If Angels Fall

SEVENTY

Zach Reed stared into his hand before closing his fingers around their ticket out of thisrat hole.

Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak.

Zach crouched at the bottom of the basement stairs,primed to make his move. It was all planned. Gabrielle and Danny had goneupstairs to the bathroom. They were going to flush a whole roll of tissuepaper, plugging the toilet, then call the man.

Squeak-creak.

A TV was blaring upstairs. Good, that would help. Thetoilet flushed, gurgled. It flushed again.

“Mr. Jenkins!”

Good, Gabrielle. Good.

The squeak-creak stopped. Someone walked fromthe TV to the bathroom. A man’s voice over loud, rushing water cued Zach. Hepadded up the stairs, breathing quickly, panting. Had to be brave. Only gonnaget one shot at this. Adjusting to the light, his eyes widened at what he saw.Nothing had prepared him for this.

Enlarged pictures of Gabrielle and Danny covered theliving room wall. A worktable was cluttered with a computer, books, and papersthat had cascaded to the floor. The paint was peeling, blistering. Ignored.Windows were sealed with ragged sheets. The place was desolate. Something icy,something decomposing, reeking of death dwelled here. He spotted the threebinders, the printed names of Joshua, Alisha, and Pierce, paired with Danny,Gabrielle … and Michael.

Michael? How did he know his middle name?

Pasted to one wall were news clippings about the babygirl they found last year in Golden Gate Park. Some of them were his dad’s.Zach’s stomach knotted.

He’s going to kill us!

His eyes stung. The faces of his mother and fathercircled him. He was going to collapse. The ceiling was coming down on him. Stopit! Stop it! Stop it! Nobody’s gonna get you outta here but you. Quit being ababy. Quit it! Hurry up!

Fist balled, he found the kitchen, scoured it until hefound the phone. A wall phone with a long cord and the dial pad in the handset.He reached it easily, scanning the filthy counter for a magazine, a phone bill,anything with an address. Nothing. He swallowed.

The splash of water on linoleum echoed from thebathroom.

Hurry!

He couldn’t stop shaking. He sniffled, stretching thecord from the kitchen to the rear entrance. Wait! He tried the door. Nope.Locked solid. From the inside. Try the front door? No. No time. The cord waslong, allowing him to hide in the rear closet. Leaving the folding door openslightly, he opened his fist and by a shaft of light read his father’s businesscard.

TOM REED

STAFF WRITER

THE SAN FRANCISCO STAR

415-555-7571

It was his dad’s direct line.

Zach pressed the buttons for the number, shaking sobadly he misdialed. Please, he sniffed and redialed. There. He put the phone tohis ear, the line clicked, and began ringing.

Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak.

Keller sat before the TV news coverage of Zach Reed’sabduction, his finger unconsciously caressing the body of Christ on the silvercrucifix around his neck.

They have not died. I can bring them back.

“…it is unbelievable what has happened…”

Skip Lopez, a green reporter for Channel 19’s ActionNews team gripped his microphone.

“Zach Reed, the nine-year-old son of Tom Reed, areporter with The San Francisco Star, was abducted this afternoon fromthis hobby store in Berkeley. Reed had been covering the earlier kidnappings oftwo other San Francisco children, Danny Becker and Gabrielle Nunn, when thislatest abduction occurred…”

Squeak-creak.

W-what was — Keller heard little voices. Water? Thebathroom?

“Mr. Jenkins, sir.” Gabriel was calling.

Keller left the living room and found Daniel andGabriel in the bathroom, fearful. “What is it?” Water cascaded from the toilet,puddling on the floor. Obviously it was backed up. He found a plunger under thesink.

“Step away,” he told them. A few solid churns clearedthe blockage. “Use the towels,” he pointed to the spilled water. Returning tothe news, he stopped in his tracks.

Michael?

He hurried back to the bathroom.

No sign of Michael.