Restoring Harmony Part 22

"Yeah, I'll play for a while. Do you mind?"

"It's your life."

Ha! That was a joke. I took out Jewels, and once she was tuned and I was playing, Randall slipped away to talk to his pals. "I'll be back as soon as you stop, so don't get any ideas," he said before he went. I made a sweet-and-innocent face, and he laughed.

I played for almost forty-five minutes without anyone dropping any kind of fruit into my case. My fingers were freezing, and I sounded terrible. I had stopped playing to blow on my hands when a little boy came over and handed me an apple.

This was it! Before I could even look at it, though, Randall was standing over me. "I'll take that," he said. "If you don't mind, Molly."

"Uh, sure."

What could I say?

"You ready to go?" he asked.

"Yeah."

I packed up Jewels, watching him out of the corner of my eye. I thought he'd somehow figured out that Spill and I were up to something. Was he going to inspect the apple? No, instead he bit into it. We walked back through the market and up the hill, Randall chomping on the apple the whole time. Spill had told me he was going to remove the core and place a note inside, and then slide it back in so the apple would look whole. I was sure that any second Randall was going to bite into something that shouldn't be inside it.

"Can I have the core when you're finished?" I asked as casually as I could. "I'm saving the seeds."

"Gonna plant an orchard?" he asked, laughing.

"Well . . . not really . . . but Grandpa and I are going to start homeschooling the kids," I improvised. "I thought this would be a fun project, just to keep them busy, you know? We can try and sprout them."

Randall took one last bite and then handed me the core. I tossed it in the bag with the food and kept walking like nothing had happened. As soon as I got home, I ripped the core to bits. The piece of paper inside was so small I was surprised Randall hadn't eaten it. In tiny handwriting was one word: Tonight.

Grandma seemed to understand the entire plan and the two of us made a big show of cooking dinner over the fire. I even played my fiddle until my fingers were so cold I had to quit. Randall sat in one of the chairs, bundled in his coat, laughing and singing along with us. Instead of relaxing me, his trust made me feel worse about what I was planning to do. After a while, we all went inside, leaving him there to stay warm by the fire. He was on duty until midnight, and by then it would all be over.

I took Jewels to the garage, where Grandpa was making last-minute adjustments to the load. Brandy and Michael were perched on top of an enormous suitcase in the backseat, rolling the windows up and down. Grandma sat next to them, smiling like she was going out for a Sunday drive.

We'd packed the trunk with food, several liters of water, and ancient camping gear from Grandpa's attic. My bike was strapped to a makeshift bike rack attached to the rear b.u.mper just in case we needed it.

"Don't you think we could just drive away?" I asked him. "Randall might not even hear us."

"Spill said not to take any chances."

"I just feel kind of bad about it. He's so nice."

"Molly, you're sympathizing with your captor. It's a weird psychological phenomenon that happens to the best people, though, so don't worry about it."

I didn't really know what he was talking about. Or maybe I just wasn't paying attention. "Okay," I said. "If you're ready, then here goes nothing."

"We're ready."

He grabbed a roll of duct tape and followed me back into the living room, where he picked up a book and sat on the settee, pretending to read. I stepped out into the cool October night with a pan of water in one hand and my other hand deep in my pocket.

"I thought I'd make some tea," I told Randall.

He nodded. I came down the deck stairs onto the sunporch, where the fire was burning brightly in the fountain. Just as I got to the bottom step, I stumbled forward, the pan of water sloshing. Randall jumped from his chair and reached out to steady me so I wouldn't fall into the flames. As soon as he had hold of my arm, I dropped the pan and plunged a syringe into his thigh. He leapt back in surprise, pulled it out of his leg, and rubbed the spot.

"What was that?" He started shaking his leg. "What'd you do? My thigh feels funny." He staggered a little and sat down hard in his chair. "Did you poison me?"

"No! I wouldn't do that," I said. How awful did he think I was? I'd stabbed him with some of the leftover painkiller we'd given Doug when he'd been hurt. According to Grandpa, without the other dose to counteract it, Randall should be paralyzed almost immediately. "It's just a serum that numbs the central nervous system. Your body's going to stiffen up and you won't be able to move, but that's all. It'll wear off in ten to twelve hours."

"Oh." He looked relieved that I hadn't killed him, but there was still fear in his eyes.

I could see his body going rigid in the chair. It was working! I couldn't believe how easy it had been. I really hated to do the next part, but Spill had made me promise. As soon as I could see that Randall couldn't move, I reached inside his coat and pulled out his gun.

"Molly, you don't want that," he said, through gritted teeth.

Even his jaw was seizing up. That was good. Then he wouldn't be able to yell for help at midnight when his replacement showed up. Spill had told us to bind him up and drag him into the house where he wouldn't be found for a while. I called Grandpa, who came running with the duct tape.

"Can you do it yourself?" I asked him. "I'm shaking."

I'd been anxious before we started the whole thing, but now it was like every nerve in my body was pulsing with adrenaline. Had I really done this to Randall?

"No problem," Grandpa said. "I can handle him."

"You know, Molly," Randall said as Grandpa struggled to unroll the sticky tape, "when you do something to someone, poison them, or inject them with paralyzing potion or whatever, never tell them what's supposed to happen."

