The Shadow Box(91)

Gwen raised her eyes to him—she was full of joy. It almost made him smile. She clutched Charlie’s hand, walking toward Tom. Tom let them go ahead, glancing behind him at the front door. Only the woman was there.

“Alexander, stop them!” she called.

Tom and the kids made it to the truck.

“I’ve got this, Emily,” Alexander Chase said, and Tom saw him lift a gun, a Sig Sauer semiautomatic, the same model Conor carried. Tom thought of his own service gun, in the safe at home.

“You’re the merman and the mermaid,” Gwen said, staring at Alexander and Emily. “You followed us in your boat and saved Charlie.”

“That’s right,” Emily said. “I’m glad you know that. And we’re going to take care of you now.”

“But we have to go home. Our Daddy’s waiting for us.”

Alexander made a frustrated sound. “Jesus Christ,” he said.

“Shut up,” Emily said to him.

“Come on, Gwen, Charlie,” Tom said, never taking his eyes off the gun. He heard his brother’s voice on the phone in the truck, calling his name, the line still connected.

“Don’t listen to him, Charlie,” Emily said, taking a step forward. “Let’s show your sister around. All the cool rooms and the tower and the swimming pool . . .”

“I know you’re nice, but we’re going with Tom,” Gwen said, arms clasped around her brother.

“They’re not nice,” Charlie said, starting to cry. “They were following us to Block Island. To shoot Daddy when he got off the boat. But Ford did instead. The one who came to our house that day, when Mommy and Daddy started yelling.”

“Stop talking,” Alexander said.

“I heard you, though.” Charlie wept. “I heard you say it. You said he would tell on your father and your father would lose and you said he shot Daddy.”

Tom assessed Alexander. He was tall, looked soft and slightly heavy, and his hand was shaking. He wasn’t comfortable holding the weapon. Tom calculated—would the kid actually shoot them?

“You shot Daddy? Did you kill our mom?” Gwen asked.

“No,” Emily said in a sweet, cajoling tone. “We had no idea the boat was going to blow up. It was a horrible accident. We would never have wanted you to be hurt.”

“Em, please? Stop,” the young man said, glancing at her and pointing at Tom.

“What’s the difference?” she asked. “Who cares what he hears? You know what you have to do.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Tom said, in as reasonable a tone of voice as he could manage. “You’ve done no harm so far. You saved Charlie. He wouldn’t have made it without you. The explosion was an accident. No matter what Ford may have done, you haven’t shot anyone . . .” He had his arms around Gwen and Charlie.

“Get away from them,” the young woman said.

“You’re not in trouble,” Tom said. “You don’t want to hurt us, I know that. You saved Charlie. That’s the kind of kids you are. We’re going to leave now.”

He scooped Charlie up into his arms, guiding Gwen toward his truck. He kept his eyes on the pistol, his heart thumping. The man’s arm dropped to his side, and he lowered his head—he wasn’t going to shoot. Tom opened the door, pushed both of the children inside.

“You idiot,” Emily said, grabbing Alexander’s arm. “You can’t let them go. After everything? What are our fathers going to say?”

Tom climbed into the driver’s seat. The truck was still running, the phone still on speaker, and he heard Conor’s voice coming over the speaker: “I heard everything. Get the hell out of there.”

“Roger,” Tom said. “Leaving Ravenscrag now.” He jammed the truck into reverse and spun the wheel to turn around, tires screeching on the driveway pavement. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw Emily tug the gun from Alexander’s hand and come stalking toward the truck, arm extended.

“Go, Tom, hurry!” Gwen cried, watching her.

Tom shifted into drive and hit the gas, and the young woman fired. He felt the punch in his shoulder as the glass in the driver’s side window shattered and hot blood pouring from the hole in his shoulder, and the last thing he heard was his brother’s voice saying his name over the phone, repeating it, yelling it, drowned out by the shrieks of Gwen and Charlie.





49





CONOR


Conor heard the unmistakable gut-twisting sound of a gunshot, and his brother stopped talking. The line was still open. The children were screaming, a boy and a girl. Now a sharp female voice:

“Come with me, both of you. Right now,” she said.

“I want to go home!” Charlie said, sobbing.

“You killed Tom!” Gwen yelled.

“It’s your fault, Gwen,” the woman said. “I told you and Charlie to come with me. Look what you made me do.”

“Tom!” Gwen cried.

“Come with us now,” a man’s voice said. “Come on, Gwen, you’re safe here. You want to be with your brother, right? We’ll take care of you and figure this out.”

“Charlie, run away from them! We have to get help for Tom!”