C
HAPTER
E
IGHT
They were less than a mile from the school now.
As he piloted the van ever closer to danger, Jake realized with a shiver just how high the stakes had become. It wasn’t fair.
Some wild, weird conspiracy that he’d never fully comprehended had cost him his entire life; his future as well as his past. Over the years, the panic attacks had grown less common—those sudden rushes of paranoia when someone would look at him strangely, or those horrifying moments in the grocery store when someone would say, “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”—but their accumulated burden had robbed him of his faith in people. Slowly but steadily, the concept of fairness had eroded to the point where his expectations were painfully simple to meet. Life was about survival; about making sure that at the end of the day you still had what was important. Today even that cynical goal seemed unattainable.
He wondered sometimes what might have happened if he hadn’t run; if he’d let the justice system run its course. At the time, it had seemed so much easier to disappear. So much safer. Now he realized how foolish they’d been. In the eyes of the world, the very act of running away served as proof of their guilt.
They’d gotten into this, Carolyn and he, at a time in their lives when they still believed that it would all work out somehow. They believed then that bad things didn’t happen to good people and that given their lifelong efforts to be decent citizens, they’d somehow stumble onto a happy ending. Looking back, his naïveté infuriated him.
Over the years, he’d reached a fragile inner peace with his pessimism that still eluded Carolyn. He feared she’d never stop looking for the silver lining—never fully comprehend that they were destined to die young. The real tragedy in all of this was Travis. What could a boy possibly have done, even in a previous life, that would warrant parents who would so destroy his childhood? And who were they to expose him to . . .
No, don’t go there,
he commanded himself.
He’s your son. You’re his father. You have every right. Every responsibility.
All that mattered was family. Everything else was gravy. Jake would lie, he would steal, he would
kill
to protect them, just as whoever had set them up would do whatever it took to protect their sordid secret. And the FBI was happy to help. The Donovans represented one of the greatest embarrassments in Bureau history, and Jake could only imagine how its agents’ thirst for revenge had blossomed over the years. All in the name of justice, of course. What a crock.
To the government, justice was a weapon, used to gain power over other people. Politicians and their pawns cared only about publicity and career advancement. Bring in the bad guy, get a bigger staff. If ordinary citizens like Jake or Carolyn or true innocents like Travis had to die to make that happen, well, so what?
“Jake, are you okay, honey?” Carolyn looked like she’d been trying to get his attention.
“Huh? Yeah, I’m okay.” He forced a wholly unconvincing smile.
“Do you think they know yet?”
He checked his watch: 2:20. “Oh, yeah, they know. I’m sure that’s why those cop cars were racing all over town. They’re trying to track me down. They’ll have everything covered by now—our house, the shop, everything.”
She gasped and swung around in her seat, grabbing his arm. “They’ll be at the school, too!”
His expression remained rock-solid. “Could be.”
She recognized the look for what it was and gasped again. “Oh, God, Jake, you can’t just go shooting up a school! What are you going to do?”
He looked at her across the center console. His face was calm, resolute. “I’m going to pick up my son and take him with me.”
“And if the police are there?”
He shrugged and returned his eyes to the road. “If the police are there, then it’s likely to get intense.”
“But Jake . . .”
He slammed the steering wheel with his palm and shouted, “Goddammit, Carolyn, what are my choices? Those sons of bitches aren’t getting my kid! They’ve taken our lives, they’re not getting his! I didn’t start this fight. Now, I leave the school with Travis, or I don’t leave the school at all! I don’t know how to state it more clearly.”
She stared at him for a long time, but he refused to look back at her. She wanted to be angry with him, but deep in her soul she knew he was right. If there were any bad guys here, it was the cops—the ones in Arkansas who refused to look past their noses for real evidence on whoever did the shooting that day.
The Jake she’d married all those years ago was not the bitter, cynical man who sat next to her now, avoiding her eyes and flexing the muscles of his jaw. This was a man created by betrayal and committed to having what was rightfully his, at all costs.
Family first, everything else second.
And he was absolutely right: they were out of choices. She willed away the dreadful sense of doom and struggled to find some flicker of optimism. This was a time for strength, not weakness.
The silence inside the van grew heavier as they approached J. E. B. Stuart Junior High. Carolyn was tempted to turn on the radio just for white noise, but didn’t, fearful that they’d tune in a report on themselves. The FBI would have them classified as murderers, she was sure; that’s what all the Wanted posters said. Now, as Jake pulled the van to a stop along the curb at the crest of the steep hill immediately behind the school, she felt sick with the knowledge that he truly was willing and ready to kill if he had to—to live down to what was expected of him.
“Why are you stopping here?” she asked. “Just pull into the circle up front and let’s get this over with.”
He shook his head. “No, the cops will be looking for us in either the Subaru or the Celica. I don’t want anyone to be able to tell them about the van.” After throwing the transmission lever into park, he turned sidesaddle to face her. “Here’s how I see it, okay?” He spoke softly now, his voice controlled and businesslike. “I want you to wait here with the motor running. If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, leave without me.”
She tried to interrupt, but he cut her off. “If you hear shots, count to thirty and leave. Travis and I will find our way to the safe house somehow. I plan to just walk out of there, like it’s any other day, but if we come hauling ass up that hill, scoot over into the driver’s seat and get ready to book.”
“Are you finished?” She spoke through pursed lips—it was her angry look.
He thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, I’m finished.”
“Well, let me tell you how it’s
actually
going to happen,” she fired back. “I’m waiting here for you.
Period.
