Furious (28 page)

“I’ll distract them,” Rage said.

“Is there any other way to get inside the house without going through the front door?” Faith asked.

“There is a high window in the basement,” Miranda said. “We might be able to get inside that way.” She waved a hand toward the side of the house. “Follow me.”

Pah-ting!
Rage hit the weather vane on top of the roof with a small pistol she’d brought. And then again.

Miranda and Faith left Rage to do her thing. Faith’s gaze darted from shadow to shadow. She didn’t plan to get caught unaware a second time.

Gunfire exploded from the back of the house. Glass shattered.

With their bellies to the ground, Faith and Miranda crawled across dirt and weeds until they were next to the side of the house. Miranda moved dirt and rocks out of the way, then started pulling loose boards from the earth.

Faith grabbed the end of the last board and used her legs to pull it free. With that done, they both pushed on the window, surprised when it came open.

Miranda shone her flashlight inside. Nothing but stacks of crates and boxes, old bike parts, and oil cans. It was about an eight-foot drop to the ground.

Faith slipped her legs through the window and dropped to the ground without breaking an ankle. Before making it across the room, she heard Miranda jump in behind her.

Faith pulled the gun from her pocket.

“This way,” Miranda said. She was about to open the door when they heard shouting and more gunfire. They crouched low, and Faith prayed Dad and the rest of them would make it out of there with their lives.

As soon as it was quiet again, Faith followed Miranda through the door and up narrow wooden stairs. Another door led into a living area, where three couches lined the walls.

The door opened, and before they could turn back a man stepped into the room.

“Dad!” Faith said, rushing toward him. He winced when she grabbed hold of him.

“You’re hurt.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m going upstairs.”

Staying low, Miranda and Faith followed his lead.

Dad signaled for them to stay where they were, then headed to the room at the front of the house. Faith ignored his gesture and followed close behind. Every minute or so, she heard a pinging sound when a bullet hit the weather vane. The door to the room was ajar. He brought his firearm to eye level, kicked open the door, and fired off two shots.

Faith winced as she watched the man stagger backward into the wall and then sink slowly to the floor. The gun fell to his side.

Colton came running up the stairs. He squeezed his way between Faith and Miranda, his attention going from Dad to the man sprawled faceup on the floor near the window. He went to the shooter and knelt down beside him. After a moment, he said, “He’s dead.”

So much death and destruction,
Faith thought.
And for what?
She inhaled as she reminded herself why they were here, then turned toward Miranda. “Where are the children kept?” she asked.

Miranda pointed to the door to the left of the stairs.

By the time they reached the door, Beast was coming up the stairs. Everyone was OK, Faith thought, thankful to know they were all alive. The thought that Lara could be inside one of the bedrooms caused her heart to race. She tried a door. It was locked.

Beast gestured for everyone to move aside and then he threw his body into the door, busting it wide open.

Wood splintered and fell like rain around them.

The room appeared to be empty.

Colton signaled to the rest of them that he was going in. With his gun raised, he entered the room first. A shot rang out, and chaos erupted all around them.

Colton stumbled backward.

Faith screamed when she saw the blood seeping through her brother’s shirt. It all seemed to be happening in slow motion . . . the woman . . . Colton . . . Beast charged forward, his face a contorted mass of fury as he grabbed the woman and twisted the gun out of her grasp before she could get off another shot.

The woman fought Beast with everything she had, swinging her fist, catching him in the chin. She seemed crazed. Her eyes were wild, ready to fight to the end. When she went for his eyes, Beast swung back at her, knocking her out in an instant.

She crumbled to the ground.

Faith ran to Colton’s side, sat on the floor next to him, and held his head in her lap.

“I’ll be OK,” Colton said, his voice weak. “Go find your kids.”

Ignoring him, Faith unbuttoned his shirt, carefully pulled it off him, and used it to stop the flow of blood, thankful to see that it appeared to be a shoulder wound.

Rage pulled her sweatshirt off to keep him warm, then knelt down beside Faith and told her to go find her kids and that she would take care of Colton.

