Trust Your Eyes

FIFTY-NINE

Earlier that evening, the Promise Falls City Council was in a heated debate about whether to sell advertising on city land. The way it would work was, businesses could purchase a small sign that said This Garden Supported By, followed by the company’s name. The sign would be stuck into the ground wherever the city maintained gardens. So residents might see one by the tulip garden at the south end of the common, or along the median on Saratoga, or in the small park in the west end of town where dog owners could let their pets run off the leash. Some council members thought the signs would be a blot on the landscape. Others thought the plan was a great way to bring in revenues without raising taxes. Someone asked, “What are we going to do when a sex shop wants to sponsor a garden across from a church? Has anyone thought about that?”

Julie McGill, sitting at the press table, taking notes and giving a very good impression of someone who gave a shit, was wondering whether she’d bought the right kind of wine to take when she went back out to see Ray.

She didn’t really know if he was a red wine guy or a white wine guy. Maybe he wasn’t a wine guy at all. She hadn’t known him long enough to really know. So before she’d come to cover this council meeting, she’d bought two bottles of California red, one California white, and one French white, and a six-pack of Amstel. That way, she had all bases covered.

The problem was, she’d left all of it in her car when she got to city hall. It wasn’t like you could walk into the mayor’s office and say, Hey, can you put these in the fridge while I write down all the stupid shit you and the rest of the council say over the next couple of hours? Okay, maybe it wasn’t such a big deal with the red, which supposedly you didn’t serve chilled, although Julie still liked it that way. But maybe, once she got to Ray’s place, they could start with the red and put the two bottles of white into the freezer for half an hour or so.

God, all this planning around drinking, it was like being back in high school. Although, she had to admit, her attitude on the subject had not changed much since then. What did it matter what they drank so long as they got a good buzz on? And then, maybe, with any luck, they could finish what they’d started the other night.

She wouldn’t have to go back to the office to write this. The Standard had an office at city hall. Julie would pop in there, write a story on one of the computers about this ridiculous debate, file the damn thing, and get the hell out of here. These bozos actually had to think about this? It amazed her that even one person thought putting up tacky advertisements alongside roses, tulips, and azaleas was a good idea. You didn’t need brains to hold office; you only needed votes.

Sitting there, taking notes, Julie thought she’d rather be making calls about Allison Fitch. Who she was, why she’d disappeared, how she’d ended up dead in Florida months after vanishing from her New York apartment. She believed there was a story there, but she knew that when and if she got it, it’d be a hard sell with her own editors. “What’s this got to do with Promise Falls?” they’d want to know. She’d have to sell them on a local angle. That’d be Thomas, who’d inadvertently uncovered whatever it was that had happened by exploring the planet on Whirl360.

That gave her pause.

Would Thomas be okay being part of the story? How would Ray feel about it? She’d written plenty of stories without giving any thought to the embarrassment it might cause the principals, but she didn’t want to do that this time.

She’d find a way around it.

The ads-in-gardens debate ended with a courageous vote to defer any decision at all, and instead refer the matter to a committee for further consideration. Everything left on the agenda was of even less consequence, so Julie grabbed her notepad and her purse and filed her story from the Standard office on the premises. Then she got in her car, reached around to the floor behind the passenger seat to make sure her beverage purchases were still there, and headed out of town to the Kilbride place.

She was about two hundred yards from her destination when she saw a white panel van pulling out of the driveway, heading her way. The van’s headlights flashed past. She couldn’t see who was driving, and didn’t really even try to catch a look. It didn’t strike her as a big deal. At first, she wasn’t sure the van had come from Ray’s driveway.

She did catch a glance in her side mirror of the van retreating, enough to notice that it had one burned-out taillight.

Julie hit her blinker and turned into the drive, rolled the car up to the house. Ray’s car was there, as was his father’s old Chrysler van, and the house was lit up like there was a party going on. The living room lights were blazing, and she could see the lights were on in Thomas’s room.

She grabbed the booze from the backseat, got out of the car, climbed the steps to the porch, and rapped on the door. When no one came after ten seconds, she opened it and shouted, “Hello?”

