So calm, so matter-of-fact, and not a cop, either, because no cop would ever say anything like that.
He is in the shaft now, and I try to go to him. I see the black maw of it and I know that it’s death, and I think maybe I should just go with him, just drop down into the dark forever.
The man grabs my shoulder like some kind of iron monster, digging into me. The pain makes me shriek—and then my beautiful boy drops. Oh my God, he just drops.
But then I hear his slap, slap, slap, slap fading downward.
I turn and crawl toward the light my mother is shining in my face, and I go back down into the real world with her.
In the den, she grabs my shoulders and glares at me. “Did he touch you?”
“Go to hell!”
She cuffs my head, and I run out of the den and into my room and lock my door. Let her think what she wants. I go to my big windows and look out over the city, thinking of my beautiful boy and wondering if I will ever see him again.
That evil man’s words ring in my memory: “I’ve got a gun.”
Was it Luther? I couldn’t see who it was ’cause of the bright light shining in my eyes. Well, whoever it was, he sure sounded like he meant what he said. I’ve got a feeling that he’ll not only kill my sweet boy if he can, he’ll enjoy every minute of it.
CHAPTER 11
To save himself, he had to leave her behind, that was crystal clear. She could never run a chase like he could. He saw her angelic face go flashing away as he dropped down the shaft, slapping against the pipes that lined it to break his fall.
When he was maybe five floors down, he stopped. It was nice and dark. He felt safer. But then there was a whining noise and something came zipping down from above—a cable!
A second later, light was beaming on him again, and with a terrifying screaming sound, a human form sped down the wire.
It was mountain-climbing equipment. He knew a lot about it; he’d seen it on TV and wanted it.
He dropped so fast that he almost lost himself, but then he managed to clutch a pipe. Again he went down, faster and faster, farther and farther, until the floors were whizzing past. Then he stopped and threw himself onto one—he wasn’t sure which—and went skittering off into its crawl space, as far from the shaft as he could go.
The light came flashing, and he pressed himself down between two beams, praying that the ceiling he was lying on would not give way. Slowly, the light worked its way back and forth, back and forth, coming closer and closer.
Beresford began moving toward one of his hatches. A moment later, he heard grunting and scraping. The man was almost on him.
But a hatch was just two feet away. He opened it and looked down into a foyer closet. Who was this?
Oh, yes, he could tell by the smells of floor wax and cigarette smoke. This was Mrs. Scutter’s apartment. He dropped down into the closet and pulled the hatch closed above him.
All he cared about now was being with Melody, but how could it ever work? It would work; it had to.
He couldn’t plan, not now. He couldn’t think ahead even ten seconds. He just wanted to feel her in his arms again—that was all he cared about.
His ability to listen was made acute by a life lived mostly in darkness. Beresford heard the man blundering in the crawl space, cursing and muttering. His pursuer wouldn’t get far—he was too big.
He stood, barely breathing, as the man kept working his way closer to the hatch above. Despite the danger, he had only one thought: Melody, Melody, Melody.
At first, when the dog started barking, he thought it must be somewhere else because Mrs. Scutter didn’t have a dog. But, no, it was right outside the door, and it was barking and barking and barking! So now she did. A new dog.
“Now, now, Buddy! Oh, goodness, what’s come over you?”
The last three words were uttered in a tight, scared whisper. He could feel Mrs. Scutter looking straight at the door. He heard movement, then her whispered voice: “Operator, this is Elaine Scutter, apartment 4250 at the Beresford. I have an intruder—my dog has him cornered in a closet. Please hurry!”
Overhead, the hatch opened. “Okay, son, I’ve got you.”
The light glared down on Beresford, and he burst into Mrs. Scutter’s foyer.
The dog was not big, but it jumped almost up to his neck, snarling and snapping, and he had to grab it and hold it away from him.
“God, don’t hurt me! Don’t hurt me!” Mrs. Scutter lurched away, spit flying with her screams.
Then Frank tore out of the closet, filthy with dust, breathing hard, a long black flashlight in one hand and a bright silver gun in the other.
“All right, you bastard—”
But Beresford was already out the front door and running. He was not often in the halls like this, and he hammered at the elevator buttons until he realized that, of course, the elevators would be too slow. But then how, where?
The exit stairs, of course. With Frank right behind him, he ran to the door at the end of the hall. His first impulse was to go up, to hide in his place on the roof, to hide there forever. But he couldn’t do that—he’d lead Frank right to his one safe place.
So he went down, leaping a whole flight at a time, his old T-shirt billowing as he raced faster and faster, with Frank pounding along behind him.
Then the pounding stopped.
Beresford also stopped. He listened . . . and heard breathing—way closer than he’d thought possible.
Instantly he started running the stairs again, the gun went whang, and he felt something sting the right side of his face. Plaster dust. Frank had shot at him!
He leaped over railings to get from one flight to the next, going down and down, until he reached the bottom of the stairwell.
Now he was in the subbasement. Like all the hidden parts of the Beresford, he’d been here before. But where to hide—what place would be absolutely secure? Because this was death that was coming for him.
