Authors: R. L. Stine
I’ll probably see them forever.
And if Mark Sutter was the murderer . . . Pavano wondered if Mark Sutter was haunted by the murders, too. He claimed he thought about the first murder night and day. Really? Did he think about the victims and think about how he had burned them . . . burned them open like some kind of monster from hell?
But Pavano knew Franks was wrong. He knew Mark Sutter wasn’t the murderer. Sutter didn’t have it in him. Pavano could read him. He didn’t have the anger. He didn’t have the insanity. He didn’t have the
balls
.
And there stood Lea Sutter, on the edge of the crowd of frantic, shouting parents. Silent and still. Standing so stiffly beside her sister-in-law. No kids and no husband.
Your husband isn’t a murderer. I know it.
So why did he decide to run?
Pavano knew the cops were no closer to finding the murderer of those three people than they were to knowing how a hundred or more kids disappeared from their homes and, presumably, were locked in this school building.
And thinking this, with Franks fading into the background of his mind, yammering on through his megaphone, Pavano suddenly felt the full weight of all his regret. It came so suddenly and as such a surprise, he felt his knees start to give as the heaviness swept down over him.
All the wrong choices he had made in his life suddenly confronted him, just as the crowd of parents confronted Franks. Such
bad timing, but he couldn’t shake it off. If only you could command your mind to think what it
should
be thinking.
But instead he thought of Sari and then back to Susannah, how he messed up his marriage. It could have worked if he had tried harder, if he hadn’t been such a fucking jerk. And Sari . . . Again Sari. What the fuck? What made him think he could step into the past and just claim her as if he hadn’t walked out on her before? Didn’t he move to the Hamptons to step into his
future
? Well, she fucking showed him you can’t go home again.
All the wrong choices. All wrong. Every decision of his life.
And now what?
What was happening? A young blond woman with a red polka-dot bandanna around her neck had stepped forward and was talking to Franks. Their conversation quieted the crowd as the parents strained to hear.
“You’re a teacher here?” Franks said, lowering the megaphone.
“Yes. I’m Rhea Seltzer. I teach eighth-grade science. I arrived the usual time. A little before eight. With everyone else.” She gestured to some other teachers, who stood apart from the parents. “The door was locked. We tried shouting for the custodians. We thought it was a mistake.”
“Then what did you do?” Franks asked, brushing a fly from the broad shoulder of his jacket.
“We . . . didn’t know what to do. We looked for Mrs. Maloney. The principal. She usually arrives about the same time we do.”
“But you couldn’t find her? Is she here?” Franks shouted into the megaphone. “Mrs. Maloney, are you here?”
“We saw her car. It’s a white Camry. It’s in the teachers’ parking lot. But we couldn’t find her.” Seltzer pointed to a short man with a mane of curly black hair. “Mr. Munroe had her cell number. We tried it several times, but we only got her voice mail.”
One of the cops leaned forward and said something in Franks’s ear. “Are the teachers always the first to arrive?” Franks asked.
“No,” the woman answered. “The cafeteria workers get here first. They have to make breakfast for the meal-plan kids. They arrive before seven-thirty.”
“Where are the cafeteria workers?” Franks demanded, shouting as if at a rally. He raised the megaphone. “Are you here? Please step forward.”
“Their cars are here. But they’re not out here,” the teacher Munroe called out.
“They must be inside,” Seltzer suggested.
Pavano thought about it. The food workers arrive and are ushered in. Then the doors are locked. Are they hostages? Were they let in to cook for the kidnappers? For the kids?
Franks had to silence the chatter of the crowd again. Pavano turned to the building and gazed along the row of windows. The morning sun, yellow now and slowly rising over the trees, reflected in the glass. He couldn’t see anyone inside the classrooms. The third window from the right was open, but no sound came out.
“My son has a cell phone but he’s not picking up,” a man in a dark blue running suit said.
“I found my daughter’s phone in her room. She would never leave the house without it.”
“I’ve been trying to call my daughter all morning. No answer. I don’t understand it.”
“My son is new in this school. Why did they take him?”
“Are you going to get them out or are you going to stand there asking questions?”