Faith looked at her brother. “Go,” he said again.

When Faith stood, she saw Miranda hovering over the woman on the floor, whispering something into her ear as she pulled a string of keys from around the woman’s wrist. Miranda sifted through the keys until she found the one that fit the closet door.

Not one peep came from inside the closet, making Faith believe no one could be inside.

She could hear Dad in the hallway talking to the police.

The door opened.

And there they were.

Small children huddled together. It was dark inside and hard to see. Faith’s heart skipped a beat as she stepped that way.
Please be there, please be there.

Miranda looked over her shoulder at Faith and, with woeful eyes, slowly shook her head.

Miranda is wrong,
Faith thought. She had to be wrong. Her kids were here. She’d felt Lara’s presence on her way to the farmhouse. Nudging her way past Miranda, she looked closely at every face as tears fell. “It’s going to be OK,” she told the young girls. “Everything’s going to be OK.” But she wasn’t sure she believed it.

Dad stepped into the room, holding his side. When he saw Colton, he went to him.

“I’m OK, Dad.” Dad nodded and then looked over his shoulder at Faith and asked, “Are they here?”

Faith met his gaze, tears falling freely as she shook her head. Every part of her felt numb as she knelt down by one of the little girls inside the closet. She couldn’t be much older than eight. Her dark hair was tangled, her brown eyes wide with fear and confusion.
Lara,
she thought.
Where’s Lara?
She had to will her body not to shut down.

She swallowed a knot in her throat, didn’t know what to do or say. And then she saw the necklace hanging around the girl’s neck. “That necklace,” Faith said as she took a closer look at the gemstone hanging from a chain, a necklace she’d bought Lara on her last birthday. “Where did you get it?” The beat of her heart kicked up a notch.

“Jean gave it to me.”

Faith struggled to hold herself together.

“When?” Faith asked, hope springing to life.

“How long ago did Jean give you that?” Miranda asked.

“This morning,” the girl said.

“Do you know where Jean is now?” Miranda asked.

The little girl shook her head. “After breakfast they took her outside to a big car and drove away. I cried and cried.”

“Are you sure it was Jean?” Faith asked.

“I’m sure. She’s my best friend.” She showed them both a tiny prick on her finger.

“What is that?”

“Jean made me her blood sister.”

Goose bumps covered Faith’s arms. Lara had a habit of making all her good friends blood sisters by pricking their fingers with a needle and then rubbing the tiny drops of blood together. The man who had called earlier had lied.

Lara was alive. Faith smiled at the girl. “You must be a very special friend for her to make you her blood sister.”

The girl nodded. “That’s what Jean said.”

Faith stood and went back to check on Colton. Rage was still at his side, talking to him, keeping him calm. Faith was anything but calm. She wanted someone to pay. She walked to where Beast stood and quietly asked him if he would help her with something.

He didn’t ask any questions, just did as she asked and dragged Mother out of the room and across the hallway and into the bathroom. The woman groaned.

“I’ll only be a minute,” she told Beast. Faith shut the door, then leaned over and shook the woman’s shoulders until she groaned and opened her eyes.

“Where are my kids?” Faith asked through gritted teeth.

Sirens sounded in the distance.

The woman said nothing, merely smirked up at her.

Seething with frustration, Faith yanked the upper half of the woman’s body up and over the toilet until Mother’s head hung over the porcelain bowl. She took a fistful of wiry hair and shoved her head inside the bowl, using all her strength to hold her underwater until the woman was clawing and struggling to get free. She wanted her dead, but more than that, she needed answers.

Faith pulled her head up, still unable to come to terms with the fact that Lara and Hudson were not among the children inside the closet. “Where are my kids?”

“They’re dead.”

Faith dunked her head in the bowl again, using both arms to keep her down.

Water sloshed over the bowl and onto the floor.

She yanked her head upward. “Where are my kids?” she asked again, her voice loud and unrecognizable to her own ears.

Laughter was her answer. A high-pitched sound that rattled Faith’s bones.

