At the Quiet Edge(86)

“Shut the fuck up,” the cop wheezed as he raised up enough to dump his mom off him. His face was bleeding from a long scratch.

Everett saw the gun in a leather holster against the man’s side, so he squeezed the phone hard in his hand and he did exactly what his mom had yelled. He ran.

Hide, she’d said. Run. Hide. Call 911, and for the first time in his life, Everett was lucky to live in this place, because he could hide anywhere. He could choose from a thousand places, and this monster would never find him.

He vaguely heard the man cursing, heard his mom still yelling, Run, but mostly all he heard was his thundering heart and the crunching impact of his feet and his straining, keening breath as he ran as fast as he could through the vehicles. His mind tripped and fumbled, throwing up ideas for hiding places and dropping them before he could grab hold.

He’d just settled on sliding beneath the cover of a boat when his eye caught on the tall building that housed the biggest RVs. There, his brain ordered, and he zigzagged away from the last of the motorhomes and bolted for the structure.

Forty steps felt like four hundred, but he was finally, finally sliding safely around the far corner of the building. He raced immediately toward the metal ladder, but halfway there, he skidded to a stop and hurried back to the edge of the wall. Forcing his head out to peek around the corner was the hardest thing he’d ever done, but he had to be sure.

The cop hadn’t tracked him. If the guy had caught him going up the ladder, Everett would have been trapped, but when he caught a flash of movement, it was still far off inside the warren of wheels and boats and trucks.

Muttering some curse-filled prayer beneath his breath, he switched off the ringer of the phone, determined not to lose this chance to some stupid cellphone song. Then he raced to the ladder and scaled it far too quickly for safety, his sweaty hands slipping on the rungs before he threw himself over the lip of the roof.

Everything stopped then.

For a moment he was just Everett Brown, lying on his back, rough bits of the asphalt digging into his shoulder blades, thick white clouds sliding peacefully across the sky as he tried to catch his breath.

He could hear a bird singing somewhere, smell the damp earth of the meadow, and he suddenly pictured Josephine on the school bus. It was probably just pulling up to the school, and she was about to walk in, wondering where Everett was. But at least she was safe. He should never have involved her in this, and he was so happy she wasn’t here now.

The quiet moment passed in a few heartbeats, and then the phone lit up, but it only buzzed quietly in his hand. He’d done something right, then.

He forced himself to his feet so he could move toward the roof wall and peek over it. Another terrifying moment of forcing his body to make itself vulnerable. His guts shook, zinging with a strange electricity as he crouched low and sidled to the edge.

But he never had to force his head to rise and his neck to angle it over the ledge, because someone shouted his name.

“Everett! Come on out!”

He dropped down to his belly, cheek against the pebbled surface, his nose nearly touching the rough white wall. Had he heard the vibrating phone?

“Everett!” the detective shouted again. “Come on out! If you come out now, I won’t shoot your mom.”

His own whimper slunk into his ears as Everett whined in horror at the thought. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt his hands shaking and wanted it all to just stop. What was going on? Why would a police detective have his mom hostage? Why would he threaten to shoot her? It was Everett’s theft or investigation or his contact with Jones. He’d brought this on.

“Oh God,” he breathed to himself, squeezing his eyes harder. What had he done?

But then the man called his name again, and it came out so hollow and distant that Everett knew he was facing away. He knew, and this might be the only time he’d know that he wouldn’t be spotted. “Oh God,” he whispered again before he shoved himself up to his knees and raised his head only a couple of inches past the wall.

He spotted the cop immediately, his back turned to Everett while he looked out over the field of vehicles. When he started turning back toward the tall building, Everett ducked down again.

His mom wasn’t with him. Maybe she’d gotten away.

“Everett,” the bastard called again, sounding disappointed this time. “I’ve got your mom handcuffed to a truck, and if you don’t come out, I will shoot her right in the head, and I’ll get rid of her body, and no one will ever even know. Is that what you want to happen? You want your mom to disappear forever?”

Pressing his hands to his face, Everett dropped his head and began to cry.

“You come out right now, and she’ll be safe. I promise. If you call 911, you’ll watch her die.”

He had to. Oh God, he had to come out because he couldn’t let this man shoot his mom.

He had to do it, but he didn’t have to be stupid. Everett got out the phone and dialed 911.

Before the first ring, the detective was shouting into the sky again, “You’ve got ten seconds, and then it’s all over for your mommy. Ten! Nine!”

Everett sped toward the ladder, feet sliding in grit as he pinwheeled his arms to give him more momentum. He heard a tiny voice ask, “What’s your emergency?” just as he reached the metal handholds, and he hesitated for one moment.

If he took the phone with him, the detective would get on and talk to the dispatcher himself. He’d claim Everett was just a kid crank-calling 911 and he had everything taken care of, no need to send a car out. And then he’d shoot Mom.