She waited a moment. When she heard nothing, she called out, “Ray? I can’t drink all this wine alone! Well, maybe.”

Still no response.

She went into the house, set the bag of bottles on the closest chair, and gazed into the kitchen. No one there, so she went to the bottom of the stairs and called up, “Anybody home?”

Julie went up the steps two at a time, poking her head first in Thomas’s room, then the spare room and what used to be Ray’s father’s bedroom. The door to the bathroom was open.

Something about Thomas’s room.

Julie returned to his room, stepped in, and immediately saw what had caught her attention at an unconscious level a moment earlier. A jumble of disconnected wires on the desktop. All three monitors were blank.

The computer tower was gone.

“What the…” Julie said under her breath.

She went back downstairs, and as she was going through the kitchen she noticed light spilling up from behind the open basement door. “Anyone down there?” she called.

She went down the stairs even though no one responded. Something on the floor caught her attention. Something even more worrying than the missing computer tower.

A white plastic wrist restraint.

“No,” she whispered.

She ran back up the stairs and out the rear door. She ran to the top of the hill that overlooked the creek and shouted for Ray and Thomas. Then she ran over to the barn and did it again.

“Fuck me,” she said, and ran back to her car.

She’d been here, what, maybe four minutes? Not a long time, but a van could cover four or more miles in that time. What kind of chance did she have of catching up with it?

That didn’t stop her from spinning the car around and hitting fifty miles per hour before she’d reached the end of the drive. The car skittered and nearly went onto two wheels as she turned onto the road, then floored it in the direction the van had gone.

Once she hit the first intersection, which direction would she go? Left? Right? Straight? She didn’t have a clue where the van was headed. On top of that, she didn’t know with any certainty that Ray and Thomas were in it.

“Shit!” she shouted. Why the hell hadn’t she just phoned his cell?

She fumbled blindly through her purse on the seat next to her until she’d found her phone. She held it in front of her, one eye on the road and one on the phone, and called up Ray’s number, tapped it.

She put the phone to her ear, her left hand gripping the wheel. It rang once, twice-

“Come on! Answer your fucking phone, you asshole!”

After the seventh ring, it went to voice mail. “Hi, this is Ray. I can’t-”

“Fuck!” Julie screamed, but not because Ray had not picked up. She slammed on the brakes, let her phone fly so she could get both hands on the wheel, and steered the car over onto the shoulder.

Up ahead, at the Exxon station, was the van.

A man was standing at the side, using the self-serve pump to fill the vehicle. From where she sat at the edge of the road, she couldn’t see the front of the van, although she thought she could see an elbow resting on the sill of the driver’s window.

What to do? She wasn’t even sure it was the same van that had pulled out of Ray’s place. It sure looked like the same van. A commercial type, no windows on the side. Should she drive in, pull up to the pump right alongside? See whose elbow that was? Whether there was anyone else in the van?

All she could think of was Allison Fitch, the dead couple in Chicago. If the people who’d killed them had figured out Ray had been to the apartment, then-

The man replaced the cap on the van’s gas tank, replaced the pump, and went into the Exxon to pay. So he was using cash, since you could use your card at the pump if you wanted to.

Lots of people paid cash.

But if you didn’t want a record of where you’ve been, you sure wouldn’t use credit.

Before Julie could decide what to do, the decision was made for her. The man returned to the van, getting in on the passenger side. The taillight came on-just one, so this was the right van-and the truck pulled out of the station and got back on the road.

Julie took her foot off the brake, and followed. She kept well back. There weren’t that many cars on the road this time of night, and the van was big and boxy, and white, so it wasn’t hard to keep it in sight.

The van slowed a couple of times at intersections, like the driver didn’t know where they were, or which way to go. But soon the van found its way onto the interstate, and got on the southbound.

Which, if you followed it for a couple of hours, would take you into New York City.

Julie glanced down at her fuel gauge. About half a tank. She hoped to God that wherever this van was going, it got there before she ran out of gas.

