One Breath Away (20 page)

Chapter 59:
Augie

T
he hallways are so quiet that it’s hard to believe that there are any students or teachers even in the building. For a second I wonder if maybe I’m the last one left in here, if everyone else is already at home saying to one another,
Whew, that was a close one.
If maybe Grandpa came and picked P.J. up, stopping off at Lonnie’s for a cheeseburger and fries before driving home. P.J. might wonder about me, stop in the middle of slurping on his chocolate shake and say,
I wonder what happened to Augie?
And Grandpa would shrug and say,
Well, she did make life interesting around here for a while.
Of course I know this wouldn’t really happen, but if there ever was a third wheel in a group, I’m it. I guess I can kind of understand how P.J. felt whenever my dad came over to our house to pick me up and we shared all these inside jokes that P.J. knew nothing about. Grandpa and P.J., from the moment they met, were best buds. And it completely irritated me. Here I had given up living in my hometown, being with my friends, being near my mother, all for P.J., and he was ditching me for an old man and his farm. Whenever Mom talked about her father there was an edge to her voice.
Be thankful for having me as a parent,
she would say.
All I did was work, work, work on that farm growing up.
She told us all about how she could never take part in after-school activities or spend time at her friends’ houses because of all the work Grandpa had her doing.
And the smell,
she would say, pinching her nose.

Even before we met our grandparents, P.J. and I had already had a long discussion about what we thought our Grandma and Grandpa Thwaite were going to be like. And together we decided we weren’t going to like them. But within an hour P.J. had two new best friends. This shouldn’t have surprised me, P.J. likes everyone. He’s like a puppy dog that way, almost begging people to love him. But at least I was being loyal to our mother. Saying goodbye to her was the worst. You’d think that a person would feel comfortable leaving someone with their own mother, but I didn’t. Grandma Thwaite is a stranger to me. To my mom, really. They haven’t seen each other in over fifteen years and only talk a few times a year. So I was very surprised to see my mom’s eyes tear up when Grandma walked into the hospital room.
Mom,
she said, like it was candy on her tongue. I blame the drugs. I wanted to say,
Are you kidding me? This is the lady who you said never stood up to your father, she let him make all the decisions, made her a shadow of a woman.
Funny thing is, Grandma Thwaite looks nothing like a shadow woman. She is big and round with pink cheeks and has a loud, happy laugh.

So even though my brother and my mother decided to act like everything was all sunshine and roses, I decided to take up where my mom left off. There was no way I was going to let that man walk all over me. Still, though, every day before we left for school in the morning, he tells me to look after my brother, and as much as I’d like to tell the old man to shove it, I do look out for P.J. Not because Grandpa tells me to, but because I always have.

Chapter 60:
Mrs. Oliver

M
rs. Oliver covertly fingered the cell phone in her pocket. She knew how to text others but her fingers seemed so large and clumsy against the tiny keys she rarely attempted it. She thought about just pressing some numbers and hitting the send button, but who knew who would receive the call. Then there was the problem of actually speaking. She didn’t know how she would be able to hide a conversation from the gunman. She wondered if she could create another diversion. She looked over at P. J. Thwaite, who was looking back at her and raising his eyebrows at her as if to say,
Make the call already.
Mrs. Oliver raised her eyebrows in response. P.J. scratched his head and began stretching out his neck, dipping it to one side and then the other in a strange snake charmer sort of way. He continued on in this way until the man glared at him in irritation.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked P.J.

“I was just trying to see what color of eyes you have,” P.J. answered innocently.

“Preparing to pick me out of a lineup?” the man asked with a snort.

“No, I…” P.J. looked at his teacher in confusion.

“You won’t have to worry about lineups,” the man said, and Mrs. Oliver felt the pills that she swallowed creep back up into her throat. “Blue,” the man snapped at P.J. “My eyes are blue,” he said shortly, and then reached into his backpack for a bottle of water.

“P.J., don’t,” Mrs. Oliver said.

“Are you sure you’ve never been to Revelation, Arizona?” P.J. asked, ignoring his teacher. “It’s just outside of Phoenix.”

“Nope, never been there.”

“You’d remember my mom. She’s so pretty. She’s got brown hair. I know that doesn’t sound pretty the way I’m saying it, but it is pretty. It’s all shiny and soft. She’s got blue eyes and she’s skinny, but not too skinny.” P.J. leaned forward in his desk. “You would have known her about nine years ago, I guess.” The man decided to ignore P.J. and took another swig from his water bottle. “Were you in the marines? You look like you could have been a marine. My mom said my dad was a marine and had to go to the war. Were you ever in the war?”

Mrs. Oliver was so enraptured in P.J.’s account that she didn’t immediately think to make the call.