That shout made Franks’s face twitch. He was a big, imposing man. He radiated strength, athletic prowess, and power. But his stance wasn’t impressing this crowd of frightened parents.
They wanted action. Why weren’t the police storming the building? Or at least trying to make contact with whoever was inside? It was obvious they thought Franks was stalling, that he had no clue what to do here.
And they were right.
Pavano’s eyes surveyed the crowd. He stopped at Lea Sutter, still standing near the back, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She hadn’t moved.
Did she know where her husband was hiding? Sutter had eluded all three police departments for two days now.
A man in a white T-shirt and khaki shorts came along the sidewalk, walking his French bulldog on a leash. He stopped in surprise and stumbled over the fat dog when he saw the crowd. “Is this a school event?”
Some parents turned to set him straight on what was happening.
“Has anyone received a ransom demand?” Franks boomed, sweeping the megaphone from one side of the crowd to the other. “Has anyone received a communication from
anyone
inside the school building?”
The answer was a definite no.
One of the state cops said something to Franks, pointing to the school. Franks let the megaphone slide to the ground. He motioned Pavano, Pinto, and the other cops forward.
“Can’t wait to hear his brilliant plan,” Pinto muttered. “He probably wants to blow the fucking school up.”
“That would get us home in time for lunch,” Pavano replied, eyes straight ahead on Franks.
Pinto stopped him. “Whoa, partner. You’re not developing a sense of humor, are you? Did you forget? I’m the sarcastic one?”
“Sorry,” Pavano murmured. “The strategy just seems kind of obvious to me. I mean, there’s an open window, right? So . . . we fucking go in and see what we find in there.”
“And if the kidnappers start shooting?”
“Pinto, do you really think there are kidnappers? Kidnappers who grab a hundred kids, take them all to school, and make no demands?”
Pinto shrugged. “What else could it be, shitbrain?”
“We’re going in,” Franks announced. “Weapons in hand.”
The weapons order drew loud howls of protest from the crowd. Franks motioned toward the open classroom window. “Ignore the crowd. If you see someone holding the children, shoot first. Just don’t hit any kids. Shoot anything else that moves.”
What movie did he get that line from?
Guns drawn, the feds in the FBI flak jackets strode to the open window. Pavano had to squint. The windows all gleamed as if the sunlight was coming from inside.
Pavano, Pinto, and three other local cops followed, almost as an afterthought. Pavano glanced back at the street and saw Big Pavano in his blue-black captain’s uniform standing by himself. His cap was tilted over his head. His gun was holstered. He was shaking his head as if he disapproved of the whole thing.
“Where the hell has he been?” Pavano asked.
Pinto spit on the grass. “The captain likes a big breakfast.”
“Franks probably hasn’t kept him in the loop,” Pavano suggested. “It’s a miracle the feds are letting Franks run with this.”
“Waiting for him to hang himself,” Pinto muttered.
They were approaching the open window. Pavano still couldn’t see any sign of life inside. He felt his chest tighten. Each step made him feel a little more tense and a little more alert.
What kind of madman kidnaps one hundred kids? What is he doing to them in there?
He pictured the boy with his head burned off.
Oh, God. What are we going to find?
“Here we go,” he muttered without realizing it.
Pinto leaned close. “I’ve been in some tough situations,” he said softly. “I always think of a line from a country song I heard.” He poked Pavano. “You’re a country music guy. You probably know it.”
Pavano didn’t reply. He waited for Pinto to tell him what song.
“‘God is great, beer is good, and people are crazy.’”
Pavano grinned. “Yeah. I know that song, Pinto.”
“It ain’t a song, Andy. It’s my Bible.”
Pavano heard the French bulldog start to bark, as if warning them away from the window. Franks stepped up beside the feds. Cautiously, he raised his head to the window and shouted inside. “Can anyone hear me? We’re coming in!”
Pavano and Pinto tensed their weapons.
“We’re coming in!” Franks shouted again. “Police! We’re coming in! Police!”
Pavano could see only the back of Franks’s head. From his vantage point, the classroom was a sunlit blur. Was anyone in the room? Or even nearby?
Weapon in hand, Franks motioned for the feds to let him go in first. He started to raise himself over the window ledge.
