Where are the children?

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

It was all going so badly. Nothing was working as he'd expected. That foolish woman coming here and then the little girl; having to wait till she woke up, if she woke up, so that he could feel her twisting and pulling from him. Then the boy squirming away from him, hiding. He'd have to find him.

Courtney had a feeling of everything slipping away from him. His sense of pleasure and expectation had changed to disappointment and resentment. He wasn't perspiring any more, but the heavy sweat still clung to his clothes and made them unpleasantly sticky against his body. The thought of the boy's big blue eyes, so like Nancy 's, didn't give him anticipatory pleasure.

The boy was a threat. If he escaped, it would be the end. Better to finish with them both; better to do what he'd done before. In an instant he could remove the threat – seal off air so that lips and nostrils and eyes were covered – and then in a few hours, when the tide was high, toss their bodies into the churning surf. No one would know. Then he'd be here safe again with nothing to threaten him; here to enjoy her torment.

And tomorrow night, with all the threat gone, he'd drive to the mainland. He'd go around dusk, and probably some little girl would be walking alone and he'd tell her he was the new teacher… It always worked.

His decision made, he felt better. Now all he wanted was to be finished with this threat. That child, recalcitrant like Nancy… troublesome… ungrateful… wanting to escape… he would find him. He'd tie him and then get the thin sheets of velvety plastic. He'd made sure to have a brand that Nancy could have bought at Lowery's. Then he'd seal it on the boy first, because the boy was so troublesome. And then… the little girl… right away too. It was too dangerous to even keep her.

The sense of danger always heightened his perception. Like last time. He hadn't really known what he would do when he had slipped across the campus to the shopping centre. He'd only known that he couldn't let Nancy take Lisa to the doctor. He'd been there before she arrived, parked on that little supply road between the shopping centre and the campus. He'd seen her drive in, speak to the children, go into the store. No cars nearby. Not a soul around. In a moment he'd known what to do.

The children had been so obedient. They'd looked startled and frightened when he opened the car door, but when he said, 'Now, quickly – we're going to play a game on Mommy for her birthday,' they'd gotten into the trunk and in an instant it was over. The plastic bags slipped over their heads, twisted tight, his hands holding them till they stopped squirming; the trunk shut and he back in school. Less than eight minutes gone in all; the students intent on their lab experiments, no one had missed him. A roomful of witnesses to testify to his presence if need be. That night he'd simply driven the car to the beach and dumped the bodies into the ocean. Opportunity seized, danger averted that day seven years ago, and now danger to be averted again. 'Michael, come out, Michael. I'll take you home to your mother.'

He was still in the kitchen. Holding the hurricane lamp up, he looked around. There was no place to hide here. The cupboards were all high. But finding the boy in this dark, cavernous house with only this lamp to see by would be infinitely difficult. It could take hours, and where should he begin?

'Michael, don't you want to go home to your mother?' he called again. 'She didn't go to God… she's all better… she wants to see you.'

Should he try the third floor and look in those bedrooms first? he wondered.

But the boy would probably have tried to get to this outside door. He was smart. He wouldn't have stayed upstairs. Would he have gone to the front door? Better to look there.

He started into the little hall, then thought of the small back parlour. If the boy had tried the kitchen and heard him coming, that would be the logical place to hide.

He walked to the doorway of the room. Was that breathing he was hearing, or only the wind sighing against the house? He walked a few steps farther, into the room, holding the kerosene lamp high above his head. His eyes darted, picking objects out of the gloom. He was about to turn around when he swung the lamp to his right.

Staring at what he was seeing, he let out a high-pitched, hysterical whinny. The shadow of a small figure huddled behind the couch was silhouetted like a giant crouched rabbit across the faded oak floor. 'I found you, Michael,' he cried, still giggling, 'and this time you won't get away.'