Beast opened the door. “The police will be here soon. Might want to hurry up in there.” The door clicked shut.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” Faith ground out, close to Mother’s ear. “I don’t care if you’re eighty years old when you get out of jail. Even after I find my kids, I’ll be waiting.”

“Dead,” the woman said through gritted teeth. “They’re both dead.”

Faith slammed her head against the rim of the bowl and then turned around and walked out, shutting the door behind her.

Beast had returned to the other room. As she headed that way, she heard a noise. She stopped to listen. Between the distant sound of sirens there was no mistaking a tap tap tap as if someone was knocking on a window or door.

She went to the stairs, listened closer.

There it was again, coming from somewhere below. She hurried that way, ran down the stairs, ignoring Beast when he called after her.

Once she hit the landing, she froze . . . listened . . . headed for the kitchen. Windows had been shattered, broken dishes strewn across the floor.

She stopped in front of the man lying in a heap in front of the pantry door where the sound was loudest. He was facedown. Blood puddled at both sides of his body. He wasn’t moving, but she still wasn’t sure if he was dead. On bended knees, she reached out to feel for a pulse, but Beast and Rage stepped into the kitchen before she could find out. She looked up at them both and said, “Is he dead?”

“He looks dead to me,” Rage said. “What are you doing down here?”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Did you hear that?” Faith asked. “Someone’s inside the pantry,” she told them. “Listen.”

Five seconds passed before they all heard it again.

Beast grabbed the dead man by the waist and dragged him out of the way so they could open the door. Faith rushed inside. The pantry was narrow but deep. Shelves on both sides were loaded with neat rows of canned food.

The farther inside she went, the lower the ceiling became. About eight feet in, she had to stoop over to move forward until she reached the very back. Nothing but shelves stacked with bags of beans and rice.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

There it was again!

She dropped to her knees, began moving the food out of the way, tossing bags of rice to the side.

“There’s a small door back here!” she shouted back at Rage and Beast. “I need the keys that Miranda has!”

“I’ll be right back,” Rage called back, and Faith could hear her footsteps pounding against the stairs somewhere overhead.

Rage was back in under a minute.

“The police are here,” Beast said.

“Out with your hands in the air,” she heard a loud voice call out through a bullhorn.

“Go!” Faith said. “Get everyone else out, too. Don’t give them any reason to shoot. I’ve got this.”

The first key didn’t work. Neither did the second, third, or fourth. “I’m coming,” she said to the person on the other side of the door, hoping whoever was inside could hear her.

Her hands shook.

Please, God, please.

She was more than halfway through the keys. She inserted the next one and heard a click. Her heart pounded against her chest. The small square door came open. Daylight from the kitchen spilled inside the tiny room where one small girl, thin and bony, was curled in a fetal position.

“Lara? Is that you?”

A whimper sounded.

Overwhelmed with emotions, Faith felt her arms and legs shake at the thought that the child inside the tiny room might be her own. She could literally feel her children’s warm bodies close to hers, see them, hear their voices in her head.

Faith crawled inside, trying to make sense of what she was seeing as her eyes adjusted to the dark. “Oh, honey,” Faith said as she wrapped the frail body in her arms. “You’re safe now.” She held the girl’s shivering body close, rocked her as they both cried.

“Faith,” a voice called out moments later. “Where are you? It’s Detective Yuhasz here. I want to help.”

“In here,” Faith called out. “We need an ambulance.”

Between the two of them, they got the girl out of the windowless space and into the kitchen, where Detective Yuhasz scooped her into his arms. He looked from the small, thin face to Faith’s exhausted one, his expression one of disbelief.

Faith wiped her eyes as she nodded, doing her best to stay strong. No, this poor helpless child who so desperately needed to be rescued was not Lara.

“It’s her,” Faith told the detective, her voice nearly inaudible. “After all this time. Samantha Perelman is alive.”

With Faith at his side, Detective Yuhasz carried Samantha from the farmhouse to the ambulance that had just pulled up outside. The place was lit up with spotlights as detectives and agents gathered evidence and taped off sections of the house.