Abduction! (2 page)

“Most four-year-olds wouldn’t.”

“My grandma tried to help me understand, but she made me more scared than before.”

“What did she say?” Nancy asked.

“She told me, ‘Everyone dies, but usually not until they’re very old.’ She meant to comfort me, but I thought Daddy was old. When you’re four, twenty-six seems ancient.”

“Small wonder you had nightmares.”

The girls left the locker room and began jogging around the gym with their classmates.

“Grandma talked about heaven and angels and how it was a tragic accident,” Bonnie said, “but I focused on,
EVERYONE DIES
.      Everyone included my mother, who was the same age as Daddy. That night, I dreamed I was lost on the prairie.”

“You were afraid you’d be an orphan.”

Bonnie spoke softly. “I’ve never told anyone about the dream before. Mom used to come into my room when I’d wake up crying, and she’d ask what I had dreamed, but I always pretended I couldn’t remember. At first I was superstitious about it, afraid if I told the dream it would come true. Later I worried there was something wrong with me for having the same bad dream over and over. I didn’t tell Mom because I didn’t want to go to the doctor. I was scared I’d get a shot.”

“You don’t need a master’s degree in psychology to figure out that nightmare,” Nancy said. “It’s the classic fear-of-loss dream. You lost your dad, and you
were afraid your mom would die, too. Perfectly normal. They’d march you straight to a kiddie shrink if you
DIDN
’
S
have dreams like that when a parent died. Do you still have it?”

“No. I had it a lot at first, and then it gradually came less often. It stopped when I was eight or nine.”

“So you are now a well-adjusted thirteen-year-old who has overcome a terrible loss and gotten on with her life. No more nightmares.”

“You, on the other hand,” Bonnie said, “are a serious mental case who secretly yearns to escape from school and ride away on a sea turtle.”

“You got that right,” Nancy said.

Although Bonnie smiled, the familiar cold ache settled in her stomach. It didn’t happen often anymore. To be honest, whole weeks went past when she never thought about her dad at all, but when she did think of him she felt as if she had a hole in her heart, like some vital piece of herself was missing.

Remembering how suddenly she had lost him always made her feel vulnerable. If tragedy could knock on her door without warning once, it could arrive again.

She wished she hadn’t told Nancy about the dream. Now she felt anxious and edgy, as if some unexpected disaster were about to strike her family.

You’re being paranoid, Bonnie told herself. Mom’s at work; Matt’s in kindergarten; Pookie’s probably asleep in a patch of sunshine on the rug. It’s an ordinary morning, and everybody’s safe. Still, the vague feeling of dread stayed with her.

I
t had been simple for Denny to learn Matt’s room number. After he found Anita’s address in the telephone directory, he called the school district office and asked which school kids in that area would attend. Next he had called the school and said he was Matthew Sholter’s uncle.

“I want to send balloons to his classroom on his birthday,” Denny had said, “but I don’t know which room he’s in.”

The student who had answered the phone looked up Matthew Sholter and then told Denny everything he needed to know, including what time all-day kindergarten started and let out, and where Room 27
was located. She called the boy Matt, rather than Matthew. Useful information.

Jefferson School sat on the corner of Milton Street and Seventh, a sprawling one-story structure that had overflowed its quota of children years ago and now depended on portable buildings to house the extra students.

For the last three days, Denny had parked in front of the school every afternoon, in the line of cars that arrived to pick up children who spilled out the doors like popcorn from a popper promptly at two thirty-six.

Until now Denny had left the school by himself. Today he would have a passenger.

Denny glanced at the car’s clock. Two twenty-three. He was right on schedule.

The first day Denny had wondered how he would know which one was Matt. It seemed impossible that he wouldn’t know his own son, but one kid looked pretty much like the next to Denny, and he’d never actually met Matt or even seen any pictures of him. He hadn’t wanted to, until recently.

Maybe the kid resembled him. Tim and Thomas, Denny’s nephews, looked a lot like Denny’s brother-in-law, Winston, so Matt would probably look like
Denny. The boy might be a real chip off the old block, Denny had thought, and I’ll know him the second I see him.

He had watched the children rush outside, but none of them seemed even slightly familiar. Maybe Matt was absent. As Denny watched the children line up for the school buses, or head to the waiting cars, he saw Bonnie join a small blond boy in the second bus line.

Denny hadn’t seen Bonnie since the divorce, but she had been six or seven during his brief marriage to her mother, so he recognized her instantly. She was taller, of course, and more slender, but she still had thick, curly brown hair and a lopsided smile. The boy showed Bonnie a drawing, and she gave him a thumbs-up.

Denny stared at the boy with Bonnie. He wore a Donald Duck T-shirt and jeans. That must be him, Denny thought. That’s Matt. My son.

The same scene repeated the next day, and the next, as Denny parked near the school, watched for Matt, and made his plans.

After the second day, Denny knew which boy was Matt, even before Bonnie came.

Matt always arrived first and got in line. Then Bonnie dashed across the playground and rode home with him. The trick would be to coax Matt into the car quickly, without alarming the bus driver or the other
kids, and drive away before Bonnie got there. He planned to wait outside Room 27 and intercept Matt the second he emerged.

Denny had come back to the school one night and walked around, deciding where to park so that he wouldn’t be seen by the other parents or the bus drivers. That’s when he saw the notice on the front door:
ALL SCHOOL VISITORS MUST SIGN IN AT THE OFFICE AND GET A VISITOR’S BADGE.