“Melody,” he said in his heart, “if I die tonight, my last thought will be of you.”
He went along the catwalk above the machinery floor, then through the steel hatch into the fuel storage area with its three huge tanks. His plan was to get between two of them and lie there until they gave up looking for him, however long that took.
Then, somehow, he would go back up to fifty, and he would go to Melody and be with her forever. Somehow!
He didn’t have it thought out; he just wanted it to happen. It had to happen. Love deserves to live—it’s good and it’s right. He needed her with him always, and she needed him. He had seen her face as he dropped down away from her, seen the sorrow in her perfect eyes.
It was inky dark in the fuel storage area, but he knew just where to find the space between two tanks, and after opening the hatch he slid into it.
Here, there was no sound except his own breathing. Or, no, that wasn’t quite true. There was something else—a high, whining sound. But what could it be?
He listened more closely and realized it was coming from just behind his back, out of the place where the two tanks touched each other. What would be whining like that? It sounded like a very small electric motor.
Then he heard a metallic clunk. Somebody had opened the door into this room. The next second, the light came on, yellow and far away, but light nevertheless.
“Now I’ve got you, and I’m gonna kill you slow, bastard. Down here where nobody’s gonna hear, you goddamn freak!”
Frank came along the catwalk, his heels clinking on the steel grid. Beresford slid farther back into the shadows between the two tanks—where he felt something press against his back, something that should not be there. The whining sound was louder, also.
There was some sort of small machine tucked in deep between the tanks.
Frank was looking in this very space. Beresford squirmed back as far as he could go.
Frank stopped. With a soft grunt, he bent down and shone his light almost to Beresford’s feet.
Beresford t
urned his head and saw the thing making the whining sound. It consisted of what looked like two big red candles with wire around them and a small black box between. It was this box that was doing the humming.
But what was it? He wasn’t certain. Some kind of electrical machine, but what were those big candles doing attached to it?
It should not be here, he knew that, and it looked like it might be dangerous—but then a light was shining straight into his face and he couldn’t think about it anymore.
“You are good, you little shit. You are real good.”
Beresford said nothing. All he could think about was somehow escaping, but he couldn’t escape, and he had the sickening, stomach-burning feeling of being absolutely trapped.
“Come outta there or I’ll blow your goddamn head to pieces!”
The gun clicked.
An image of Melody came into Beresford’s mind, of her eyes, the depth of them, when she looked at him as they were starting to kiss.
If he came out from between the tanks, somehow maybe he would be able to break away from Frank and live to see her again. Staying where he was, he would die.
Stretching himself, wriggling forward, he crawled into the light.
“Get on your feet.”
He stood up.
Frank looked him up and down. “Well, I’m damned. You’re a specimen, you are. You a juicer? You got guns like a juicer.”
Beresford was silent. He had no idea what Frank meant.
“Okay, come on, muscle boy.”
Come where? How?
There came a blow to the side of his head that knocked him almost off his feet and sent a bright yellow flash through his left eye. He stumbled along the floor, then Frank jammed the gun into the small of his back and said, “Go up the damn stairs. Do it!”
Beresford took the stairs three at a time, thinking that he might—just might—get out the door and escape Frank again. Beresford had already realized that he was stronger than Frank, and he thought he might also be faster.
“Don’t even think about it,” Frank said, coming up behind him and pressing the gun into his back. “A bullet’s a lot faster even than you.”
Frank grabbed the back of Beresford’s T-shirt in his fist and pushed him through the door.
With Frank prodding him along with the gun, he soon found himself at the back door of the building. Often he had wondered what lay on the other side. It was just beyond this door that Daddy had landed. So it was a sad place for him, a very sad place.
More than once, he had stood here crying. Over the years the door had seemed to get smaller and smaller, but he would never forget it as it first appeared to him, huge and ominous.
“Go on,” Frank said, and pushed him with the gun.
His memories of being outside the building were very vague. Green grass, bright in the sun. His mother in a white dress. A dog named Prissy biting the water coming out of a hose. His dad’s laughter, big and loud and happy.
The alley was silent. Up against the building, there was a long row of dark green Dumpsters stinking of garbage.
“Go on. We’re going out to the street. Take it slow.”
Beresford was shaking so much he couldn’t control himself. The noise from all the cars shooting past hurt his ears. There was another sound, and it was getting louder: sirens.
He saw a gleam in one of the Dumpsters. A broken bottle. If only he could scare Frank with it, he could get back in and be okay. He could hide better. Someday, maybe even Frank would give up.
He could be near Melody, and somehow love would help him.
He glanced at the bottle. He was closer to it now. In another three steps, he could reach out and grab it.
The sirens were louder.
“Move it!”
The pistol poked into his back. He grabbed the bottle and whirled around. Frank jumped back, snarling.
Police cars came screaming into both ends of the alley, and Frank stuffed the gun in his pocket. “He’s got a weapon,” Frank shouted.
“DROP YOUR WEAPON AND LIE FACEDOWN ON THE GROUND!” came a huge voice, echoing up and down the alley.
