Fixing Perfect (25 page)

His hand went to her throat.

Robin twisted away from him and stumbled. Her desk caught at her hip, digging in, but holding her upright. She used both crutches at once and took a giant swinging step toward the door.

Donovan blocked her, and his tackle sent her spinning toward the window. His arms around her protected her from the impact, but imprisoned her at the same time.

Screaming until her throat seared, she turned and raised a crutch, ready to bring it down on his head. Instead, the tip caught on the strings of beads, tangled and jerked to a stop, and never touched him. Only the beads, freed now from their strings, rained down on his grinning face.

 

 

 

 

 

18

 

Sam heard a yell, very faint, and far away. He wasn't sure where it came from, but he bolted around the corner for the third time and shone the beam of his flashlight across the outer walls of the tiny room. A sound made him stop.

Breathing. A child sobbing, but trying to hold it in, terrified.

He reached for his cell and punched in 9-1-1. “I think I found the missing kids.”

“Stay on the line,” the dispatcher said. “Where are you?”

“A few houses beyond the second bend on Stage Road. Donovan Haggart's house.” He gave the address he had memorized. “I can hear one of them crying.”

He went on playing the light over the wall—the window-less, door-less wall—at window height, at child height, seeing nothing, and yet hearing that heart-jerking, trying-to-stop sob.

“All our available officers are out now on the search.”

“I know that. I'm helping. And I think—”

He stopped at the sound of a grunt and something breaking. Wood, or plaster, not a window, thank God.

And he realized what he'd forgotten.

Yes, thank You, God. Help me get them out of here, now.

“Sir?”

“They're here.” He snapped the cell shut and shone the light near the ground.

A dirty, tangled mass of greasy curls that was not cactus or weeds made him hold the beam steady, and he dropped its angle. A crumpled face peered up at him from the very foundation of the house. Where there had been only flat plaster the first time he had checked, now opened a hole big enough—or almost big enough—for a five-year-old to squeeze through.

Sam crouched next to her. “Becca? It's OK, honey. I'm here to help you get out.”

Her expression went from terrified, to relieved, to agonized, and even in the almost useless light, he saw her eyes fill with tears.

“You're going to be OK now, Becca. All right? I'm going to get you out, and you'll never have to go back in there.”

She nodded, gulped. “You gonna get Jake and Kerry, too?”

“I sure am. But you first. Are you ready?”

“Yeah.” She hitched up on her forearms and her eyes spilled over with tears. Her wail broke his heart. “I want my mommy!”

“You're going to see your mommy really soon. I promise.” He lay on his stomach, his elbows holding him up.

“That's what
he
kept saying.” Childish anger and betrayal broke his heart. “
He
kept promising she'd come get me, but she never did. Daddy either.” She sobbed again and wiped at her nose with the back of a dirty hand.

Sam brushed some of the debris away from her hair and reached past her shoulder to grasp a broken splinter of lathe. “She's really going to come this time. You won't be able to keep her away from you. But right now, I need you to close your eyes. I have to break this wood off so you can get all the way out. I don't want anything to get in your eyes.”

The wood came away with a crack, more plaster shivered over Becca's head, and the hole widened enough that nothing would snag her clothing. He grabbed her upper arms, their brittle delicacy sending another shaft of anger through him, and tugged. Becca put her head down and wriggled. Sam imagined her legs churning behind her.

“Is Jake pushing, too?”

“Yeah.” Her breathy voice was weary. “I think I kicked him.”

“You might have. Just stop moving.” He shifted again, got his hands in a better position under her arms. “You've got to be just like Pooh Bear. Remember when Winnie the Pooh ate too much honey and Piglet pushed and Rabbit pulled, and he finally popped out?”

“Yeah?” Now her voice held a question and interest. Good.

“Well, you've got to do just what Pooh did, and let us do all the work now. Pretty soon you'll pop right out.”

He felt the tension leave her shoulders. “‘K.”

She didn't exactly pop and fly out of the hole. But within seconds, Sam had eased her tiny body over the splintered wood and crumbling plaster, and he knelt in front of her, holding her gently in his shaking arms.

Becca was free.