Two hours, shots fired, I don’t care. I’m waiting. We’re together forever, Jake.” Her eyes filled again, and this time she let them.
How long had it been since they’d felt this close? He smiled as he reached over and cupped the line of her jaw in his palm. To argue would be a waste of time, and he knew it. “I love you, y’know.”
Her mouth remained set, yet she smiled with her eyes as she covered his hand with her own. “Just love me enough to get back here.”
“I promise.”
Everything that needed saying was said. He slipped out of the van and closed the door. He pulled his jacket tight against the chilly breeze, pressing his elbow against the Glock, just to make sure it was still there. God, what a beautiful day! He figured it for sixty degrees; way too pleasant for the business at hand.
He walked quickly down the steep concrete steps toward the school—the ones that were off limits to kids, according to a flyer sent home last week. Seems a little girl tripped, and now they were too dangerous for everyone.
Once at the bottom, he cut across the deserted playground, then paused for a few seconds to look back up at the van, before finally disappearing around the corner.
J. E. B. Stuart Junior High School—named, like all things in the Deep South, for one of the Confederacy’s heroes—was a sprawling, one-story structure, not yet five years old. Constructed of a hideous brown brick, the school was built for energy efficiency, allowing only one window per classroom, which could not be opened, except in an emergency. With an active PTA and an upperbracket population, Stuart fared better than most South Carolina schools in the standardized tests that measured whether it was getting the job done.
As he approached the school, Jake realized for the first time that their escape plan had never addressed Travis’s schooling. Yet another hole.
Shit.
As a tutor, he felt confident enough that he could hold his own against the academic challenges of the eighth grade, but there still remained the question of textbooks and curricula. How could they have overlooked something so obvious?
How ironic, he grumped, that after years of planning and simulations, walking through a million what-if scenarios, the first major weaknesses were becoming obvious even before the plan was fully executed.
Damn.
His eyes scanned continuously as he approached the front doors, searching for signs of anything out of the ordinary. If the police had staked out the school, they’d done a fine job of staying out of sight. Again, he pressed his elbow against the Glock.
Please, God, forgive me for what I might do.
A contingent prayer, hedging his bets with God. The sheer audacity of it made him smile.
Two sets of double doors brought him into the lobby of the school, colorfully decorated for Fall Festival, with splashy banners hanging from the suspended ceiling. They couldn’t celebrate Halloween in the school anymore because some religious zealot with too much time on her hands had discovered that Halloween was a pagan holiday and as such violated the constitutional separation of church and state.
Behind him and to the right, colorful ribbon bows had been placed behind the pictures of three children, arranged under a tasteful sign in Old English calligraphy that read “In Memoriam.” The sight saddened him. In Jake’s day, kids didn’t die.
The school’s main office lay just ahead and slightly to the right. Through the glass walls, he noted a group of five staffers clustered around the end of the four-foot counter just inside the door, one man and four women. They appeared animated, concerned. The man, in particular—whom Jake recognized as Principal Menefee—seemed especially bothered, a deep scowl creasing his forehead. The subject under discussion was clearly a burdensome one, and Jake was willing to bet he knew exactly what it was.
He made eye contact with one of the women through the window as he reached for the doorknob. Her mouth dropped open, and her face drained of color as she tapped Menefee’s shoulder. He watched the man’s face harden and felt his own stomach fiip. The principal’s expression was one of resolve, not fear, and it occurred to Jake that Menefee might turn out to be a problem. He paused just long enough to unzip his coat before pushing the door open and stepping inside.
Conversation ceased instantly, and he realized in that moment how tired he’d grown of uncomfortable silences. “Hi, folks,” he said as cheerily as he could. “I’m here to pick up my son.”
No one said a word. All four women turned their eyes to their boss, who himself seemed unprepared to respond. “I—I’m afraid we, uh, we can’t, um, do that for you,” the principal stammered.
Jack smiled patiently. Obviously, the guy knew about the morning’s events, and he was stalling for time, probably to protect Travis from what he saw as a threat to his safety. In his heart, Jake admired the balls it took for Menefee to stand up to him.
“Actually,” Jake said as softly as he could, “that wasn’t a request. It was a statement. I’m here to pick up my son.” When no one moved, he added, “Now.” As he spoke, he placed his right elbow on the counter, pulling his jacket away from his side. Whether he moved enough to expose the Glock, he didn’t know, but certainly, Menefee interpreted the movement for the threat that it was. “I think you’ll find him in English class about now.”
Menefee turned to one of the ladies. “Mrs. Harris, would you please page Mrs. Hawkins’s room and tell her that Travis Brighton’s father is here to pick him up?”
Mrs. Harris started to move, but Jake made her freeze with his words. “Actually, Mrs. Harris, I’d like you just to tell Mrs. Hawkins to send Travis up to the front office. You can leave out the part about me being here. That’ll be a surprise.” Then, as an afterthought, “If you don’t mind, tell him to bring his books and his jacket with him, too.”
Mrs. Harris nodded obediently and scooted quickly to the P.A. console. As she did, another woman, this one wearing a white nurse’s smock, ducked quickly into another room.
“Stay here, please!” Jake called after her. He darted over to the doorway she’d just entered. It was the same woman who’d looked so frightened through the window. Now she stood frozen in the middle of the nurse’s office, twitching her eyes as if expecting to get hit. A little girl with a blond ponytail—she looked less like a student than a student’s little sister—sat on the edge of a cot along the back wall. Although clearly scared to death, the girl posed no immediate threat, and Jake ignored her. “Please,” he urged again. “Let’s just talk together out here in the lobby until Travis arrives.”