Something caught Pavano’s eye. He turned in time to see the front doors of the school building swing open. He heard parents gasp and shout in surprise.
“They’re coming out! The kids are coming out!”
L
ea leaned close to Roz, her hair brushing her sister-in-law’s cheek. “It’s all my fault,” she whispered.
Axl let out a cry and tried to break free from Roz’s grasp. But she had him securely by the shoulders, and he only succeeded in pitching himself off the grass, his tiny sneakers kicking air.
“Lea, what? I can’t hear you.” She lowered her arms around the little boy’s waist and held him tight. “Take it easy, Axl. Be a good boy and I’ll buy you some candy.”
Lea wiped a tear from her eye. “I said it’s my fault. All of this.”
Roz narrowed her eyes at her. “What are you saying? I don’t get it.”
“Ira and Elena. I’ve put them in so much danger. I love them so much. I . . . couldn’t bear for anything to happen to them. They’re my children, Roz. My children.”
“Lea, please—”
“Mark warned me but I didn’t listen to him. I wanted those twins so badly. I mean, I
thought
I wanted them. And now, look what I’ve done, Roz. Look what I’ve done.”
“Lea, you’re not making sense. Of course you’re upset. I’m upset. Look at everyone here. We’re all going out of our minds with worry. But how can you blame yourself? You didn’t—”
“I brought them home. I should have known. Why didn’t I listen to Mark? To Martha? I can’t believe it, Roz. I tried to tell the police it’s the twins. I tried to show them the photos. But then Mark ran and they . . . they ran after him. They wouldn’t have believed me, anyway.” She couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. Wrenching sobs escaped her throat.
Roz let go of Axl and wrapped Lea in a hug. “Stop. Stop it. You’re saying crazy things. How can it be the twins? You know that can’t be true. Lea, no one blames you. Mark doesn’t blame you.”
“He
should
. Don’t you see? He
should
blame me. When he knows . . . Oh, Roz, when he knows . . .” Another uncontrollable round of racking sobs.
“Aunt Lea is sad?” Axl gazed up at Lea. He looked about to cry, too.
She forced herself in control for his sake.
“Yes, Aunt Lea is sad, but she’ll be happy again soon. You wait and see, honey.”
“Evil. So much evil. I have proof, Roz. I have the photos. I wanted to show the police. But they wouldn’t look at them. I know you think I’m crazy. I know—”
“I don’t think you’re crazy, dear. I just know you haven’t had time to recover from that horrifying hurricane.”
“Recover?” Lea cried.
“Recover?”
“Take it easy, please, Lea. You’re frightening Axl.” She wrapped him in another hug.
“Now here I am, I’m standing here helplessly while poor Ira and Elena are in there. My babies. They’re in such danger, and there’s nothing I can do. It’s—it’s too late!”
“Lea, the police are here. The FBI. Look at them all. They’ll get the kids out. I know they will.”
“No. You don’t understand. They’re helpless. They’re completely helpless. They can’t get them out. They can’t save anyone against so much evil. Martha warned me. Martha emailed me again yesterday. All the details. All the horrible details.”
Holding Axl between them, Roz pressed her cheek against Lea’s. “Stop. Stop. It’ll be okay. You’ll see, dear.”
They stood that way for a long moment. And then Lea pulled back when she heard cries and shouts of surprise from the crowd of parents.
“The front door is opening. Someone is coming out!”
A
kid appeared in the doorway. Then two. Two blond boys.
It took Pavano a few seconds to recognize the Sutters’ twins. He struggled to recall their first names. Old-fashioned names.
Everyone seemed to move at once. The feds and the cops stepped back from the window. The parents pushed toward the kids at the door. At first they cheered, but then a strange silence descended as the doors slammed shut behind the twins.
When the parents realized that no more kids were coming out, the shouts and confused cries rose up again.
The two boys stood rigidly side by side, hands balled into tight fists at their sides. They wore jeans and matching black T-shirts. The sunlight made the blue arrows on their right cheeks shimmer.
At the side of the building, Franks tossed down the megaphone and went running toward the twins. “I’ve got you! Come with me! You’re safe!”
One of the twins raised both hands in a halt signal. “Stay back! Don’t touch us!”
“Don’t touch us!” his brother echoed.