However, all readers - sooner or later - find for themselves a literary genre that is fundamentally different from all others. Missing by Adam Nicholls (top e book reader .TXT) đź“–
- Author: Adam Nicholls
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Book online «Missing by Adam Nicholls (top e book reader .TXT) 📖». Author Adam Nicholls
The man smiled that black-and-yellow grin. “It’s all right. My wife died a few years back. She got the cancer, you see. It happens.” His voice lacked emotion, and he wore the same offbeat expression he’d had back when he’d glanced at her car.
“Sorry to hear that,” Susan said, and she could feel Tommy edging slightly over to her side. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t tell what. “Would you be so kind as to drop us off at the nearest gas station?”
“Sure,” the man said. “Sure. So who’s this little fella?”
Lightning cracked and thunder rolled across the sky; then the rain started up again in a heavy shower. It would have been cozy if they’d been at home rather than in a stranger’s RV. “This is Tommy. Say hi, Tommy.”
But Tommy was too shy—or too scared—to answer, and it was hard to tell which. He only buried his face into his mother’s sweater.
“Well, don’t be shy, boy,” the driver told him. “I ain’t gonna bite ya.”
“Hello.” Tommy croaked it rather than said it, but it was better than no attempt at all.
“You like the rain, boy?”
“Not really.” Tommy giggled awkwardly.
“Me neither. Makes everything squidgy.” The driver fell silent then, like he was focusing on the road.
Trying to figure out how far along the route they were, Susan peered through the glass to catch a look at the signs, but it was impossible with the storm blurring the scenery.
“What’s this?” Tommy picked up a small jade hairclip from between the seats.
“That?” The driver snatched it from him and threw it onto the dashboard. “That’s nothing. My damn wife keeps leaving things lying around.”
Susan’s eyes widened with alarm. “You said your wife had passed.”
“Hmm? Oh, she did. I meant she kept leaving things lying around. I don’t have too many people ride up front with me, so nobody tends to tell me about the mess.”
Susan could hear the engine revving up and the needle on the speedometer flicking over. “Could you slow down, please? I think there’s a gas station if you turn right here.”
“Sure,” the driver said, but he didn’t slow down at all.
Susan watched as he sped toward the crossroad, which led down into the city to the right. The left fork, however, led up into the woods.
Ignoring her directions, the driver turned left.
“Sir, I think we’re going the wrong way.”
The driver said nothing but kept on driving toward the forest, where a number of horror stories had supplied the citizens of San Francisco with endless rumors and campfire stories.
“Sir, I—”
“Just shut your damn hole, will ya?” the man snapped, and he pulled out a pistol.
Susan recoiled, and Tommy leaned into her. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen a gun, but it was certainly the first time one had been pointed at her. “Please, don’t hurt us. We just want our car working again. If you let us out now, we won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
“Stop your moaning, woman. Have some backbone.”
“But—”
“Another word and I’ll shoot you dead, you hear?”
He drove them farther into the hills, where he eventually stopped on a dark stretch of road that split the forest. There was an undeniable feeling of loneliness and seclusion up here. And rightfully so; they were completely alone.
“Please…”
The driver shut off the engine and aimed the gun at Susan’s face. “Get out.”
She hesitated. “W-What?”
“You heard me.”
Susan fumbled for the door handle and almost fell out as she opened it. The rain hit her hard and fast, instantly soaking her through. Trembling, she held her hands out toward her son, helping him out of the RV.
“No.” The driver pulled back on the hammer of the gun. “Leave the boy.”
Susan couldn’t help crying. She’d always dreaded the thought of somebody taking her boy away, and she wouldn’t let him go. “Please, I need my son.”
“I need him more, bitch. Now close the door, or I’ll shoot the pair of you.”
Susan shook her head slowly, looking at Tommy’s terrified expression. “Please.”
“Last chance,” the driver said, clutching Tommy’s raincoat.
“Mommy,” Tommy whined.
“I’m sorry, baby,” Susan said, and she closed the door.
The RV’s wheels spun and flicked up dirt and gravel as they pulled away, leaving Susan Chance alone in the darkness while her son was taken away by the stranger.
If Robert were around, she thought, this never would have happened.
Susan despised herself, crying and shaking in the rain.
Alone.
Mason had accepted their meal with grace, but it still felt like a bribe. Bill’s wife, Christine, had been kind enough to cook dinner, while Bill made small talk until they were done.
“I’ll just clear these up.” Christine collected the empty plates and headed for the kitchen.
“Allow me,” Mason said, but Bill demanded that he sit.
When they were alone, Bill leaned back in his chair and retrieved a key from a nearby drawer. He threw it to Mason, who caught it with one deft flick of the hand. “That’s yours.”
“For what?”
“You’re staying with us,” Bill said, as if it weren’t a choice. “And you’ll be working the case whether you like it or not.”
“Bill, I—”
“The Lullaby Killer is back, Mason. There’s no running from it anymore. Now, you can sit around all day and mope about losing your wife to that asshole Joshua, or you can get to work. You’re more familiar with this guy than anyone at the station.”
“So? Read the file and you’ll know everything I know.” Mason felt like an ungrateful son of a bitch, and it wasn’t how he’d intended to sound. Regardless, he wouldn’t be pushed into a corner.
“You owe us, Mason. You owe me.”
“I don’t owe you a damn thing.”
Bill shoved back his chair and stormed into another room. Moments later he returned with a photo frame, dumping it into Mason’s lap. “Look at it.”
Mason knew exactly what it was, and he knew it would win him over. Still, he couldn’t help but look. In his lap was the photograph of Michael—Bill and Christine’s son. He was sitting on Bill’s shoulders with a big, cheesy grin on his face.
“It’s two years since that psychopath took our son, but we still feel it every day. I suppose I don’t need to remind you who was working the case.”
Mason lowered the photo, then looked up at Bill.
“My son—your godson—died because of him. So what if he’s been quiet ever since? What difference does time make? The fact is he’s still out there, and you’re sitting here whining about how your family is falling apart. Now, I can put you up here, Mason. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. That one comes for free, whatever you do. But you and I both know you need to take this case.”
The room fell silent, the only sound the rhythmic tick-tock of a clock adding to the tension. Christine could no longer be heard clattering dishes in the kitchen: it was obvious she’d been listening to all the yelling.
“Please, Mason.”
Mason took a deep breath. He thought of Amy. There were other kids out there, he knew, who were just like her. And for as long as this killer was on the streets, those kids would be in danger.
“Let me sleep on it.”
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