all back: the fear, the anxiety, the paranoia.

She turned away, trying to make it seem casual and natural, not wanting him to know that she was afraid. Her heart was pounding crazily, and she needed a drink of water; her mouth was completely dry. The sheriff walked up to them. He looked tired but pleased, and he actually smiled as he said, “Thank you.” He pointed to Stacy. “Especially you, for calling it in. The tape of that call is going to get us out of a whole heap of legal trouble.”

“I just hope you put them away for a long time.”

“With your help, with the help of all of you, I think we’ll be able to do that.” The sheriff moved in front of Joan. “Ms. Daniels.” He nodded politely. “How are you feeling?”

“Nervous,” she said.

“Understandable, understandable.” There was a short pause. “When we’re done here, after we go back to the office, if you’re up to it, I’d like to get a statement from you. Not to add on too much pressure, but you’re the reason for all this. You’re the linchpin of our case, and we really need your cooperation in nailing these guys.”

“I’ll give you a statement; I’ll testify in court—I’ll give you whatever you need.”

He looked relieved. “You don’t know how glad I am to hear you say that.”

“Is that all of them?” Gary asked, motioning toward the numb, passive Residents lined up against the wall. Separated from the others were the Children. Several of the more severely disabled, the ones in wheelchairs or lying on gurneys, had already been taken away in ambulances.

“That’s all we were able to find. So far. I have a group of men searching the barn and looking through the fields. We’re going to go back in and do another search of the compound in a few minutes.” His jaw tightened. “We haven’t been able to locate their illustrious leader, the one who calls himself ‘Father.’ ”

Joan had been afraid of that.

The sheriff faced her. “Do you have any idea where he might be? Are there any… secret hiding places or… I don’t know, escape tunnels?”

“I have no idea,” she admitted, but she motioned toward Mark, who stood with Rebekah off to her right in an ill-defined no-man’s-land between the sheriff’s car and the restrained Residents. “Mark might be able to help you, though. He and his wife are the ones who planned everything with me. He lived here a lot longer than I did, and he’s been here the entire time. He’ll know what to look for.”

She convinced the sheriff that Mark could be trusted, and, after talking to him, Stewart allowed Mark to lead him and a team of four men into the Home so they could systematically search each room, closet and corridor for Residents or Penitents who might be hiding.

Kara was in one of the groups that had been brought out, although she had not eaten breakfast and was considerably less groggy than the men and women to whom she was shackled. With Deputy Hubbard’s permission, and under the watchful eye of another officer, Joan was allowed to go over to speak to her roommate—although the conversation was more than a little one-sided. Kara not only refused to respond to her questions; she wouldn’t even look at Joan. She kept her eyes on the ground, and after several minutes of this, Joan gave up and walked back to where Gary was standing by the car. She still wanted to know why her roommate was here, what had happened, how she had ended up with Father, but those questions weren’t going to be answered today.

One of the Children with mental problems began howling and a couple of others responded in kind. Using a loud, authoritarian voice, a Teacher ordered them to stop, and they did.

Time passed. Ten minutes. Twenty. A half hour.

Gary tried to speak to her a couple of times, tried to ask her questions, but Joan waved him off. She wasn’t in the mood to talk right now; at the moment she was content to just stand here and wait.

The day was warm, and they were in the direct sunlight. The metal of the car was hot against her back. But she didn’t care. She was grateful to be outside, and even standing here doing nothing, she felt freer than she ever had inside the Home.

Mark emerged, leading the sheriff and his men out of the building through the same door they’d gone in, but no one else was with them. Their search had uncovered nothing. A moment later, the sheriff told them what they’d already guessed.

Father was nowhere to be found.

He had escaped.

Joan sucked in a deep breath, turning around, away from the Home and the Residents and Penitents lined up against it. She saw her reflection in the window of the car, a ghostlike image superimposed over the solid reality of the backseat. She hardly recognized herself, and she realized that she had not seen her own reflection in many days.

“Are you all right?” Gary asked softly, putting a hand on her back.

Joan nodded, but in her mind she saw the look on Absalom’s face when they’d led him out, and she shivered.

This was not over.

Sitting in the sheriff’s office, Gary could not stop shaking. He’d been fine when it all was happening. Adrenaline had taken over. Even afterward, waiting outside, watching the Home being raided and everyone rounded up, he had been able to maintain his cool. But he’d started shaking the moment they’d returned to town. His emotions had caught up with the knowledge in his brain, and he realized not only the scope of what they’d come up against but how close they had come to death. Even thinking about that army of deformed people—

The Children

—made his blood run cold.

He had no idea where the Children were right now or, indeed, where most of the men and women from the Home were being held. A handful of them were in cells here in the building, and he assumed those were the ringleaders, the ones in charge, though the sheriff, understandably, had not had time to explain exactly what was going on.

He only hoped they would not be arrested themselves. In an effort to head off trouble and get everything out in the open, Reyn had volunteered the information that Brian and Gary had been carrying knives. For self-defense, he’d emphasized. In all of the chaos, that fact might never have come out, so Gary wasn’t sure that offering it up was such a wise strategy. Brian was pissed. Nothing had been said about his taking Isaac hostage, but it was bound to come out eventually, and he was already blaming Reyn for that.

Gary was sitting next to Joan on the couch in Sheriff Stewart’s office. His arm was around her, had been ever since they’d arrived, but the two of them had not had time to talk. Well, they’d had the time but not enough privacy. He felt awkward saying what he wanted to say in front of the others, and he was waiting until they were alone.

A deputy Gary did not know brought them soft drinks and potato chips from the vending machines—it was after lunch and they were starving—and they set upon the food greedily. The Fritos bag Gary picked up crackled noisily as his hands shook, and he noticed when Brian popped open his can of Dr Pepper and spilled it all over his pants that his friend’s hands were shaking even worse than his. They were all nervous wrecks, and only Stacy, who had not come into the Home, retained any measure of composure.