He couldn’t take a chance on being stopped for not wearing a badge, but he didn’t want to sign in, either.

Denny had soon figured out what to do.

Now he was finally putting his plan into motion. He had rehearsed the whole thing in his mind so many times that when he began to do it for real, he felt as if he were merely repeating actions he had already taken.

Instead of parking where the parents lined up, he stopped on the side street, close to the door Matt always came out. He opened the trunk of his car, then took out a clipboard and a cardboard box addressed to the school library. Carrying the box under one arm, he walked around to the front entrance, past the flagpole, and into the school office.

“UPS,” he said to the woman behind the counter. “I have a delivery for the library.”

The woman glanced at his brown uniform. “You
need to sign in, please,” she said, “and wear a visitor’s badge. The library is down the hall, on your left.”

Denny scrawled
UPS
on the sign-in ledger, thanked the woman, hung a badge around his neck, and walked out of the office. Instead of heading for the library, he went straight for the door at the end of the hall, the one next to Room 27.

Then something happened that Denny had not planned for—a lucky break he had never imagined as he mentally rehearsed this day’s activity.

The door of Room 27 opened, and Matt stepped into the hallway. He closed the door behind him and headed straight toward Denny.

“Matt,” Denny said.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Matt said. He held a piece of yellow paper toward Denny. “I have a hall pass.”

“I was coming to get you out of class,” Denny said. “You’re supposed to come with me. Right now.”

The boy shook his head, frowning.

“It’s an emergency,” Denny said. “Pookie got hurt, and I’m taking him to the vet. Your mom wants you to go along so Pookie won’t be so scared.”

Matt’s eyes grew wide. “Pookie’s hurt?”

“He got hit by a car. I stopped to help, and when I called the number on Pookie’s tag, your mom asked
me to get you and then take Pookie to the vet. She’s going to meet us there.” Denny held out his hand to Matt. “We have to hurry!”

Matt shook his head again, putting his own hands behind his back. “I don’t know you,” he said. He took a step backward. “I’m not supposed to go anywhere with someone I don’t know.”

“You’re right to be cautious,” Denny said. “It shows you’re a smart kid. But I checked in at the office; see my visitor’s badge? That’s how I knew where to find you. If you walk outside with me, you can see my car from the playground. You’ll see I’m helping Pookie.”

Denny went out the door, holding it open for Matt.

Matt followed Denny out the door to the playground.

Denny pointed. “That’s my car,” he said. “Pookie’s in the backseat.”

Matt looked toward the green sedan. He saw the dog’s nose pressed against the side window of the man’s car.

“Pookie!” Matt said. “How bad is he hurt? Are his legs broken? Is he all bloody? Is he going to die?”

“He might, if we don’t get him to the vet right away. Pookie’s scared. He needs you to ride along to the vet, so he won’t be afraid.” He extended his hand again.

Matt hesitated, glanced again at the dog, took the man’s hand.

Together they ran across the playground toward the street.

While the boy climbed in beside the dog, Denny tossed the box and the clipboard into the trunk, his heart thumping in triumph. His plan had worked perfectly. The woman in the school office never suspected that a fake UPS logo had been stitched on last night by Denny himself. Matt had seen the dog in the car and left the school without a whimper.

As Matt hugged Pookie in the backseat, Denny started the engine and drove away, being careful to stay within the speed limit. The last thing he needed was to get pulled over for a traffic violation.

He rounded the corner as the first school bus pulled into the drive. The car clock said 2:34.

B
y the time Bonnie got to her last class of the day, her mood had brightened. Friday afternoons always felt full of promise, even if she had no special plans for the weekend.

As she finished her math assignment, Nancy slipped her a note.

CAN YOU LEAVE BABY BROTHER WITH YOUR NEIGHBOR AND GO TO THE MALL WITH SHARON AND ME AFTER SCHOOL? MOM’S DRIVING US. WE’RE GOING TO TRY ON SHOES AND GET FREE MAKEUP SAMPLES.

Bonnie sighed. She would love to go shopping with Nancy and her sister, but she wasn’t supposed to ask Mrs. Watson, her neighbor, to watch Matt unless it
was an emergency. She wrote
I HAVE TO STAY WITH MATT. LUCKY ME. BRING ME SOME SAMPLES—MY FACE NEEDS ALL THE HELP IT CAN GET.
She passed the note back to Nancy

Bonnie often wished she had an older sister instead of a younger brother. Sharon helped Nancy with homework and hairstyles, taught her the latest dances, and let Nancy listen to her CDs. Best of all, Nancy never had to be in charge of anyone but herself.

Last year, in sixth grade, Bonnie and Nancy often hung out together after school. They’d go to the library or talk with their friends for a little while before they walked home. Matt was in day care then, and Mom picked him up after work, so Bonnie didn’t have to worry about him.

This year, with Matt in all-day kindergarten, Bonnie had to hurry from the middle school to the adjoining elementary school as soon as the final bell rang. She rode the bus home with Matt and took care of him until Mom arrived.

Bonnie knew it was important to watch Matt after school; she knew she saved Mom a lot of money each month. She also knew it was a pain.

Matt always wanted to practice pitching a baseball, with Bonnie as the catcher. If she didn’t catch for him, Matt threw a tennis ball against the garage door for
hours at a time.
THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!
Each
THWACK
left a faint, round green spot from the tennis ball’s fuzz. The Sholters had the only house in town with a polka-dot garage door.