“Listen…Parker,” the man said almost kindly, glancing down at the nametag on P.J.’s desk.

“My name is P.J.,” P.J. told him stiffly, risking a glance at Mrs. Oliver, who was busily fiddling around in her pocket. P.J. had asked her many times to please make him a new name tag that said P.J., rather than Parker.

“Okay,
P.J.,
” the man amended. “I’ve never been to Revelation, Arizona. I’ve never met your mother.” A flash of understanding lit his eyes. “And I am most definitely not your father here to kidnap you away so we can live happily ever after. Have you ever taken a look in the mirror? We look nothing alike. I have blue eyes. You say your mother has blue eyes. Two blue eyes don’t make a brown eyes. Your eyes are brown
.
Get over it, Parker. If your dad hasn’t come looking for you by now, he isn’t ever going to. Now shut up and leave me alone.”

A storm of emotions skittered across P.J.’s face and finally settled on anger. “Well, I’m glad you’re not my dad,” P.J. said in such a low voice the man had to strain to hear him. “My dad was a marine and he would never come into a school with a gun and scare people. You’re a jerk.”

The man, to P.J.’s embarrassment, laughed. “I’ve been called much worse things, Parker, but I suppose you’re right. I am a jerk. Now shut up.”

“My name is P.J.,” P.J. said dejectedly, and plopped back into his seat and buried his face in his arms on top of his desk.

Mrs. Oliver, meanwhile, wanted to weep for P.J. The man could have been a bit gentler with the boy. She also realized what a sacrifice P.J. had made for her and his classmates. P.J. had never once in the weeks he had been enrolled at the school ever uttered anything about a father. He spoke of his mother, sister and grandparents. But never his father, though the other students asked P.J. about him. P.J. would only shrug his shoulders and quickly change the subject.

Because P.J. had distracted the man for even just a few seconds, Mrs. Oliver was able to press the first name on her contact list and press Send. With any luck, Cal was listening to their conversation right now.

Chapter 61:
Will

“T
heodore.” Will lightly shook the older man’s shoulders and his eyes opened, unfocused and still heavy. “Theodore, Ray did this to you?” Will asked. Theodore nodded, his double chins quivered in agreement. “I’m calling for help.” He gingerly relieved Theodore of the blood-soaked towel and replaced it with a clean one that he pulled from the towel rack and pressed gently against Theodore’s head.

Once again, Will pulled his phone from his coveralls and, without hesitation this time, dialed emergency. Busy. “Jesus,” Will muttered, disconnecting and trying again. Once again he was greeted by the monotone beep of a busy signal.

Will looked around helplessly. Theodore Cragg had to weigh at least two hundred and fifty pounds. There was no way that Theodore was in any shape to walk to Will’s truck on his own accord, and it didn’t look like Will would be able to get the man there without help.

Will debated on which of his sons to call in order to help get Theodore to the hospital over in Mason City. Todd lived in Broken Branch, but it wouldn’t be right to pull him away from the situation at the school and news of his wife’s safety. His next option was to call his eldest son, Joe. The drawback was that Joe lived thirty minutes away on a farm outside of Walton and Will wasn’t sure that Theodore could wait that long for medical care. Will finally settled on calling his friend Herb Lawson, who promised to work on getting help to the Cragg farm.

The next call Will had to make was more difficult. He dialed Verna’s number. His wife’s best friend answered on the first ring. “Any news on anything?” she asked breathlessly.

“Now listen, Verna,” Will said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “You need to make sure that Darlene is in a safe place.”

“Why?” Verna asked in confusion. “What’s going on?”

“I’m here at Ray’s and Theodore’s got a nasty lump on his head. Said that Ray was the one who gave it to him. Ray’s nowhere to be found.”

“Oh, Lord,” Verna said fearfully. “I’ve got to call Gene and Darlene. I told you that man is crazy.”

“You do that and I’ll make sure that Theodore gets to the hospital. And, Verna, you take care of yourself, too. Marlys needs you, you hear?” Will swallowed back a flood of emotion. What more could this awful day bring?

Chapter 62:
Meg

T
he road conditions have deteriorated rapidly and I can barely see the pavement in front of me. It’s approaching four o’clock and I have no idea of what’s going on back at the school. I suddenly am nervous about heading out to the Cragg farm without officially letting anyone know. I could end up stranded in a ditch and freeze to death. Cragg could be on a violent bender and shoot me when I show up at his house unexpectedly without backup. What if something big is happening at the school and I should be there assisting?

I try Randall, the dispatcher, again and finally I hear his familiar voice, a little hoarse from all the talking he’s been doing the past few hours. “Hi, Randall, it’s Meg. Just checking in.”