Once they were on the highway, Julie stayed well back so as not to make the driver of the van suspicious. Her phone was somewhere on the floor in front of the passenger seat. She unbuckled her seat belt, and through some precarious contortions managed to reach the phone with her right hand, her head dipping below the dashboard, while still keeping the car going in a straight line.

Glancing back and forth between her phone and the road, she called the Promise Falls police, identified herself as a reporter for the Standard, and asked to speak to Detective Barry Duckworth.

“He’s off duty,” the dispatcher said.

“Well then fucking get him at home and tell him to call me!” Julie said.

“Excuse me?” the dispatcher said.

Julie rattled off her cell phone number. “Just have him call me, okay? It’s about the Kilbrides.”

“We’ll see,” the dispatcher said frostily, and hung up.

Shit, Julie thought. She’d come on too strong. She didn’t like her chances that the dispatcher would pass on her message.

Seconds after the dispatcher ended the call, a police car screamed past Julie in the passing lane, giving her a momentary heart attack. At first, illogically, she thought it had something to do with her call to the Promise Falls cops, but this was a New York State police car, the kind that regularly patrolled the interstate.

Julie watched as it continued to speed away from her, but as it got closer to the van it slipped into the lane behind it, rode there for a minute or so, and then the flashing lights came on.

“Yes!” Julie said as the van pulled over to the shoulder.

Julie did the same, killing her lights, but she kept driving along the shoulder, closing the distance between herself and the patrol car, so she could get a better look at what was going on. She figured if Ray and Thomas were actually being held against their will in that van, as she suspected, this would be the end of it. This would be their rescue.

The cop-it looked like a woman from here-approached the van. She shared some words with the driver, probably asking for license and registration. Then she went back to the cop car, got in, and sat there while the van waited.

“Come on, come on,” Julie said aloud.

A good three minutes went by before the cop got back out of her car and returned the paperwork to the driver. Then-hello, what was this? The driver-it was a woman, a blonde-was getting out, coming around to the back of the van with the cop.

She wants her to open up the back.

“Open the door open the door open the door.”

But just as the blonde had her hand on the lever, the cop turned and ran back to her cruiser, hopped in, and sped away.

“No!”

Julie could guess what had happened. Another, more urgent call had taken priority.

Maybe, when the trooper was talking to the driver, she’d noticed something in the back that raised her suspicions. Not actual bodies. If she’d thought she’d seen bodies-living or dead-she wouldn’t have headed off to another call. A large box, maybe? Some kind of container big enough to contain a body?

She had to have seen something.

“Shit,” Julie said as the flashing lights of the police car faded away in the distance. The woman got back into the van, and seconds later it continued on its way.

So did Julie.

Almost twenty minutes later, Julie’s cell rang. She answered without looking to see who it was.

“Hello.”

“Detective Duckworth here. What’s so important you have to get abusive with our dispatcher, Ms. McGill?”

“I think-okay, I don’t know for sure-but I think someone may have snatched Ray Kilbride and his brother.”

“What are you talking about?”

She told him about getting to the Kilbride house seconds after the van pulled out of the driveway. The fact that no one was home. The missing computer, the set of plastic cuffs.

“He was supposed to call me back,” Duckworth said.

“What?”

“Ray Kilbride called me. Then he was interrupted, said he was going to call me back soon, and he hasn’t.”

“I’m right,” Julie said. “They’ve been taken.”

“Who the hell would do that?” Duckworth asked. “Listen, I’m gonna go out to the Kilbride house, see what’s going on. You got the license plate on the van?”

“I’m not close enough to read it. When I had the chance, I wasn’t thinking.”

“Okay, look, anything happens with the van, call me at this number. This is my cell. Got that?”

“I got it.”

She stayed with the van.

There was an accident at the far end of the Lincoln Tunnel. Traffic was getting through a car at a time by the mouth. The white van was about five car lengths ahead. Once it was past the accident, it took off.

By the time Julie’s car was past the fender bender, and she drove onto the island of Manhattan, the van was nowhere to be seen.

“Motherfucker!” she shouted, banging her fist against the steering wheel.