CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE:Daddy’s Home“You two havebeen naughty children,” the man said, his voice calm, even a bit chipper as if he and Patrick were engaged in a pleasant chat. “Where’s your mother?”At first, Patrick couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. He stared at the gun as if hypnotized by it. The opening at the end of the barrel seemed so small yet so large at the same time. It was hard to believe that a projectile propelled out of that hole could cause so much destruction. Patrick had gotten into a few scrapes and physical altercations in his life, but until this moment he’d never had a gun pointed at him. Not even a cap gun when he was a child, as far as he could remember. He found the experience utterly debilitating.Big Daddy smiled, not a menacing smile, but again one that looked almost congenial. “I could tell you were going to be a feisty one from the first time I saw you running. So much energy and stamina. A boy a father could be proud of, if only you turned that energ
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR:Putting Sis to BedPatrick awoke tothe roar of the ocean crashing on a rocky shore, thunder booming in the tumultuous heavens, nuclear missiles detonating right next to his ear. The sounds of apocalypse, of annihilation, of volcanos erupting fire into the sky and worlds imploding. He tried to raise his arms to cover his ears with his hands, but he found his arms would not move. As he listened to the cataclysmic roar ebb and flow, he realized it would do no good anyway. The sound was not without but within, inside his own throbbing head.He opened his eyes and winced at the glare of light that stabbed into his corneas. His throat was scratchy, his tongue a dried-out sponge lying abandoned in his mouth. Something covered his mouth, something sticky that sealed his lips together. His face was on the ground, turned to the side, and he felt some kind of grid digging into his cheek. He tried again to move his arms, which were pulled behind his back. He glanced
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE:It’s a GirlPatrick sat inthe dark, back against the rough stone wall. The lack of light was part of his punishment, as was the fact that he only had the food bucket in the cell with him. Big Daddy would bring the other bucket once a day and watch while Patrick used it. He’d resisted as long as he could, but eventually it had been a choice between using the bucket or fouling his pants and having to sit in his own filth. Humiliating and dehumanizing.Speaking of which, he reached into the bucket next to him and pulled out a handful of dog food and tossed it into his mouth like popcorn, crunching down on the kibble. The taste was chalky and sour, but he swallowed the mess down with a grimace. He turned the handle of the spigot and gulped several swallows of water.He had no idea exactly how much time had passed since his escape attempt with Clare. Weeks? Months? It was hard to keep track of time when he was submerged here in total darkness. Long enough for
CHAPTER ONEThe Boy in the Book LadyBrad was browsingthe Mystery section in Book Lady on Liberty Street when he noticed the boy staring at him. Well, not a boy exactly. He was probably in his early twenties, more of a young man. The older Brad got, though, the younger everyone else looked to him.Jesus, you’re only thirty-six, stop casting yourself in the role of a geriatric. Although you are closer to forty than twenty. Hell, you’re closer to forty than thirty ... Blocking out his own inner voice, Brad glanced back toward the staircase lined with stacks of books. The young man still stood there, practically in the children’s section, still staring at him. He wore a pair of capri pants and a gray hooded sweatshirt, his black hair done up in meticulous bed-head, ample time spent to make it appear he spent no time on his appearance. Mild amusement marked his face. Instinctively, Brad reached up and brushed at his chin, wondering if a bit of his lunch had gotten st
CHAPTER TWOThe Runaway NectarinesAs Brad made his way back across Crenshaw Square, he silently berated himself for not taking his car. He hadn’t thought he’d need it since everything in the Historic District—scratch that, downtown—was within easy walking distance, but what seemed like a few short blocks when you were unburdened suddenly felt a lot longer when you hauled six plastic bags full of household supplies.Weary as he was, he still paused across the street and surveyed his new home. He remembered standing in this exact spot ten years ago, fantasizing about owning the house. At the time, it had seemed nothing more than an impossible dream, but here he was, literally living the dream.The house was no longer the dilapidated beauty it had been before. No more mold creeping down the masonry like a rash, no more broken glass, brand new shutters and roof. The restoration hadn’t been cheap, but 324 Abercorn was once again the grand manor Brad had known all those years ago. He co
CHAPTER ONE: The AccidentBernie Wilson cursedsoftly under his breath. The Walmart had ten different checkout stations but only three of them were currently open, the lines at each stretching back half a dozen long. Bernie gripped the handle of his cart, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, a kinetic personification of impatience.He had half a mind to simply abandon his groceries instead of waiting, but the cupboards were nearly bare at home and he didn’t want to end up like Mother Hubbard. A supply run was not only necessary but imperative. If he had only himself to worry about, he still may have left, but as it was he had his family to consider. He had to take care of them.Family.The word brought a rush of warmth to Bernie’s skin, as if his body housed a small furnace somewhere in his gut. Thinking of the love that waited for him at home acted as a balm to soothe his edginess. He took several deep breaths through his nostrils and willed his body to stillness.
CHAPTER TWO:It’s a BoyPatrick Young wanderedthrough a dark tunnel, lost and cold and blind. Every so often a brief flash of light would reveal images that he recognized but could not connect in any way that made sense to him. A dirty cement floor, a rusted metal bucket, a water-stained ceiling, a single dim bulb behind a wire cage. He didn’t have time to adequately ponder these images because the light flares lasted only seconds and then he was plunged back into utter blackness. Not just an absence of light, but a treatise against the very concept of light. A declaration that light had only ever been a myth, something imagined but not anything real. The darkness was so total, in fact, that he began to doubt he had an actual body, believing that he merely floated in an abyss that had swallowed the world.And there had once been a world, hadn’t there? And he had been a part of it? Yes, he’d been a young man with a rich life, a sophomore in college with a boyfriend he thought h
CHAPTER THREE:WaitingOfficer Sanchez steppedthrough the automatic doors into the lobby of the Pelham Medical Center Emergency Department. A bored-looking nurse sat behind a desk straight ahead, alternately reading a paperback and scrolling on her cell. She didn’t even glance up at the sound of the doors whooshing open. Sanchez scanned the chairs in the waiting area. He saw an Asian couple, the woman cradling a crying toddler; an elderly black man holding a bloody towel to his forearm; a young woman with stringy hair hugging herself and rocking back and forth in one of the plastic seats; and a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a large nose chewing on his nails. Sanchez walked over to the nail-chewer.“Mr. Neil Baker?” Sanchez said.At first, the man continued to stare down at his feet, gnawing at his fingers like a dog with a rawhide bone. He seemed to notice Sanchez’s shoes first then let his eyes trail up the officer’s legs and torso before landing on his face.