Fixing Perfect (8 page)

She had lots more books at home, and Mommy and Daddy read those to her over and over, too. But she hadn't heard any of those in so long. She'd kind of forgotten them.

Kind of forgotten Mommy and Daddy, too. She squinted her eyes, half to try to see if she could remember what they looked like, half to keep the tears from falling over her cheeks. Mr. Bird didn't like her to cry. And just because she couldn't remember what Mommy and Daddy looked like, didn't mean she didn't miss them, no matter how nice Mr. Bird was. She remembered how they
felt
. That's what mattered.

The door opened and Mr. Bird pushed a boy in. He was crying and wiping his nose on a muddy sleeve, and he wore some kind of uniform. Becca had seen that kind of uniform on boys at school.

“You're going to sleep in here,” Mr. Bird said. “Becca sleeps on the mattress where she's sitting. You can have one of the other ones.”

The boy tried to yank away, but Mr. Bird held onto him, tight.

“I don't want to sleep here.”

“That's too bad. You're going to have to until your parents come to pick you up.” He turned, just like always, and shook the handle of the door, to make sure it was locked.

The boy yelled, “They don't even know where I am!”

“Of course they do. I told them.”

“You did not. You kidnapped me.”

Mr. Bird's hand crossed the boy's face so fast Becca barely saw it. She shrank back against the side of her mattress, her thumb in her mouth. She'd never seen Mr. Bird do anything like that, even when Lehanie talked back and said all kinds of bad things.

But Lehanie had been a grownup.

Maybe if Becca talked bad to him, he'd hit her, too.

Maybe that word that talked about a kid taking a nap was bad; maybe that was why Mr. Bird got so mad. But it scared her.

No. Mr. Bird liked her lots. He said so over and over. He wouldn't hit her.

It was all the boy's fault. He shouldn't be so nasty.

The boy stopped crying and stared at Mr. Bird with mean, angry eyes.

Becca sucked so hard on her thumb that she made sloppy noises, but no one noticed. She tried to stop. She didn't want Mr. Bird to get mad at her, too.

But Mr. Bird turned away and slammed the door behind him. The boy flew after him, pulling on the knob, but the door wouldn't open.

He stopped after a minute, his shoulders bowed. “What's he gonna do with Simon?”

Becca took her thumb out of her mouth. “Who's Simon?” She wiped her fist on her jeans.

“He's the guy I was canoeing with. My scout leader. That pervert nabbed both of us.” He shook his head. “He knocked Simon out and grabbed me. And I don't know what he did with Simon. He made me help him put Simon in a wheelbarrow. Like he was dirt or something.” The boy scrubbed the back of his hand across his face and looked at her. “I know who you are. You're Becca Harrison.”

She nodded, her eyes wide.

“You're on the news all the time. You and Lehanie. Well, her more, since he killed her.”

That made Becca drop her thumb out of her mouth. Mr. Bird said she went home. “Who killed her?”

“That pervert.” The boy jerked his thumb toward the door.

Becca shook her head hard. “Uh-uh. She went home. Mr. Bird told me she did a job for him, and she went home. I'm supposed to do one for him, but later. Anyway, Mr. Bird wouldn't hurt anybody.” Remembering how Mr. Bird had just slapped the boy, she said, “Not that kind of hurt. Just don't say that bad word anymore. Mr. Bird doesn't like bad words.”

“Boy, are you dumb.”

“No, I'm not!” Why did Mr. Bird have to put this boy in her room, anyway? She really didn't like him. She hoped Mr. Bird would take him away really fast, like he did with the baby. Or let her do her job so she could go home. She wanted her mom and dad so bad. She couldn't help it, now she started to cry again, and she couldn't stop.

The boy pinched his lips together and didn't say anything.

Becca rolled onto her stomach and within seconds her fingers were in the hole. She'd have to do it real quiet now, with this kid here. He was so mean, he'd probably tell Mr. Bird and get her in trouble.

Nothing made her feel better, except digging that hole. Digging out little bits of white and more of the paint, and each time she scraped some stuff out of her fingernails and stuck her fingers back in the hole, she felt better.

