“Positive.”
“Well, she's probably jumpy because of what happened in the car. Maybe she just needs a little reassurance. We can tell her we'll step up our patrols of her house. Maybe that'll put her mind to rest.”
“Let's look again, just in case.”
He heard them shuffling boxes near him, and suddenly panicked: he had left his backpack out, lying on top of a box. They would see it and know, and then they'd empty out all of the boxes until he came tumbling out . . .
“I give up,” one of the cops said, finally. “Cut the light, will you?”
The light went out, and Jimmy sat paralyzed as the door closed. He was soaked with sweat, trembling, and the tree was cutting into his arm and the back of his neck, but he didn't dare move. What if they heard him? What if they came back? Even after they left,
she
could still hear him and call them back.
A tear rolled out of his eye, a tear that Bill would not have tolerated. He managed to wipe his wet face on his shoulder. This was hopeless. He was never going to get out of here.
D
ownstairs, Beth tried to find comfort in Larry and Tony's assurances that no one was in her house. “I'm really sorry to bother you guys. I guess I'm just getting paranoid.”
“I can understand that,” Larry said. “And don't apologize. It's our job to check things like this out.”
“Yeah, but I didn't expect two detectives when I called.”
Larry and Tony looked at each other, and finally, Larry decided to come clean. “The truth is that Nick Hutchins was worried about you and asked us to keep an eye on you.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Nick? What did he tell you?”
Tony looked apologetic. “He said you were followed home tonightâand when we drove up, we saw the dents on your car. It's no wonder you would be nervous after that.”
Her face tightened, and she looked down at the puppy. “I told him I could protect myself.”
“That's what he said, but since we're hereâwhy don't you file a complaint? Give us an idea who followed you so we can arrest him.”
“He'd be out by morning. Besides, I can't prove it. I can only guess who it was.”
“If you give us a name and he has complementary dents in his car, that'll be proof enough.”
She thought it over for a moment as she peered off into the trees surrounding her yard. There were risks either way. If they could keep him in jail for a day or two, that might help her finish her investigation. “It's Bill Brandon. He runs the St. Clair Children's Home.”
Tony wrote down the name. “I've heard of him.”
“Yeah. Probably as a hero and protector of children. All lies.”
“Why do you say that?”
She thought of telling them everything, but she just didn't have enough evidence yet. Alerting them to part of the problem might do more harm than good. “It'll all come out in the paper in the next couple of days, detectives. Then you'll see.”
“So that's why you think it was him? Because you're doing some kind of story on him?”
“You got it.”
“Would you be willing to file a complaint against him tonight?”
She considered that, then shook her head. “No, I'd rather hit him with the big guns in a couple of days. There's a lot at stake.”
She walked them to the door, and the little dog bounded out into the night, its tail wagging. She grabbed his leash and hurried after him, clipped it to his collar, and watched as he found a bush to do his business. “Thanks for coming,” she told the cops.
Larry held back. “I'd feel better if you were locked in before we left.”
“Yeah, I guess I would, too.” She waited for the puppy to finish, then hustled him back inside. “Thanks again.”
She locked and bolted the door, then watched out the window as the car drove out of sight. She was losing it, she told herself. Calling the police just because the house creaked. Of course it creaked. It was old. It had probably creaked every day since she'd moved in. But that was before she'd taken on Bill Brandon. Now, everything was suspect.
But she was okay, she reminded herself. He couldn't find her here.
M
arlene Brandon lay awake in bed, her mind reeling with the confessions she'd made to Beth tonight. She'd had to do it. It was the only way to set things right. Her newfound faith required it of her. It wasn't enough to simply believe; she had to put feet to that belief. Even if those feet led her into danger.
She looked at the clock and realized she had been lying here for two hours without closing her eyes. That uneasy feeling that had gripped her all day was almost strangling her now.
