Stranglehold (33 page)

It whistled in the silence.

He put it down on the ground and reached into the bag again, and took out two thin white dish towels. He balled one up and approached her.

"Open," he said.

She shook her head. "Please," she said. "No." The thought of the gag was terrifying to her. If she couldn't talk to him then there was no possibility of stopping him. None.

She couldn't have him use the gag.

"Open!" he said and placed the point of the knife against her bra, unerringly finding the fear-hard tip of the nipple, and pressed in. The pain was electric. She licked her lips and parted them, aware of the salt taste of tears.

He shoved the cloth into her mouth and tied the other towel over it, catching long thin strands of her hair in the double knot behind her head.

She saw him reach into the bag again and heard a soft tinkling sound as he took something from the bag and placed it in his right front pocket and then turned and put something else into his back pocket as he did so. Then he walked over.

He reached up and she watched him as he pulled the knot free of her right wrist. The knots he'd used were some sort of trick. She'd been tugging at them so hard her wrists were raw, but all he did was pluck the center of this one and it fell right off her.

The hand and wrist throbbed with returning circulation and it seemed to affect her entire body. She saw bright yellow spots in front of her eyes in a surrounding, shimmering blackness and then as it cleared saw him reach into his pocket and take something out, so that whatever it was, was still in his hand when he grabbed her wrist and held the back of it flat and open to the wide thick trunk of the oak tree and she felt the sharp point of something against her palm, his powerful wrist against hers, holding it in place.

She felt a stab of pain against the center of her hand as he reached into his back pocket and suddenly she knew what all of this meant. Knew what he was doing.

"No!" she screamed beneath the gag and just as the hammer came down she pulled hard from the shoulder for all she was worth. The hand moved just inches, and she felt the thickness of the nail pierce the delicate web of flesh between her third and fourth fingers and thud deep into the tree.

She heard him curse and reach into his pocket for a second nail.

It was the only chance she'd get.

She screamed again and pulled.

The flesh tore away with a surprising, terrifying resistance. She was aware of blood pouring from the wound as she reached up and grabbed the rough limb of the tree with both hands and hauled herself up and swung back, kicking at him while he still fumbled in his pocket for the second nail, felt a moment of elation as her shoes connected solidly with his chest that was as frightening as anything that had happened to her all night long because now there was hope.

She reached up with bloody slippery fingers and tugged at the second knot exactly as he had done.

And suddenly she was free.

She saw that kicking him she'd sent him flying into a stand of white birch opposite. He had fallen, was trying to stand, but his fall had wedged him into the low, four-limbed bole of one of the trees and he couldn't find sufficient purchase at an angle that would allow him to haul himself up.

And maybe she'd hurt him. Maybe he was dazed.

It gave her that moment. That precious second to run.

She didn't know which way he'd taken her through the woods but that didn't matter. She was young and he was not. She had fear and need on her side and he did not. She'd find the road or she'd find a place to hide but either way he was not going to take her. Not again.

Not Marge Bernhardt.

She had too much to live for.

Ignoring pain and cold and blood she sprinted free into the dense forest night.

It wasn't as bad as he thought it would be in some ways.

But then in some other ways, once he knew it was real and really happening to him, it was worse.

The shelter wasn't a kind of prison the way he'd imagined it. It was a normal-looking house though old and bigger than any he'd seen and it sat on a quiet, tree-lined street somewhere up into the hills away from town, with a big lawn and trees in back so that if it weren't for the high chain-link fence you'd think just anybody could live here—not just a bunch of messed-up kids waiting for something to happen to them. Inside there was a big comfortable living room on the first floor with a fireplace they said nobody used anymore, a kitchen and dining room with a huge table, and upstairs were the bedrooms, four of them, six boys to a room assigned to bunk beds.

His roommates were all pretty much his age except Willie something, who was just a little kid and had the bunk down under him and David
Fosch
, who was maybe two years older. So that was okay.

David seemed to think he was pretty tough but he hadn't started pushing anybody around or anything.

He was worried about tonight, though.

His first night here.

What if he messed his
pyjamas
again?

It wasn't happening
every
night, thank god, not since he hadn't been seeing his dad so much but it still was happening often enough and what if he
shit
his pants in the middle of the night and everybody smelled it and somebody woke up and said,
jesus
what's
that?

Everybody'd know.

And he wondered if David
Fosch
would just act tough after that.