She used to sing really soft to herself. She wouldn't do that with this mean boy listening. Besides, singing “Jesus Loves Me” never made her feel so good. It made her remember church, and Mommy and Daddy, and made her want to cry, but it didn't make her feel better.

Jesus was supposed to love her. That's what that song was all about. So if He did, why did He take her away from her mommy and daddy?

 



 

He stood outside the room, leaning his head against the door. Things were getting too complicated. Sometimes he forgot what the plan was.

He shook his head. Forgetting the plan would be the worst thing.

He wasn't so sure about this kid. Becca was fine; she was a sweetheart. So far, she was the only other person on earth who believed in his vision. But this new kid might be a mistake. Cocky wasn't the word for him. He needed to learn a lesson.

And there he went again, forgetting the plan. Forgetting the perfect vision. He had to concentrate.

He walked away from the door, out of the house, down the road to the harbor. The water would clear his thinking. It always did. And if he saw
her
, all the better.

Seeing her always helped. It pulled him back to his vision, helped him to see how necessary it was to get the job done.

It wouldn't be long until he made
her
a part of the plan. Now they'd told her about the vision, about the hair and the eyes and the crutches—which she shouldn't have to use—she'd finally understand.

She had to.

 

 

 

 

6

 

“Boy scouts?” Sam leaned on the counter and stared at the picture of two boys, arms around each other, grinning at the camera. Both had the required two-fingered rabbit ears behind their heads. Behind them stood a young man proudly wearing scout leader emblems. He'd probably gone straight from his Eagle Scout badge to being an assistant cub master.

“One scout, one scout leader. Simon Carson. His sisters go to the same school my kids do. And now their big brother is missing.” His finger smudged across one of the boys. “This is Jake West. He's ten, almost eleven. Fifth grade, a good kid. Dad left a few years ago so he spends a lot of time with the scout leaders. They mentor him.”

Sam turned away. “What is wrong with this guy? Now he's after boys? Males? What's he going to do to
them
?” Sam took a breath to choke some of the fury from his voice. None of this was Bricker's fault. But everyone was on edge, everyone spouting off about this pervert. Even Donovan had done his share.

Almost made him like the guy.

Well, maybe not that close to almost.

“Who knows?” Bricker slugged back half a cup of coffee and wiped his face with his hand. “The thing is, he didn't do anything with the girls.”

“What are you talking about? He
killed
them, Bricker, two of them, anyway. He played dolls with Lehanie and—”

“Yeah. All that. But he didn't touch them. No sign of rape.”

Sam stared at his friend, finally remembered his mouth hung open. “Why don't people know? Everyone assumes that's why both those girls were—”

Bricker shrugged. “It's one of the things they aren't letting out. But it helps to know.”

After a moment, Sam opened his eyes. “Yeah, it does help. But the guy is still a pervert, and we still have to find him.” And if Sam were in on the find, he sure hoped God would forgive him for forgetting he was a Christian, just for a minute. That was all he needed. One minute, and the pervert at his mercy.

He shook his head. No matter what, he wouldn't forget. And he had to pray for the resolve to keep himself in check. Or pray that he was far away when they caught him. Pray that if he ever got the chance, he
would
show mercy. Could show it.

He didn't want that, either, not when the guy seemed to be after Robin. Another bit of privileged information, but not something he wanted to dwell on.

“You ready to go back out?”

Sam pushed his cup away and stood. “Yeah. Though I wonder if we'll find these two any faster than we found the other victims.” Somehow, it felt safer to refer to Lehanie and Kaitlyn as victims. It made them one word removed from human, and he could breathe.

“Don't be so positive.” Bricker led the way outside to where he'd parked his patrol car. Usually the officers weren't allowed to drive them off duty, but that rule had been waived for the searches.

Sam got in the passenger seat, buckled himself, and held onto the window frame as Bricker peeled out of the station lot.

Two days past the time change, it was already dark by five in the afternoon. They passed an empty park, the swings hanging forlorn, and Bricker pulled to the curb.

“Saw something,” he yelled as he bolted from the car.

