In the House On Lakeside Drive (16 page)

The sound of eggs cracking into a frying pan filled the air, and soon Remy was reaching for the shredded cheese. Since the events of Christmas Eve morning, he had been experimenting with eggs and found to his surprise that he liked omelets with cheese and leftover bacon in them. “Anyone want omelets?” he called out, fully prepared to eat the whole pan of eggs himself if need be.

“Sounds good,” Sam said, feeling in the crisper drawer for the baby carrots. “I'll have some.”

“Me too,” Josh piped up. He opened the cupboard and got out the paper plates. Remy watched as he set three of them on the bar table, complete with forks and knives. “Cheater,” he said, motioning toward the paper dishware.

“Well, I don't wanna do dishes. Sam, you wanna do dishes?”

“Not really.”

“See?” Josh stuck out his tongue at Remy, causing the elder tenant to laugh.

“Don't let Miss Rachel find out. You know the rules.”

“I know, I know. Picnic food gets paper plates. But still. We use 'em when I have dinner at Walter's.”

Now Remy fell into a full-blown laughing fit. “Josh, Walter's parents don't
own
real dishes.”

“Yeah, they do. I seen 'em.”

“Where? In a photo album?”

“No. In the china cupboard. Needs a key.”

“They lock the china cupboard?” Sam asked, puzzled.

“Longorias are a…well, they're a strange family,” Remy started to explain.

“They're not strange! They're nice!” Josh's round face turned red with indignation.

“Hey, I'm not arguing with you there,” Remy soothed. “But it's also not uncommon for one of 'em to lose it one day and start throwing random things around the house. I had to go in with Evan one time to get a socket wrench he left there, and it was busy being used to put holes in the back screen door.”

Sam's face scrunched further in confusion. “Why?”

“Because the lock was busted, and Mr. Longoria wanted to get it open. We ended up there about a good two hours getting the lock off for them. They paid Evan with a case of beer. That he ended up giving away because no one here drinks.”

“I see what you mean,” Sam replied.

“Like I said, they're nice people,” Remy reiterated. “Just…strange.”

The omelets were finished, and Remy slid giant egg pancakes onto the paper plates before him. “Well, my cooking day is done.” He smiled.

Sam smiled, and Josh busied himself with putting forkfuls of egg, cheese, and bacon into his mouth. “This is good!” he said between bites.

“Mmm hmm,” Sam said in reply.

The three were still eating when a sharp
crack
filled the room, and a sudden burst of cold air shot through the windows. “What the hell?” Remy said, looking around to see what had caused the sound.

“It was a rock,” Josh said, holding up a medium-sized stone in his hand. The young tenants stood deathly still inside the lighted kitchen. “Someone's coming,” Sam whispered finally, turning his head toward the kitchen door.

The sound of breaking glass startled everyone, and for a brief moment all heads turned toward the living room where the sound originated. “What the hell is going on?” Remy said again, a nervous tone to his voice.

In an instant the room erupted in a cacophony of sound: wood splintering, feet stomping, shouts and plaintive cries. “Hold still, brat,” a voice said, its owner's face covered by a thick ski mask that only showed the eyes. Thick hands were grabbing onto a squirming, shrieking Josh as he fought to escape his attacker's grasp.

Nearby Remy was doing his best to fend off another masked man with the small frying pan he'd used to cook the omelets. “Don't you dare touch me,” he shouted, swinging the object like a baseball bat. The assailant circled Remy, forcing him toward a cluttered corner of the kitchen. At Josh's screams, Remy turned his head, losing his focus. Seconds later he too was caught up in a strong grip. “Sam,
run
!” he yelled, struggling for release.

The blind man heard the cries and screams of his friends, and the
crashes
and
bangs
of the people who had broken into their house to attack them. He tried to focus his ears for a way out, and he
clicked
his tongue toward the front door, hoping to find there was a clear path that way. He backed slowly, reaching for his cane, which he'd left lying in the front hall.

“Looking for that stick of yours?” a voice said behind him, startling him into crying out. It was Southern, thicker than the one Evan had. “No, I don't think so.”

“What…what do you want?” Sam spun on his heel, reaching for the banister he knew was five steps from the kitchen entrance.

“Not to worry. We found what we're looking for.” Strong hands grabbed Sam's arms, and the teenager fought with the assailant he couldn't see. “Take 'em,” the Southerner called out to his accomplices, and the sound of thundering footsteps and objects being dragged by his friends in an attempt to anchor themselves filled his ears. Sam kept searching for the mobility device he knew was within reach, trying desperately to fend off the hands that pulled him toward the door. “Let go of me!” he cried, struggling to get out of the man's grasp. “Let
go
!”

Something cold laid against Sam's throat, and the sharp edge bit into his skin. “Let me make this perfectly clear,” the Southerner called out, his voice echoing through the living room. “You two keep fighting, and this one learns what it's like to lose more than his eyes, understand?”

Within seconds the house fell eerily silent. “No,” Remy said, his voice hoarse. “No, don't…”

“Then cooperate,” Sam's assailant said sharply. “You too, brat.”

Sam heard his best friend's mouth open, and then shut itself again. Soft whimpers were streaming from Josh's lips, but he worked to keep them quiet.

“See, I thought we might come to an understanding,” the Southerner said. “Now, shut the hell up and do what you're told. First you're going to put those hands in front of you. Then you're going to walk outside quietly and get in the van.”

“We…we're not going anywhere,” Remy said, finding his voice. “This is kidnapping.”

