then suddenly flew up off the ground. He kicked at air and clawed at the arm around his waist. Another arm squeezed around his neck.
“Settle down, you little shit.”
Timmy started screaming and shouting. The arm squeezed harder, cutting off his air, choking him.
When the car came squealing down the winding road, the stranger still kept his vise grip on Timmy. The car skidded to a stop in front of them, and still the stranger made no attempt to move or flee. The headlights blinded Timmy, but he recognized Deputy Hal. Why didn’t the stranger release him? Timmy’s neck hurt bad. He clawed at the arm again. Why didn’t the stranger make a run for it?
“What’s going on here?” Deputy Hal demanded. He and another deputy got out of the car and approached slowly.
Timmy didn’t understand why they didn’t draw their guns. Couldn’t they tell what was going on? Couldn’t they tell the stranger was hurting him?
“I found the kid hiding in the woods,” the stranger told them, only he sounded excited and proud. “You might say I rescued him.”
“I see that,” said Deputy Hal.
No, it was a lie. Timmy wanted to tell them it was all a lie, but he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak with the arm squeezing his neck. Why were they looking as if they believed the stranger? He was the killer. Couldn’t they see that?
“Why don’t the two of you get in with us. Come on, Timmy. You’re safe now.”
Slowly the arm released from around Timmy’s neck. His feet touched the ground. Timmy pulled free and ran to Deputy Hal, tripping on his swollen ankle.
Hal grabbed Timmy by the shoulders and gently shoved him behind him. Then Deputy Hal pulled out his gun and said to the stranger, “Come on, now. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Eddie.”
Chapter 94
Christine awoke to a room full of flowers. Had she died, after all? Through a blur, she saw her mother sitting next to the bed, and Christine knew immediately that she was, in fact, still alive. Certainly the blue and pink jogging suit her mother wore would never be acceptable attire for heaven-or hell.
“How are you feeling, Christine?” Her mother smiled and reached for Christine’s hand.
Her mother was finally letting her hair go gray. It looked good. Christine decided to tell her later when a compliment would come in handy to combat the inquisition.
“Where am I?” It was a stupid question, but after the hours of delusions, hallucinations-whatever they were- she needed to know.
“You’re in the hospital, dear. Don’t you remember? You just got out of surgery a little while ago.”
Surgery? Only now did Christine notice all the tubes going in and out of her. In a moment of panic, she ripped off the covers.
“Christine!”
Her legs were still there. Yes, thank God. She could move them. There were bandages on one, but she didn’t care as long as the leg moved.
“You don’t need to catch pneumonia.” Her mother tucked the covers back in around her.
Christine raised both arms, flexed the fingers and watched the fluids drip into her veins. The pieces all seemed there and working. That her chest and stomach felt like chunks of beaten and sliced chopped liver didn’t matter. At least she was all in one piece.
“Your father and Bruce went for coffee. They’ll be so pleased to find you awake.”
“Oh, God, Bruce is here?” Then Christine remembered Timmy, and the panic began to suck all the air from the room.
“Give him a second chance, Christine,” her mother said, completely oblivious to the lack of air in the room. “This ordeal has really changed him.”
Ordeal? Was that the newest term they had given to the disappearance of her son?
Just then, Nick peeked into the room and relief swept over Christine. There was a new cut on Nick’s forehead, but the bruises and swelling around his jaw were hardly noticeable. He was dressed in a crisp blue shirt, navy tie, blue jeans and navy sports jacket. God, how long had she been asleep? If she didn’t know better, she’d think he looked dressed for a funeral. She remembered Timmy again. What exactly had her mother meant by ordeal? A new wave of pain and terror came crashing down, adding its weight to her chest.
“Hi, honey,” their mother said as Nick leaned down to kiss her cheek.
Christine studied the two of them, watching for signs. Did she dare ask? Would they only lie to protect her? Did they think she was too fragile?
“I want the truth, Nicky,” she blurted in a voice so shrill she hardly recognized it as her own. They both stared at her, startled, concerned. But she could see in Nick’s eyes that he knew exactly what she was talking about.
“Okay. If that’s the way you want it.” He headed back for the door, and she wanted to yell at him to stop, to stay, to talk to her.
“Nicky, please,” she said, not caring how pathetic she sounded.
He opened the door, and Timmy stood there like an apparition. Christine rubbed her eyes. Was she hallucinating again? Timmy hobbled toward her, and she could see the scratches and bruises, a cut on one cheek and a purple swollen lip. However, his face and hair were scrubbed clean, his clothes crisp and fresh. He even wore new tennis shoes. Had it all been a horrible, horrible nightmare?
“Hi, Mom,” he said as though it were any other morning. He crawled into the chair his grandmother held out for him, kneeling and making himself tall enough to look over the bed. She allowed the tears, had no choice, really. Was he real? She touched his shoulder, smoothed down his cowlick and caressed his cheek.
“Aw, Mom. Everybody’s watching,” he said, and she knew he was real.
Chapter 95
Nick escaped before it got mushy, before his own eyes got blurry. It was all still a little hard to believe. He turned the corner and almost ran into his father, who stepped back, as though worried the coffee he carried would spill.
“Careful there, son. You’re gonna miss quite a bit being in such a hurry.”
Nick checked his father’s eyes and immediately saw the sarcastic criticism. He was in too good of a mood to let his father spoil it. So he smiled and started to walk around him.
“It’s not Eddie, you know,” his father called after him.
“Yeah?” Nick stopped and turned. “Well, this time that’ll be up to a court of law to decide and not Antonio Morrelli.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Nick took a step closer until he was standing eye to eye with his father.
“Did you help plant evidence against Jeffreys?”
“Watch your mouth, boy. I never planted a thing.”
“Then how did you explain the discrepancies?”
“As far as I was concerned, there were no discrepancies. I did what was necessary to convict that son of a bitch.”
“You ignored evidence.”
“I knew Jeffreys killed that little Wilson boy. You didn’t see that boy. You didn’t see what he made that boy go through. Jeffreys deserved to die.”
“Don’t you dare make your horrors superior to mine,” Nick said, hands clenched into fists but quiet and steady at his sides.