Someone shouted from the hole. Sam didn't understand all the words, but he put his hand down to the opening. “Hey, it's Sam. Who's this? Jake?”

Kerry wouldn't be able to get down that close to the floor.

“Where's Becca? If you did anything to Becca…” The suspicion and menace in the kid's voice made Sam grin.

“She's right here. She's OK. Do you have enough room to get out?”

After a few more grunts, Jake said, “Almost. Kerry can't get out on his own. I broke his leg brace. He has to go first. I gotta help him.”

“OK, that's fine. You help him while I try to make your hole bigger.” Their excellent hole. Their excellent, brilliant, God-blessed hole. The words, and more, of praise, went through his mind, and he worked to pull away the wreckage. As he fought with the materials, the words came aloud. “Oh, God, thank You for these wonderful kids. Thank You that You made them so resourceful. You did great, Jake. You did such a great job. I am so proud of you. You know that?”

Pain ripped through his hands, and blood—his or the kids', he didn't know—made the plaster slippery, but within a few minutes Sam had made the hole big enough even for Kerry to crawl through without too much in the way of contortions. And when he saw Kerry's tousled head and heard his voice, sobbing now, he almost cried, not so much in sympathy as joy.

He reached down. “Kerry, buddy. It's Sam. I'm going to pull you out, OK? Just like I did with Becca.”

“Sam?” The rumpled hair tipped back, and Sam saw Kerry's forehead, the tip of his chin as he struggled to squeeze close to the opening. “I can't see you.”

“I know. It's OK, it's me, I promise. Donovan isn't here.”

“He brought me here. He was mean, Sam. And you dinnit tell me he was bad. And Robin dinnit tell me, either. Why not?” Reproach that was pure Kerry laced his voice.

“We were scared. Here. Reach your arms out. Hey, Jake, can you push him from behind when I give you a yell?”

“Sure can.”

Oh, but Sam liked the sound of the kid's voice. He glanced over his shoulder to where Becca stood just behind him. “You OK, kiddo? We're almost done here.”

“I'm OK.” She stuck her thumb in her mouth.

“But he almost got me,” Kerry said. His voice rose in a whine.

“I know. We had to take that chance, Kerry. Anyway, we thought he liked you. We didn't think he'd hurt you.”

“He did.”

And he'd pay for that. God willing, the guy would pay for hurting an innocent like Kerry, or Becca or Jake. God willing, Sam would not have a hand in that. He didn't want that kind of act on his conscience.

“Hold my wrist. Can you do that? Right here.” He guided Kerry's good hand to his left wrist and wrapped his fingers around. “Hold on as tight as you can. I'm going to pull you out. And it might hurt a little, Kerry. If it does, I'm so sorry. But it's better for you to be outside than in there.”

“‘K.”

“Give me your other arm.”

Kerry's twisted arm poked a few inches out of the hole. Sam grabbed his wrist, tightened his grip on Kerry's good arm, and pulled, slowly this time. Kerry was bigger, heavier, and nowhere as sturdy as the five-year-old. Once Kerry's shoulders passed the teeth of lathe poking from the hole, Sam called, “All right, Jake, push.”

The extra strength got the young man out within seconds. Sam scrambled backwards, bent to lift Kerry, and set him on his feet. Only as Kerry toppled did he remember Jake's words about breaking the leg brace.

“Lean against the wall, OK?” He bent forward to whisper in Kerry's ear. “Hold Becca's hand, would you? She's still really scared. She needs you.”

Kerry swallowed the sobs Sam could see building, straightened his shoulders, and reached for the little girl. “C'mere, Becca. Come over here while Sam gets Jake out.”

Sam got back on his knees, suddenly aware of the pain in them, and called, “You ready to come out?”

“You bet.”

Within seconds, Sam had hauled Jake out, and stood, looking at the three. “You guys are gonna be OK.” He whispered the words, though he wanted to shout them.

This was the end. They'd catch Donovan, and no more kids would go missing. There wouldn't be any more ghastly corpses to find.

Sam dialed his phone again. “I've got the kids. I'm taking them out to the street. Send an ambulance, they look malnourished, and Jake is bleeding. Kerry's brace is broken, so he can't walk.”