“I know. But see, there's rules now. First one: if you don't follow directions, someone gets hurt.” The blade pushed further into Sam's neck. “I would hate to have to prove that point early.”

“Remy!” Sam hissed, trying not to spook the man who held him. “Do what he says!”

“I'd listen to your friend, I was you,” the man said, his Southern accent setting off alarm bells. “Don't make me prove I'm a man of my word.”

“Remy?” Josh asked, his thin voice almost pleading. “Wh-what do we do?”

Remy looked at his friends, then at their attackers. It was hopeless to fight them; not with Sam about to become a poor imitation of Irving's horseman. Behind him, he could hear Josh's frantic breaths and the very slight sounds of struggle as Josh tried to move away from the assailant that held him. The iron grip that held Remy grew tighter until he yelped in pain. “All right! All right. We'll go.”

“Smart choice,” the Southerner said. “You heard him. Let's go.”

Chapter 22

The first thing Evan noticed as he pulled into the driveway was that the front door was wide open. “Okay, now this is getting ridiculous,” he said as he parked the minivan. “Josh has
got
to learn that doors close once he's through them.”

“Evan, he's been working on it.”

“Not hard enough, apparently. You'd think after surviving a break-in he'd learn, but…”

The sound of Rachel sighing filled the van. “Let's get unpacked first, then work on the memory lessons, huh?”

“I'm not trying to be a pain in the ass, but it's freezing out here. Who knows how much heat's gone through that door?” Evan sighed. “Some days…”

“Evan. ‘
Childlike tendencies
', remember? You knew what you signed up for when his folks asked if we'd rent to him.”

“I know. Five years, nine renters, and Josh is probably the most taxing one we've had since I've been here. What makes it worse is he's not really
trying
to annoy people or forget things. He's a sweet kid.” Evan grabbed his overnight bag out of the middle seats, making sure the doors closed tightly before heading up to the open door. “I think that's what keeps us from tearing our hair out, mostly.”

“Mostly. He's like that in class too. I've had people need to go for walks to stop from punching his lights out or cussing him out. There're days
I've
had to, and I live with him by choice!”

The pair walked into the front hall, now frigid with the lack of heat. “Josh!” Evan called up the stairs. “Josh, get down here—we need to talk about this leaving doors open thing.”

“Remy? Sam?” Rachel called out, noticing Sam's cane and three different winter coats belonging to her tenants near the door. The house was too quiet. The sounds of birds sang through the cold, late morning air, a little too loudly from their vantage point. She turned into the kitchen. “Evan!” she screamed, sending the man racing from upstairs into the room.

“Oh, my God,” he said, his eyes fluttering over the scene before him. Pots and pans were scattered over the floor like shells at a beach. In the kitchen, broken glass was scattered from end to end. The contents of the bar table lay everywhere but the table—paper plates, silverware, sealed envelopes containing junk mail, books, and what remained of the salt and pepper shakers.

“Remy?! Sam?!
Josh?!”
Rachel called through the house in earnest. Together, they searched the entire premises, looking for any sign of their charges. All of the beds were made, all of the medicines were in the bathroom cupboard, and there didn't look to be clothes missing from their closets.

“I'm calling the police,” Rachel said, her heart racing. She reached for her phone when Evan stopped her. “What the hell?”

“Rachel, the cops are gonna tell you that you have to wait twenty-four hours before you can file a report, given that they are legally adults. I'd say call them, but it's what we're going to be told.”

“Evan, I'm not going to sit here and do nothing.”

“We'll call Jesse Baker,” he said. “He could give the place the once over, have the information ready for when we can file. There's always the chance they just left and planned to come back.”

“Not like
this.
” Rachel swept her hands around the destroyed kitchen. “They would not leave
this
.”

“No, they wouldn't. I'll get on the phone with everyone we know. Someone had to have seen them, right?”

Rachel didn't answer. “Jesse? It's Rachel,” she said into her phone. “Can you come down here right away? We can't find the kids. I…I think something's
seriously
wrong.”

* * *

A chill worked its way up Sam's back. He tried to fight the shiver as he pressed against the cold, gritty concrete wall he'd barely moved from upon arriving. Above him, he could make out footsteps pacing back and forth, going to and from whatever was trapping them inside the closed space. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around himself in an effort to stay warm, but the strong plastic zip tie securing his hands in front of him prevented it. To the left of Sam came a strong smell, one that grew exponentially whenever a door creaked open. He tried in vain not to have to go through that particular opening, and nearly gagged the one time he couldn't avoid it.

“I'm starving,” came an unnaturally thin voice. To his right, Sam knew Josh had been curled up much the same way he was, bound helplessly in the same manner. A chatter had filled the room at one point, and finally Remy had hissed at the younger man to keep quiet. After that, only the sound of breathing had emanated from that spot.

“Well, do you see anything to eat, genius?” Remy snapped. To his immediate left, Remy had been fuming over the lack of choices offered them in the moments leading up to their abduction. Sam knew that the feeling of helplessness grated on him, and the more Remy thought about it the more furious he got. Sam hoped that his friend could keep it together and not go into a screaming fit. The worst-case scenario was Remy going into a complete meltdown where the second-generation Cajun transplant would close himself off and refuse to speak or even acknowledge anyone around him. Those kinds of meltdowns usually occurred whenever Remy's awful uncle came around, and it was little wonder why. “I'm hungry too. Don't hear me complaining about it.”

“How…how long have we been here?” Sam wondered softly. His watch had been broken trying to escape from the van they'd been transported in, and a fresh bruise on his shoulder blade made him wince whenever it struck the grainy cement.