Tommy had stopped crying. The car sat idling, exhaust fumes leaching up into the trunk.
Anne was dizzy and nauseous on fumes and fear and from struggling against her bonds as the car rose and fell over a road she couldn’t see.
She had managed by twisting and squirming to finally get her hands free of the belt Crane had bound her with. Feeling around inside the trunk, she had found a couple of potential weapons. She had to think about how and when to try to use them. She would probably have only one chance. If she tried and failed . . .
Why wasn’t he doing something? Why hadn’t he turned the car off?
Maybe they were in a closed building and this was his plan: to gas them.
Or maybe she wasn’t his priority.
Instantly Anne began to kick and scream and thrash. If he would just open the damn trunk . . .
Tommy pretended to be asleep. He had had lots of practice at that, fooling his parents on a regular basis. Now he would have to fool Shadow Man, who had opened the door and stood staring at him. Tommy could feel the monster’s eyes on him. If he had dared to look, they probably glowed red in the dark night.
He stayed perfectly still as Shadow Man crouched down in the open door and touched the back of his head, stroked the back of his head, then put a hand on his back—like his father sometimes did when he came to check on him in the middle of the night.
Tears rose up again in Tommy’s throat.
He stared at the boy for a moment, then reached out and touched his hair. The moonlight on his face made him look like a sleeping angel.
He rubbed the boy’s back and prepared himself for what he was about to do, pulling a cold steel curtain across his mind, relegating the job to its proper compartment.
Then the car began to rock and the teacher started screaming.
As the trunk opened, Anne attacked, coming up in Crane’s face with a spray can of something that smelled like oil, shooting in the dark and hoping to blind him.
He cried out—startled?—hurt? She didn’t know and couldn’t wait, scrambling out of the trunk in the second he jumped back.
She had to run. She needed cover.
Her ribs hurt. She couldn’t get a breath.
Rows of cars, one after the next.
If she could duck out of his sight—If she could get under one of the cars—If she could get more than three steps ahead of him—
He lunged for her, hit her hard with a fist between the shoulder blades. Anne went down, hit the ground, rolled, holding tight to her last chance.
He kicked her as hard as he could.
Anne tucked into a ball like a small animal, trying to protect herself. She got her knees underneath her and ducked her head.
Tommy watched in horror from beside the car as Shadow Man attacked Miss Navarre, hitting her, kicking her, tearing at her like a wild beast from a nightmare.
Tommy had never been so scared. He had never imagined anything as horrible as this. He felt so small and so alone. He was just a little boy and the Shadow Man was a demon.
They needed a hero, him and Miss Navarre. But there was no hero. He had to be the hero. He had to save the day. That was what his father had taught him.
He willed together as much courage as he could find and started running.
“STOP IT!! STOP HURTING HER!! STOP IT!” he shouted at the top of his lungs until his throat burned raw.
He ran as hard as his legs would go, and he hurled himself at Shadow Man like a small missile, fists swinging, feet kicking.
It was the second’s distraction Anne needed.
Crane turned to intercept Tommy’s attack, and she sprang to her feet, turned, and swung with all her might.
The tire iron connected with the side of his head and Anne imagined she felt bone give way beneath its force. Crane staggered sideways, his knees folding under him, his hands grabbing hold of the side of his face.
“TOMMY, RUN!” Anne shouted. “RUN!!! GET IN THE CAR! GET IN THE CAR!”
Tire iron still clutched in one fist, she grabbed at the boy, catching him by the back of his jacket, pulling him around.
“RUN!! RUN!!”
He caught hold of her free hand, and she ran for all she was worth, dragging him with her.
“GET IN THE CAR! GET IN THE CAR!”
Tommy jumped in through the open driver’s-side door and landed on the passenger’s seat.
Anne was right behind him, pulling the door closed after her. She could see Crane in her peripheral vision, lurching toward them, one arm outstretched, the other hand clamped to his face.
The seat was back too far, set for a man. She could hardly reach the pedals, had to hold tight to the steering wheel to keep from falling back.
“HURRY!!!” Tommy squealed, bouncing like a ball in his seat. “IT’S COMING!!”
Peter Crane flung himself against the passenger’s door, his left eye hanging out of the shattered socket as he let go of his face to try to pull the handle.
Anne threw the car in gear and hit the gas. The Jaguar’s tires spun on the damp grass and the car fishtailed away from Crane, leaving him falling.
They flew toward the closed front gate, then crashed through the gate, and then they were on the road and skidding sideways as Anne wrestled the wheel.
She drove as if Crane was flying behind them, a demon from hell bent on snatching them back into the darkness. She didn’t know exactly where they were. She pointed the car toward the glow of light that had to be town and didn’t slow down and didn’t look back.
92
Neither of them spoke as Anne drove. She glanced over at Tommy several times, wondering when the enormity of what he had gone through would hit him. Was it now? Was he seeing his father in his mind’s eye, or the monster he had saved her from? Would he ever have to realize what his father might have done to him? Would his mind ever be able to make sense of any of it?