After dispatch promised to send help, Sam called Macias. “I sent Donovan out to help find Kerry. Find out who he's with and pick him up, because I just pulled Kerry and the other two out of his house.”

“Stay right there.”

Sam shook his head and turned to study the kids. “Come on. Let's go around to the front so they can see us from the street. The cops are going to come and maybe your parents. Or they might meet you at the hospital.” He bent down in front of Becca. “Can you walk, honey?”

“I'll carry her.” Jake wrapped his arms around her and tugged. Her feet hung almost to the ground before she wrapped them around his waist.

“I'll take her. She's too big for you.”

Jake shook his head awkwardly around Becca's chin. “Nah. You gotta get Kerry. That's my fault, that his brace is broken.”

“Is not,” Kerry mumbled as Sam swung the young man up in his arms. “It's Donovan's. ‘Cuz if he hadn't been the bad guy, you wouldn't've had to break it.”

Jake laughed, and over Becca's head, he met Sam's gaze.

The boy was a hero.

“You're awesome, Jake. I am so proud of you.” He'd said it before, and he didn't feel he'd said it enough. “Of all three of you. You're”—What was Kerry's word?—”Awesome. You guys are absolutely awesome.”

Jake started to shake his head, but Becca grabbed his cheeks. “He's right. The good guy is right, Jake. You're—you're—what he said.”

“Awesome,” Kerry told her. “Jake is awesome, just like me and Sam.” After a second, he added, “An' you, Becca. You're awesome, too.”

Sam looked down. “Kerry, my friend. Boy, am I glad to see you.”

Kerry choked on a sob but finally he was able to say, “I'm glad to see you, too, Sam. I'm glad you're not the bad guy. That's Donovan, isn't it? Is Robin OK? He said he was gonna go get her, to fix her.”

Sam froze.

 



 

Blue and green beads cascaded across the floor, flowing like water, and Robin, off balance already with one crutch tangled in the strings, fell. Her shoulder glanced off her sewing table and the sewing machine toppled onto her. She threw up her arm and it slammed into her elbow before tumbling to the floorboards. An instant of alarm at seeing her most-used tool on its side, followed by another, more immediate, dose of terror, filled her.

Donovan laughed. “Good thing you're not going to need that anymore, isn't it? Come on, get up.” He waved his hand at her.

“I can't.” Robin rolled to her stomach and grabbed her crutch again. She could get up without help, if she had enough space, and if there weren't a thousand beads rolling around, but she didn't want him to know. Somehow, every fraction of information she could keep from him gave her a little more of an edge against him. Even if it was never near enough, she wanted it.

She gripped the middle of the crutch like a club and jammed it at the floor, pushing herself to her knees.

Donovan grabbed her around her middle and hauled her upright. “Aren't you excited? You're never going to have to do this again. No more struggling. No more not being able to walk. You're going to be perfect.” His words huffed with the effort of carrying her weight.

She jerked her sore elbow back, and it collided with his stomach.

He grunted and laughed again. “Don't be silly. And stop fighting me. I'm going to help you.”

“Let me go.” She tried to wriggle out of his hold, but his arms tightened around her.

“Nope.” He pulled her around, still with her back to him, and hauled her toward the living room.

“I'm going to set it all up right here. Right in the middle of the room. I forgot my camera, though. Stupid Sam. He sent me down here, and I came so fast, I forgot everything. It's all happening so fast now. But that's OK. It's time. They'll take pictures, anyway.” He stilled. “Not that they'll ever be as good as one of mine.”

Robin shook her head, her body limp with shock, and struggled again. Sam hadn't sent him. Donovan's mind was so far from reality he wouldn't be able to tell the truth if he tried.

Maybe he'd seen Sam, which was likely enough. Sam had gone to his house, after all, sure the kids were there.

But then, what had Donovan done to Sam?

Dare she ask?

“Where's Sam now?” The words came, forced out by fear and longing, words she never meant to say.

“All fixed up, Robin. Remember? I fixed him up. On the beach, remember?”

She closed her eyes. Did he mean Simon, whom he'd arranged to look like Sam, or was he talking about something he'd done tonight?