Sam followed. A male figure darted across the open grass. Sam veered away from Bricker, heading at an angle to cut off the now-running man. The guy vaulted over a low concrete wall, and Sam did the same.

His feet slid in a scuff of weeds and gravel. He fell back, skidding on his heels and one protesting hand, down to a ditch that ran between backyards. After pushing himself to his feet, he ran again. The guy was halfway over a wall when Sam caught up to him. He grabbed a jean-clad leg. The booted foot slammed into Sam's jaw, and he stumbled back. He jumped again, caught the boot and tugged. Another kick to his face brought pain. Within seconds warmth flooded over his mouth and onto his shirt. The boot slid from his fingers and the leg disappeared.

“Bricker!” The name came out strangled. He tried again.

In a few seconds, Bricker hopped over the wall behind him.

Sam pointed. “That way.” He held one hand to his nose, still pouring blood.

Bricker lumbered over the wall, and Sam sagged against it. He'd lost the guy to a stupid broken nose. If he hadn't been so sure his bloody hands would slip on the chain link he'd have gone after him. He should have anyway. He shouldn't let something like this stop him.

Again.

“Lost him.” Panting, Bricker dropped next to him and grabbed Sam's elbow. “Let's get you to the emergency room.”

“I let him go.”

“What? Can't understand you.”

This time Sam enunciated each word. “I let him go.”

“Yeah, he broke your nose. I'd have had to do the same thing.” Bricker studied him as they trudged across the park. “It wasn't a choice, Sam. He got away. It happens. Even to cops.”

But Sam imagined the look in Robin's eyes when he confessed.

 



 

He walked the street without really seeing it, his mind on his last set of pictures. The residential part of town was all cramped together houses, anyway, a few gardens squeezed in, with cheesy nautical ornaments. No true beauty. No wonder they didn't understand his vision. What would it take to make them see?

Someone shouted, “Hi.”

He looked up.

That kid Robin liked so much stumbled toward him, waving his only usable arm and shouting something that might have been his name. He glanced around. How easy would it be to lure the kid away, up his secret path? There was no one on the street. No one to point and claim it was him; he's the one.

He hurried up to the kid, making his smile as big and natural as he could get it. A wasted effort, really. The kid wasn't smart enough to figure things out.

“Hey, Kerry.”

“Hi. Hi. Are you going for a walk, too? My mom said I could get licorice.” He held up a dollar crumpled in his fist.

A man came around the corner.

No chance now, but it didn't matter. He had his eye on Kerry, now. He remembered how much Robin liked him. He'd make plans.

And he could get to Kerry at any time.

 



 

The next Wednesday, Robin and Sam met again for lunch.

Robin took the cold bottle of Italian cherry soda Sam handed her and watched him slump on the bench next to her.

Putting the mouth of his bottle to his lips, he took a long pull. He still wore the bits of bandage over his nose, and drinking looked painful.

But he wouldn't talk about the incident, only looked murderous when she brought it up. So she didn't. He'd talk about it when he was ready, and if he never was, well, time would heal some of the pain.

When he put down the bottle, he stared away from her, and Robin followed his gaze across the bay.

Wind whipped white froth off the tips of the waves, so it looked like snow topping glassy turquoise and greens, and wafted seagulls into a gentle dance under a few clouds.

“Looks like paradise, doesn't it?”

“Always. I love this island.”

She unwrapped the packet of sandwiches, handed one over, and pulled a bag of oatmeal and raisin cookies from her backpack. Now to make another judgment call—ask or keep silent. But silence wasn't her game, and it never helped anyone as far as she knew. She took a deep breath. “What's wrong, Sam?”

He stiffened and shrugged. “Nothing, really. I just got done talking to Kerry's mother.”

“Why? What happened?” The muscles in her back tensed and her shoulders snapped into a straight line. She could take on whatever bad news Sam had for her. She had to, even when it came to Kerry.

“Hey, it all turned out all right.” Sam put his hand on her knee. Something that felt like warm honey trickled through her veins. “Kerry's fine. But you know how trusting he can be.” Sam glanced up, the pain in his eyes almost flattening her.