She turned over, fluffed her pillow, adjusted the covers, and tried to push her conversation with Beth out of her mind. Marlene had told her things that, most likely, would land her in jail, unless the prosecutor granted her immunity for testifying against her brother. The thought covered her in cold sweat.
I do not give to you as the world gives. Let not your heart be troubled, and do not be afraid.
The remembered words brought her comfort, wrapping themselves around her heart. A strange, unexpected peace washed over her, and she began to think that she might sleep tonight, after all.
Her mind shifted back to Beth, so young and bright, so ambitious, so alone. She was proud of the way Beth was supporting herself through college by working at the small-town newspaper. Only twenty-one, but she'd come so far. And she was living a clean life with a pure heart, going to church faithfully and trying to follow the letter of God's law. Marlene only hoped that Beth would learn about his grace, as well. Maybe she should have made sure. Maybe she would call her tomorrow and do just that.
Her eyes began to drift shut, and her mind released its hold on her troubles as sleep pulled her under.
“Hello, Marlene.”
She sat bolt upright in bed at the voice, and saw the silhouette of her brother standing in the doorway of her bedroom. “Bill!”
“Surprised?” he asked with that sinister amusement she'd heard so often when he spoke to the children. She had learned it from him, and had gotten good at using it herself over the years.
“How did you get in here?” she asked, pulling her covers up over her as though they could shield her from his wrath.
He laughed then, that condescending laugh that had crushed the spirits of young and old alike. “Marlene, Marlene. You know there isn't a lock anywhere that can keep me out.” He came in and sat on the foot of her bed, gazing at her. “I'm hurt, you know. I always thought that, of all people, I could trust my sister.”
“You don't trust anyone,” she said, sliding back against her headboard.
His face was half lit by the hall night-light, half shadowed by the darkness in her room. “That's true, I guess. Sad, but true. It's hard to trust, Marlene, when people betray you left and right.”
She swallowed, and her mind searched for the comfort of Scripture she'd recalled moments ago.
Let not your heart be troubled . . .
“You want to talk betrayal, Bill, let's talk about what you're doing to those children.”
He leaned back against the post at the foot of her bed. “I'm teaching them a trade, Marlene. One they can use all their lives.”
“One that can ruin their lives and land them in prison when they're older. You're warping their minds, Bill; you're dragging them into hell. You'll pay for it. You'll be accountable for it someday.”
“Is that what they tell you down at that church you've been going to? That some invisible force out there is going to swoop down and strike me dead?”
The fear seemed to have fled, and in its place was a boldness she had rarely felt around her brother. “You'll pay, Bill.”
“And so will you.”
“Yes, I was a part of it. I'm prepared to suffer the consequences. But I've been forgiven.”
“What did you tell her, Marlene?”
His voice sliced like a knife through her words. She swallowed. “Very little that she didn't already know. She's going to expose you, Bill. She's not afraid of you.”
“She should be. And so should you.”
He pulled his hand out of his pocket, and she saw the shiny metal of the pistol as the hall light fell upon it. He got up and came closer; he aimed the gun at her forehead. Even so, that peace hung on, and so did the boldness. She wasn't afraid to die. “What are you going to do, Bill? Kill all of us? One by one? Me? Beth? Her editors? All the adults who grew up in your home, the ones who know the real story? The children who are working as your little slaves now?”
“Maybe,” he said. “But I think for now I'll just settle for you.”
