The Chain(56)

All those threads of fate weaving together on this cold midnight.

Towns and exits gliding south, shutting down other possibilities, other paths. Peabody. Newton. Norwood.

The Google map making its own zodiac.

Pawtucket.

Providence.

The Brown University exit. Lovecraft country. An old coach road to East Providence. Big houses. Even bigger houses.

Maple Avenue. Bluff Street. Narragansett Avenue.

“Here,” Mike says.

“Is this it?”

“Yeah.”

The house is a large, ugly, mock-Tudor job, an early 2000s McMansion on a street filled with similar properties.

They drive past it and park a little way up the road.

“Front or back entrance?” Rachel asks Pete.

“Hard to say,” Pete mutters. “We don’t know about dogs, alarms, that kind of thing.”

“Back, then,” Rachel decides.

The three of them exit the BMW, walk around the block to the Hoggs’ backyard, and climb a metal fence at the rear of the property. No dog comes tearing toward them. No floodlights come on. No shotgun blast comes roaring out of the night.

The back door is a solid-looking thing but there’s another door attached to a kind of mudroom on the side of the house. It has only a latch lock on the other side of a piece of glass. Pete turns on his EM-pulse kit and breaks the glass.

They wait for a response. A yell. A light coming on.

There’s no reaction.

Pete puts his hand through the broken window and undoes the latch on the external door.

They go inside the mudroom, which is a small, narrow wooden chamber filled with coats and boots.

Flashlights on.

Mudroom to kitchen to dining room.

A dining room with pictures on the wall.

Rachel’s flashlight catches a family portrait. Two boys, a man, and his wife. Tall man with jet-black hair. Small, doughy, attractive wife who looks like she’s nice. The kids are about the same age, early teens. One of the boys is in a wheelchair. Why did the Dunleavys kidnap the one in the wheelchair? Why make it so difficult?

What kind of a person kidnaps a disabled child?

Then again, what kind of person kidnaps a kid who might die of an anaphylactic reaction to nuts?

What kind of person kidnaps a child?

They walk into a games room that has a full-length pool table, a dartboard, and a Nintendo Wii console. At least the Hoggs appear to have money.

“I guess you better take this,” Pete says absently, giving Mike a nine-millimeter pistol.

Rachel looks at him, amazed. Why would he give— Mike turns and points the nine-millimeter at Rachel’s head.

“Now, you bloody bitch, you’re going to get yours. You’re going to release Amelia tonight or I’m going to—”

“You’re going to do what?” Rachel snaps. “You think we’re dumb enough to give you a loaded gun?”

Mike stares at the weapon. “I—”

Rachel snatches the pistol out of his hands and gives it back to Pete, who finally seems to realize his mistake.

Rachel shoves the barrel of the .38 into Mike’s cheek.

“You still don’t get how it works, do you? Even if we gave you Amelia back, that won’t be the end of it. The Chain has to continue. That’s the way it’s set up. They’ll kill you and Amelia and your wife and Toby. They’ll kill all of you and start again. They’ll kill me and my family too.”

Mike shakes his head. “But I—” he begins.

Rachel pistol-whips the .38 across his face. He winces and staggers back toward a fish tank. She grabs the lapel of his jacket and stops him from falling.

She pulls him close. “Do you get it now?”

“I think so,” Mike whimpers.

She puts the gun under his chin. “Do you get it?” she insists.

“I get it,” he bleats and then he actually starts to cry.

She takes off his ski mask and lets the gun fall to her side. She looks at him and holds the moment for a beat, two, three.

“Close your eyes,” she says.

He closes them, and she takes off her ski mask, pulls his head down, and leans her forehead against his.

“Don’t you see? I’m saving you, Michael,” she says very softly. “I’m saving you and your family.”

He nods.

He understands now. Forehead against forehead. Victim and accomplice. Accomplice and victim.

“It’s going to be OK,” she whispers.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Yes,” she says. “I promise.”

She puts her ski mask back on and hands Mike his mask.

She glares at Pete. “What the hell’s the matter with you? Get it together,” she hisses.

A dog appears from a side door, a big tawny-brown Alsatian. It freezes when it sees them. “Hey, boy,” Pete says. The dog comes over and sniffs Pete’s hand and likes what it smells there.

He pats it on the head. It sniffs Rachel and Mike and, satisfied, heads for the kitchen.

A TV is blaring from a room at the front of the house.

They follow the sound down a corridor hung with more family portraits.

In the living room, they find a large man snoozing on a recliner in front of Fox News. A jowly, powerful, fallen man taken down by events, like Gulliver.