I wished Grandpa would just hurry with the tape. Why didn't he find the end of it when he was inside?

"Do you know why?" Randall continued through gritted teeth.

"No, why?"

"Because," he said, just as Grandpa leaned in to tape his ankles together, "it's easy to pretend it's working, when it's not." Moving jerkily, like a robot, but still with more dexterity than I was expecting, Randall forced his stiffening arms to act and he had Grandpa in a choke hold before I could even move.

34.

GRANDPA'S FACE WAS ALREADY TURNING PURPLE IN Randall's grasp, and his gla.s.ses had clattered onto the patio. What was I going to do? Randall could snap Grandpa's neck in a tenth of a second and then come after me and Grandma.

"Let him go!" I screamed.

"Here's what happens next," Randall said stiffly. His jaw was definitely tight, but we could still understand him. "You give me my gun, and I let him go. Then we all sit here quietly until my relief arrives. After that, we'll decide what to do next."

When he mentioned his gun, I realized I was still holding it. I didn't even hesitate. Instead of handing it over, I pointed it at him. "Let him go," I said as calmly as I could.

"Molly," Randall said, "you can't shoot me."

"I can, and I will."

"I don't think so."

"You forget that I'm a farm girl, Randall. My dad's had me shooting target practice since I was seven years old. And I always. .h.i.t my mark."

"Shooting targets isn't like shooting a person," he said.

Grandpa struggled, and Randall tightened his grip.

"I've shot two mad dogs," I said. "And I put the deer they were terrorizing out of its misery."

"It's not the same."

"And when my mother tells me to go out and get a chicken for supper, she isn't sending me to any market, but to the hen-house." I tried to sound cold and tough. "You're nothing more than an animal to me, and if you don't let him go, I'm going to shoot you."

Randall stared hard at me, the firelight flickering in his eyes. I was pretty sure I could could shoot him if I had to. I mean, I would just maim him or something, not kill him. But I felt like I could do it, and I guess he must've seen it in my eyes because with a jerky movement of his arm, Randall released Grandpa. He stood up, choking and spluttering, the color slowly returning to his face. shoot him if I had to. I mean, I would just maim him or something, not kill him. But I felt like I could do it, and I guess he must've seen it in my eyes because with a jerky movement of his arm, Randall released Grandpa. He stood up, choking and spluttering, the color slowly returning to his face.

I was afraid Randall would go for the gun, but he sat there motionless.

"You cover him, Molly, while I tape him up," Grandpa said, acting like he'd somehow gotten out of the jam all by himself. "Shoot if you have to, but warn me so I can get out of the way."

"I will." My voice was shaking, but my hand was surprisingly steady.

It looked like the serum was finally starting to work, because Randall's fingers were clenched and only his eyes were moving. I stood close enough to him so I had a clear shot, but not close enough for him to wrestle the gun from me if he was still faking it. He stayed in his chair, though, not moving a muscle, while Grandpa wrapped the tape around and around his ankles.

We stood him up, and he swayed stiffly on his feet. Grandpa bound his wrists together behind his back like Spill had told us to do, and I tried not to think about why Spill knew the best way to tape someone up. I put the gun in my inside coat pocket, and we half carried, half dragged Randall into my grandparents' bedroom, leaving him on a soft fluffy rug.

"Let's get out of here," Grandpa said, heading for the garage.

"Hey, Handsome Molly?" Randall called to me. His jaw was so stiff now I could barely understand him. "Nice knowing you," he said.

"You too, Randall."

"I'm sure we'll meet again." Even though he could barely talk, the amus.e.m.e.nt he obviously felt by telling me this showed in his voice.

"I hope not," I said.

"Oh, we will," he a.s.sured me. "And Molly?"

I was antsy to get out of there, but I stood still, wanting to hear what he had to say.

"Don't wait too long for Robert," he said. "He's not going to show up to meet you."

"How do you know?" I demanded, but worry flared up inside me.

"Because right now," Randall said through gritted teeth, "the Boss is hosting a big party."

"I know," I said. "That's why we're leaving tonight."

"I guess Robert didn't tell you the party is for him. For his twenty-first birthday. It's also his induction ceremony into the Organization."

I stared at Randall. It couldn't be Spill's twenty-first birthday! He knew he had to leave before then! "I don't believe you," I said.

"The house always wins, Molly. You should know that."

I ran out after Grandpa, slamming the bedroom door on Randall's words.

35.

ON THE WAY TO THE GARAGE, I LITERALLY RAN INTO Grandpa, who was stumbling through the living room. "You're going to have to drive," he said.

"What? Why?"

He held up his mangled gla.s.ses. "Can't see a thing at night without them."

"But I don't know how to drive!"

"I gave you a lesson."

"It was a fake lesson!"

"You'll be fine. Come on."

"Just go easy," Grandpa said once I'd backed out of the driveway and onto the road.

I went so easy he told me that maybe I should speed up a little if we ever planned to get out of Gresham tonight. "I'm trying," I said. "But I can't see anything."

The kids were jumping up and down on the suitcase with excitement, but I was concentrating so hard on not driving into a ditch that I hardly noticed them. Most of the market was already closed, but the scary bit glowed with activity, so I kept the headlights off until we'd slid noiselessly past. Once we'd crossed the main road and were on Highway 26, I turned them on.