I
n Cottage B on the back side of the St. Clair Children's Home campus, seven-year-old Lisa Westin lay still in her bed, clutching her threadbare teddy bear with one arm. She stared up at the ceiling and forced her ears to listen hard, so hard that she'd hear her brother when he finally came home. But some long-held fear told her that he wasn't coming home.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold in the tears and block out the memories of three years ago. She had been only four, and Jimmy told her often that she was too young to remember, that she had gotten it all wrong, but she knew he was just trying to make the memories seem like a misty dream that hadn't really happened. But she knew better. They weren't her first memoriesâthere were others, but they came more in sensations and scents, feelings that seemed warm and sad, tiny glimpses of happiness that she knew she'd felt then. The memory she had of what happened that dayâthe day their mother hadn't come homeâwas more vivid, more distinct. She remembered harsh faces of policemen, words that she didn't understand: neglect, abandonment, addiction. She remembered the realization, after two whole days of going without food, that their mother had forgotten them. And she remembered the inescapable panic, the what's-going-to-happen- to-us terror. Jimmy had seemed so much older than seven at the time; he had been the rock she had clung to, her big brother. But he had been the age then that she was now. He had promised her, as the policemen had carted them off to become wards of the state, that he wouldn't allow them to be separatedâthat, even though no one else in their lives had stuck around, he would never leave her.
She wiped her tears, held back the sob pulling at her throat, and slid out of bed, careful not to wake the other little girls sleeping in the beds around her. The home was supposed to look and feel like a real home, with ruffly bedspreads donated by local church groups, and frilly little dolls that no one was allowed to play with. But Lisa suspected that real homes weren't filled with fear, as this place was. Her long white gown dragged the floor as she padded barefoot across the carpet and peered out the window. Maybe Jimmy was out with Bill, doing that job he had said was so important. But she had heard Bill's car a few minutes ago, and had gotten up then to see if Jimmy was with him. When she saw under the streetlight in front of Bill's cottage that he was alone, she had known something was wrong.
Still clinging to one last fragment of hope, she padded out of the room and into the hall, past Stella, their house mother, whose loud snores reassured Lisa that Stella was asleep, and to the big room where all the boys in this cottage stayed. She tiptoed close to Jimmy's bed. Maybe he had come in quietly, not wanting to wake anyone. Maybe he didn't know she had waited and waited . . .
But the bed was still neatly made. Jimmy wasn't there.
She looked around for some of his belongings, wondering if he'd packed them. Then she'd know if he had planned to leave her.
She got down on her knees and peered under his bed, and found the box in which he kept everything in the world he owned.As quietly as she could, she slid it out. In it, she saw his baseball glove, his ball, the Atlanta Braves cap he'd gotten somewhere . . .
And she saw the envelope with the snapshots of them taken a few years ago, snapshots he kept because he said he always wanted to remember that they were sister and brother.
Wouldn't he have taken those if he'd intended to leave? Or had he left them here for her, so she could remember even though he'd chosen to forget?
“What are you doing in here?”
The harsh whisper startled her, and she swung around and saw Brad, one of Jimmy's roommates, sitting up in bed.
She put her finger to her lips to quiet him, and quickly slid the box back under the bed. But she kept the envelope of snapshots.
“I'm telling,” he whispered louder. “I'm telling Stella. And I'm gonna tell Jimmy when he comes back. You're not supposed to be in his stuff!”
Another of the boys stirred. “Will you shut up? This is the first night I've been able to sleep all week!”
“That little creep is going through Jimmy's stuff.”
“I am not,” she whispered back. “I was looking for something that's mine. He was keeping it for me.”
“What is it?” Brad taunted. “A pacifier?”
“I don't suck a pacifier!” Lisa flung back, struggling to hold her tears back. She got to her feet and headed for the door.
“I'm still telling!” he whispered.
She ignored him and tiptoed out into the hallway and past Stella's room. Her snoring hadn't changed its rhythm, and Lisa breathed a grateful sigh of relief. Maybe Brad wouldn't tell. If he did, Stella would spank her, then send her to Bill for further punishment. She'd never been sent to Bill before, but Jimmy had. She had seen the bruises herself.
She got back into bed and lay down, staring at the ceiling as she clutched the pictures to her chest. What would she do if Jimmy didn't come back?
Now she let the tears come, heavily, deeply. She turned over and buried her face in her pillow, muffling her sobs.
A
dusty ray of sunlight from the attic window woke Jimmy the next morning, and it took a moment for him to realize where he was. He was hiding at the bottom of an old Christmas tree box, and the prickly tree still covered him.