The Third Victim Part 77

Footsteps came down the corridor. One of the guides appeared. He was smiling, jolly, like a clown.

"It's that time," he said cheerily.

Danny looked at him blankly.

"You're going on a field trip, Mr. O'grady. Your parents are sending you to the funny farm." Mr. Jolly laughed at his joke. Danny curled up more tightly on the bed. Two men materialized behind Mr. Jolly. They wore uniforms and looked vaguely familiar to Danny.

They held up shackles. If you left the walls of the detention center, you had to be shackled. There was no point in avoiding it anymore.

They would take him one way or another.

Off to the funny farm. His insides burned. He wished he had something sharp.

Danny stood as ordered. He held up his arms. The younger guy did his ankles first. He didn't make it very tight. Not as tight as the last guy had done. That guy had cut into Danny's skin and left welts. Danny had known from the look on the man's face that that was what he wanted.

Danny kept quiet. The younger guy had the belt around his waist now.

His hands were chained in front of him to the belt. He was done.

The older man nodded.

"Danny," he said roughly, familiarly.

Danny figured he must know the man. Maybe a friend of his father's.

Good old Shep loved the brotherhood of the uniform. Couldn't be easy to be a cop now.

The patrol officers led him out to a Cabot County police cruiser. They stuck him in the back, then climbed into the front. The two men kept looking at each other but didn't say much.

Danny didn't ask any questions. He didn't know why he was going to the funny farm or for how long or what happened when he got there. He still didn't ask any questions. He just wished he had something sharp.

Cut away his fingers. Never have to gaze at his hands anymore. Miss Avalon, Miss Avalon, Miss Avalon.

"Run, Danny, run!"

The car started moving. The older man studied Danny in the rearview mirror. Danny didn't like his look. He hunched his shoulders and tried to be small.

Ten minutes later the older man said to the younger man, "What do you think?"

"I guess it's as good a spot as any."

"Hey, you," the older man said to Danny.

"Hold on, kid."

Suddenly, the car swerved. One minute they were on the road, the next the car went bouncing down the embankment. Danny thought the man would try to brake. Instead he hit the gas. Boom.

The impact slammed Danny forward into the divider. He blinked his eyes. It took several seconds more for the dust to clear. When he finally had his senses together, he realized the patrol car was smashed against a tree. Steam came from beneath the hood. The two cops looked bleary, and the younger one had blood on his forehead.

"s.h.i.t," the kid cop murmured, touching the cut and wincing.

"s.h.i.t, that's gotta be authentic."

"Get out," the older man was saying. His lip was bleeding and his cheek appeared bruised. He spoke with more urgency.

"For G.o.d's sake, kid, grab the keys and get the h.e.l.l out of the car.

Didn't your dad tell you anything?"

Danny finally realized that the back door had opened. Had one of them done it, or was it from the crash? He couldn't remember how things had happened, and already his feet were moving, though through no will of his own. He got out of the car. Both cops were moaning. Someone squawked over the radio. They pretended to moan louder while the older one pointed at the keys dangling from his utility belt.

Danny took the keys and undid his shackles. Now he saw another police car coming, except this one wasn't from Cabot County. It was from Bakersville, and Danny knew immediately who was climbing out of the front seat.

Danny threw the keys into the gra.s.s. He leapt forward, catching the older cop by surprise, and grabbed his sidearm.

The man's eyes turned white with fear. He started to babble; Danny didn't stick around to hear. The fog had lifted. He had no more doubt in his mind.

He ran. Straight into the ravine, crashing through the underbrush. He heard the cops yell and his father yell.

"Wait, wait, we're just trying to help."

"Son, please.. ." Danny ran faster. He had a gun now, and he knew exactly what he had to do next.

He was smart.

At a little after five-thirty in the evening, Princ.i.p.al Steven VanderZanden turned his car up the rounded driveway to his house.

Abigail was sitting beside him, holding his hand. Ever since the shooting, she'd had a need to touch him. She stroked his cheek more often, cajoled him out of his recliner onto the love seat, slept with her body pressed up against his.

It had been years since she'd been so affectionate, and right after the shooting Steven hadn't known how to feel about that. His sadness and guilt over Melissa left him needy, grateful for the contact. And yet the nicer his wife was, the worse he felt.

Today he had realized he needed to tell his wife the truth. Just get it all out in the open. Then see what she did to him. Except this morning his wife had suggested that they drive to the beach, get away for a little bit. The days had been long since the shootings, so many people who needed his guidance and so many doubts to keep him up late at night. It would be months before he sorted through the aftermath.

Months before he understood his role as a princ.i.p.al and guardian of students again.

His wife wore a new sundress she'd apparently bought yesterday at Sears. The bright blue made her eyes vivid, and he found himself watching her, noting the way she smiled. She was flirting with him, he'd realized finally. Gently, subtly, in order to give him plenty of s.p.a.ce.

And he found himself thinking about other times, when the marriage was new and they thought nothing of spending hours giggling on the sofa. He thought of the way he'd always appreciated his wife's common sense and how she made him feel strong, when he'd spent his whole life as a five-foot-eight runt who was never the hero on the football field. He remembered the way he liked his wife, particularly in the days before Melissa Avalon had arrived in Bakersville and stunned him with her smile.

By five this afternoon he had made his decision. He'd made a mistake, an error in ego and judgment. He hoped his wife would never have to learn how much he'd hurt her. And now he just wanted his old life back.

They approached the house.

The first sign of trouble was just a flicker of movement out of the corner of Steven's eye. The next minute the back window of the car exploded in a hail of gla.s.s.

"Oh my G.o.d," Abigail cried.

"Duck!" Steven yelled.

He floored the gas pedal on instinct and overshot the driveway. The car tumbled down the side of the hill and came to a halt in a tangle of underbrush. He fought for reverse. No such luck. He tried to shoot forward. They were stuck.

Another gunshot. The side window exploded.

Steven looked at his wife of fifteen years. He thought he knew what was going on. There would be no escape. Melissa had warned him.

He said quietly, "Run, Abigail. Run as fast as you can."