Mrs. Strawn and Mr. McKenzie said that they all had chores to do every day and his that afternoon was peeling carrots and potatoes for supper. They'd shown him around and got him unpacked and settled in to his room and then as soon as his mom left with Mr.
Sansom
, Mrs. Strawn handed him the peeler.

He didn't mind. It was something to do.

Though he wasn't real good at it.

He kept remembering his mom crying as she left and trying to smile, Mr.
Sansom's
hand on her arm leading her out the door. And thinking about that made him want to cry because why was she crying if she wasn't scared for him again?

I told
, he thought.

I told on my dad. Is that why this is happening?

He kept worrying about tonight. About going to bed and sleeping and doing ... whatever.

He kept wondering what was going to happen to him next—how long he was really going to be here, whether he was going to get picked on eventually by some kid or maybe a whole bunch of kids and when it was going to happen. It almost had to happen.

They said it was only for a day or two.

He wasn't dumb. He knew a lot could happen in a day or two.

A lot of things he didn't want to happen.

So he wasn't too great at the peeling. He kept gouging holes out of the potatoes trying to get at the dark spots and breaking off the thin tops of carrots.

They smelled good, though. The carrots and potatoes did. They smelled like home and his own kitchen.

When?
he thought.
When will they get me out of here?

He listened to some of the other kids playing out back on the lawn outside through the kitchen door, the screams and the laughing. At least he knew you could laugh here.

Somebody out there could. Maybe that meant he could too. Eventually.

There were still a couple of hours before supper time. He wondered if, when he finished, he'd have the guts to go out and join in.

"Robert?"

Mrs. Strawn was standing in the doorway. There was gray in her hair and she wore thick black-rimmed glasses and her hips and belly were too big for the tight skirt she was wearing but his first feeling about her was that Mrs. Strawn was okay, that she was pretty nice.

"You have a visitor," she said. "Go rinse off your hands and you can finish up later."

He did as she said and stepped outside, following her through the hall into the living room.

He sat in an armchair with his back to them as they walked in so that Robert could see only his head and shoulders, but he knew who it was way before he turned and when he did turn his father was smiling.

That was wrong. He felt a wave of terror.
Why was he smiling?

Didn't he
know
?

His father stood up.

"Hi, Robert," he said.

"Hi." It was all he could do to manage to get the word out.

"I'm sorry, Mr.
Danse
," said Mrs. Strawn. "But you know I have to stay here with you."

"I understand. That's fine. I just wanted to stop by and say hello and see how Robert was doing." He smiled again, bigger this time. "This is really quite a nice place you have here, Mrs. Strawn. You sure wouldn't know there were ... how many boys living here?"

"Twenty-one at the moment. We have three beds open right now."

He shook his head as though he couldn't quite believe it. "Well, you run a tight ship," he said. "It's amazing."

She smiled. "We try. Thank you."

He turned to Robert. "So. How you doing, son? I know this is a ... big adjustment for you. God knows it's got to be. I know it's not easy. I know it can't be easy."

"I'm ... I'm okay."

"Really?"

Robert nodded. Why was he asking all this?

Did he really care?

What was he doing here—and didn't he
know
?

"Anything I can do for you?"

"No. I mean, no thanks."

"Anything I can bring? You got your Game Boy? Stuff like that?"

He nodded again. He noticed that his father was scratching at his thumb with his index finger. Otherwise he looked completely calm, like nothing was going on here at all. It was weird. It was like this happened to him every day, going to visit his kid in some home.

"Well, if there's anything you need, you know where to phone me. He can make phone calls, can't he, Mrs. Strawn?"

"I'm afraid not, Mr.
Danse
. The bills would be a disaster. You'll have to phone him here. And then because of the court order ..." She looked embarrassed. "Because of the court order I'd have to be on the extension. You understand, I hope."

He seemed to want to ignore that last part.

"Sure, I understand," he said. "Twenty-one kids could make a lot of phone calls. I'll phone him, then. Any particular time of day?"

"Not before nine, please. And not after nine in the evening."

"Fine. No
prob
... oh,
damn
it!"

He held up his thumb, turning it over and cupping it with the palm of his hand. Blood was flowing off it, running fast and hard down over his wrist.

"Oh, my Lord!"

"Could you ...? Where's the bathroom, Mrs. Strawn? I'm sorry ... I did this
this
morning putting in a new razor blade but I thought ..."