“Meg, where are you? You’ve been off the radar for a while,” Randall says a bit snippily. “Chief McKinney has been looking for you.”

“I’ve been trying to call in,” I say defensively. “I haven’t been able to get through to you.”

“I know,” Randall says, his tone softening. “It’s still crazy. Parents and kids in the building have been calling nonstop. The parents are asking me what is going on and wondering why the hell we can’t get their kids out of the school. I try to explain that we need to keep the phone lines clear and information will be shared as soon as it’s available, but it doesn’t matter.”

“Is there any progress?” I ask. I’m about five miles away from the Cragg farm and my palms begin to sweat.

“Chief McKinney tried to make contact with the intruder by phone and with the bullhorn, but the guy never responded. But from the 9-1-1 calls from within the school I’ve been able to get a sense of which classrooms appear to have had absolutely no contact with the intruder.”

“Which classrooms are those?” I ask, my heart thumping loudly as I think of Maria’s schoolmates.

“Surprisingly, no one in the high school wing has seen or heard a thing. So as of now it looks like nine grade levels have had no contact with the intruder of any sort. Plus, the 9-1-1 calls from the primary wing of the building, that’s kindergarten through second grades, indicate that there has been no sighting of a gunman.”

“Okay, what about third through eighth grade?” I ask as I turn onto the gravel road that leads to the Cragg farm.

“That’s the strange thing,” Randall says in a puzzled voice. “Initially, that’s where we were receiving the most 9-1-1 calls from. Then all of a sudden nothing. No calls were coming in from those classrooms and the students’ parents and the teachers’ spouses started calling in saying that they couldn’t reach—”

“The gunman collected all the phones,” I interrupt. “Faith Garrity said that when she saw the man in the hall he dropped several phones. I bet you anything he avoided the high school wing so as not to be overpowered by the older students, collected all the phones from the middle school kids and either didn’t bother to go to the younger grades because they most likely don’t have cell phones or because he was interrupted before he could get to them.”

“That makes sense,” Randall says. “Listen, you better call the chief, he really wants to talk to you.”

“Will do. And, Randall, I’m doing a welfare check at the Cragg farm right now, okay? So if you don’t hear from me in half an hour, send someone out here.”

“What the hell, Meg? Why are you going way out there?”

“I got some information that leads me to believe that I need to do a check on the Cragg farm. That’s all I know right now, okay?”

“Okay, but you better call me in thirty minutes. Call my cell—at least I know you’ll be able to get through to me. And call the chief!” he shouts as I disconnect.

Chapter 63:
Mrs. Oliver

M
rs. Oliver stood and went to P.J.’s side, the trill of the cell phone as it dialed Cal smothered by her hand and the denim of her jumper. P.J.’s tirade stopped as suddenly as it began. The man regarded her incredulously. “Sit back down. Now!”

“I’m just checking to make sure P.J. is okay. You’ve upset him terribly.”

“He’s fine,” the man scoffed, looking down at P.J., who still had his head down on his desk.

“This is ridiculous,” Mrs. Oliver said loudly, chin down, trying to direct her voice toward the phone. “How dare you march into my classroom, with a gun no less, and terrify my students for no apparent reason. Thankfully no one is hurt. And then poor Lucy. Shameful the way you locked her in the closet.” Mrs. Oliver knew she was taking it a bit too far, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. Now that she had an outside audience she wanted to make sure she provided as much information as she possibly could. “You said this was all going to be over soon. Why isn’t it?” Mrs. Oliver took a cautious step toward the man. She fiddled with the fabric of her dress, trying to casually pull the pocket open, hoping that the conversation was audible to Cal.

“Go sit down,” the man repeated in a low, menacing tone.

“I will once you tell me what is going on here, when you are going to let us go.”

Suddenly the man reached out and grabbed the front of Mrs. Oliver’s jumper, sending the remaining rainbow-colored beads skittering across the tile. Mrs. Oliver squawked loudly, more in dismay at the thought of all of Charlotte’s hard work on her jumper ending up on the floor than in fear. “Sit down and shut the fuck up or I will shoot you and every one of these kids in the head!” the man sputtered, his nose nearly touching her own. And to prove his point, he pressed the barrel of the gun against her temple.

From her pocket came Cal’s voice shouting, “Evelyn, Evelyn, are you all right?” For the first time, Mrs. Oliver realized that this might just be the very last time she would ever hear her husband’s voice.

The man looked curiously downward toward the source of the voice, reached roughly into her pocket and pulled out the cell phone with Cal still shouting helplessly for his wife. “I love you, Cal,” she managed to say before the man pressed the end button. Mrs. Oliver squeezed her eyes shut as the man ground the barrel of the gun into her cheek and waited for the deafening blast.