He climbs the little hill above the waterfall and tries texting from there but in the two minutes that that takes, of course his phone dies. The big stag turns to look at him. They stare at each other for three seconds.
Spooked, it slips between the trees. Pete watches it vanish with regret. Food stamps go only so far. He secures the rifle and heads back to his truck.
And now his skin is starting to crawl. Is it that time already? He looks at the sky. It can’t be three o’clock. But evidently it is. He hikes through the autumnal wood and finds his pickup truck undisturbed in the firebreak. Unfortunately, he hasn’t brought his phone charger, so he will have to wait until he gets back to his apartment in Worcester to see what Rachel wants.
17
Thursday, 3:27 p.m.
Kylie sits in the sleeping bag. She holds the toothpaste tube in one hand, her wrists aching from the effort of trying to pick the handcuff lock. She remembers a YouTube video Stuart wanted to show her about three ways to get out of handcuffs. Stuart loves that kind of thing—Houdini, magic, escapes. She hadn’t watched it; she’d been on her own phone scrolling for the video about a new secret chamber someone had found in the Great Pyramid.
Next time she would pay attention.
If there is a next time, she thinks with a rush of terror.
She breathes deep and closes her eyes.
She likes magic also.
The Egyptians lived in a god-and-demon-infested world.
There are demons here too, but they are human beings.
She wonders if her mom is doing the things the kidnappers want her to do. She wonders if the kidnappers have mistaken her mom for someone else. Someone with access to a bank vault or government secrets…
She takes a big breath, lets it out slowly, does it again.
She’s calmer now. Not calm, but calmer.
She listens to the nothing.
No, not nothing. There’s always something. Crickets. A jet. A very distant river. Seconds tick past, then minutes. She wants the river to take her away from this place, these people, away from all of it. It doesn’t matter where. She wants to lie back and let the current float her down through the marshes to the Atlantic.
No. That’s fake. A dream. This is real. This basement. These cuffs. Be in the now, the school counselor had said in that mindfulness class they had all mocked. Be present and see everything there is to see in the now.
She opens her eyes.
She looks, really looks.
She sees everything there is to see.
18
Thursday, 3:31 p.m.
Wendy Patterson picks up Denny from Rowley Elementary School, takes him to soccer practice at Rowley High School, then drives into Ipswich and gets herself a soy chai latte from the Starbucks. She Instagrams a picture of the latte and a Thanksgiving cookie that she got for Denny.
Denny has changed into his soccer clothes and is doing dribbling drills with the team. Rachel watches him from her Volvo 240 parked across the street while using her phone to monitor Wendy’s tweets, Facebook updates, and Instagrams. She watches him and feels sick with doubt. How can she do this? It’s the most evil thing you could ever do to a mom, to a family. But then she thinks about Kylie locked in some crazy woman’s basement. It’s the most evil thing you can do but it has to be done.
She watches Denny play, and when the practice is over she sees that, yup, Wendy is still in Ipswich at the Starbucks. The drizzle has stopped now and it looks like Denny is going to be walking home. Wendy doesn’t indicate on her Facebook feed that she is coming to pick him up.
Could Rachel grab him now?
She had thought that this would be a scouting trip, not a snatch-and-grab mission. She hasn’t prepared the Appenzeller house yet. The board isn’t over the basement window; she doesn’t have a mattress down there. But if the opportunity presents itself?
She follows the little boy in her car as he walks home with a friend. Obviously, she can’t grab two kids, so she’ll have to wait until they part.
She knows she must look very suspicious, creeping along at five miles per hour following two little boys.
She hasn’t thought this through properly. She has no idea where in Rowley Denny’s house is. Is he on the main road? Down a cul-de-sac? She curses herself for not figuring out the route from the high school to his house on Google Maps.
The friend hangs with Denny for a few blocks but then waves and leaves, and Denny is by himself.
Little Denny all alone.
Rachel’s pulse quickens. She looks at the front passenger seat. Gun, ski mask, handcuffs, blindfold.
She rolls the window down and checks her mirrors.
There are witnesses. An old man with a dog. A high-school girl jogging. Rowley is a sleepy little community but not quite sleepy enough today. And then, just like that, Denny walks up a driveway, takes a key out of his pocket, and goes into his house.
Rachel parks the Volvo on the other side of the street and checks Wendy’s Facebook feed. Now she is coming home, it says.
Rachel has about eight or nine minutes with Denny in there by himself. Is he by himself? Is there a dog or a housekeeper or something?
Can she just put on the ski mask, march across the road, and ring the doorbell? How can she get him into the car if she has to make a quick getaway? In the movies, lone kidnappers used chloroform-soaked rags to get their victims. Could you buy chloroform at the pharmacy? What if she used too much and sent the frickin’ kid into cardiac arrest?
She puts her face in her hands.
How is this happening to her? When is she going to wake up from this nightmare?
She goes through these thoughts over and over until it’s too late. Wendy’s white VW SUV rolls up in front of the house, and Wendy gets out.
Rachel curses herself.
She’s blown it. Almost on purpose. Almost on purpose out of sheer cowardice.
But as soon as his mom appears, Denny comes outside, and he and a kid from next door start playing basketball on the other kid’s hoop.
She watches them both greedily. The way a predator watches its prey.
Either would do in a pinch. If she could get one of them alone…
She looks at her watch. Not yet five o’clock. This morning when she woke up, she had been a completely different person. As J. G. Ballard pointed out, civilization is just a thin, fragile veneer over the law of the jungle: Better you than me. Better your kid than my kid.
When the one-on-one basketball game is over, Denny goes back inside. A few moments later, a Lowell Police Department patrol car pulls up in front of the Pattersons’ house and a six-foot-three uniformed cop gets out.
Rachel slinks down in her seat, but the cop hasn’t come for her. He is carrying a giant box of Legos. He rings the Pattersons’ bell and Wendy answers. She gives him a kiss, and Rachel watches the cop go inside. She watches through the living-room window as he ruffles little Denny’s hair and gives him the Legos.
I guess Wendy doesn’t report everything on Facebook and Instagram, Rachel thinks. And there goes Kid 1. No law enforcement. The rules are clear. She takes out her notebook and her phone. Kid 2 is now Kid 1.
Toby Dunleavy.
Rachel looks at Helen Dunleavy’s Facebook feed. She selected Helen because she was another one of those people who felt the need to share everything that was happening to them every half an hour or so. She seems like a nice lady, though, and a good mom. That’s the kind you want: a good mom who will do anything to get her child back.