But the way to the door was now clear. So Beresford obeyed part of the order—he dropped the bottle. In three steps he was in the door, but there were footsteps and a man in a uniform but with no gun was there, and then Frank was coming in also.
“Careful, Joe, he’s a monster!”
Joe stepped aside as Beresford went past. He needed to go up this time, to get to the foot of one of the shafts and climb into the heights of the building. But then more lights came on and the door into the lobby opened. A whole bunch of cops crowded into the narrow corridor and tackled Beresford.
He fought, pushing one of them aside and then another, slowly working his way closer and closer to the entrance to the equipment room, where all the shafts came out. But finally they had his arms and legs, and he was upended and being carried into the open space of the lobby, where the lights were blazing and there were more people than he had ever seen.
He struggled, he fought, but there were just too many of them, and despite his strength, he ended up in steel cuffs.
“He’s just a kid, a big kid.”
“Hey, kid, take it easy. You’re gonna be fine.”
“Man, he’s pale as a damn fish.”
“You stay in here, kid? You ever go outside?”
“Get him on his feet, but be careful.”
Mrs. Scutter was there, and she shrieked, “He tried to kill me! He was going to rob me!”
As they took him out the front door, he craned his neck, looking for Melody but not seeing her anywhere.
But then he heard a cry, unmistakable, her voice in the crowd, her voice!
“Melody! Help me! Help me!”
“Wait! Give him to me!”
The crowd fell silent. One of the police said, “Miss McGrath?”
Then her mother was there and Julius, her bodyguard, and they swept Melody away, and Beresford called out to her—he called again and again—but she did not come back. Then he was in a strange little cabin with wire all around and a policeman beside him. The world was rushing past him, and he could not understand what he was seeing. The room was bouncing, flashing by, all blurred, none of it making much sense. He threw himself against the window, trying to get out.
“Jesus Christ, he’s like a damn animal!”
Beresford felt himself being grabbed—his arm—
“Cool it, damn you! Stop the car, Jake, stop the car!”
The outside came into focus again, and Beresford settled down, once more looking for some way to get back to the building. But the building was gone.
Then they clicked more locks behind him, and the cop got out and went in the front on the other side of the wire. The space started moving again, and Beresford tried to get out and run, but his hands were cuffed behind him. No matter how hard he tried he could not move, so he yelled and tried to bite them and growled, but they just sat there.
“Okay, we got—we don’t know what we got. Possible fifty-one fifty. Probable minor. We’re gonna need social, and we’re gonna need restraint on him big-time.”
“You think he’s a nutcase?”
“What’re you, blind?”
“Just askin’.”
This made more sense. This sounded like the way cops talked on Law & Order.
“I’m not blind,” Beresford said.
“Hey, it can talk. Hey there, kid, take it easy. We’re just runnin’ you into juvie. Piece-a cake. Get you all squared away.”
“You like hot dogs, kid? How long since you had a decent meal?”
“I had spaghetti.” Earlier he’d eaten at the Neimans’, a can of Chef Boyardee Forkables that had been in their pantry so long they’d never miss it.
“You’ll get a square in juvie. How old are you?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t want them to know that he wasn’t sure.
“What’s your name?”
Silence.
> “You don’t know your name?”
“We got some kinda problem child deal here, be my guess.”
“There’s a possible violent offense.”
“You got ID, son? Driver’s license?”
Beresford was not sure what he was supposed to say, so he said nothing.
The car stopped, and they unchained him.
“Now, stay calm, okay? ’Cause we don’t want to make you walk around in chains. I mean, just take it easy. Nobody’s gonna hurt you. We’re your friends.”
The other cop said, “Come on, now. Come on out.”
“Man, this is the original wild child we have here.”
“You got that right.”
“Go in and push him out. Go in the other side.”
Beresford understood that they wanted him out of the car and standing on the ground like they were. So he did as they said.
“Hey, he’s gettin’ with the program. Yes! Come on, kid, this here is Westview. You’re gonna spend the night here.”
“Not if he ain’t charged. Violent offenders only.”
“Well, that super is going to make sure he gets charged. He’s gonna want him to stay in the system and not get back in their damn sewer pipes.”
They took him across a parking lot with big lights everywhere. He was trying to understand where he was and where the Beresford was so he could go home as soon as he got the chance. But it was all very confusing. There was a noisy, flashing mass of lights and swinging glass doors, and then he was in a room where there were other kids, a girl sitting hunched on a bench, a boy with orange hair who kept saying, “This is crazy, man, this is crazy,” and other kids who eyed him like they wanted to maybe cut him up and eat him.
For a long time, he waited on a bench. The light was bright, the fluorescent bulbs the brightest he’d ever known.
As he waited, he examined his surroundings, thinking of only one thing: how do I get out of here and go back to where I belong?
There was a drop ceiling, but he knew that the crawl space would be no good. The ceiling was suspended from a metal frame like in the security room. If you tried to get up in there, the whole thing would come down.
The building was low, so there were no long chases to get through. He looked at the air-conditioning ducts for a while, wondering if they offered a way out. They were just about big enough, so the only thing to do would be to try.