Gone for Good
Page 84

And then, as if reading my mind, the Ghost typed:
I REALLY NEED TO SEE YOU. PLEASE.
I LOVE YOU, WILL. GO HOME.
Again, as if he were inside my head, the Ghost typed:
WAIT.
SIGNING OFF NOW, BRO. DON’T WORRY.
The Ghost let out a deep breath. “This isn’t working,” he said out loud. He typed quickly.
SIGN OFF, KEN, AND YOUR BROTHER DIES.
A pause. Then: WHO IS THIS?
The Ghost smiled. ONE GUESS. HINT: CASPER THE FRIENDLY.
No pause this time.
LEAVE HIM ALONE, JOHN.
I THINK NOT.
HE HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS.
YOU KNOW BETTER THAN TO PLAY WITH MY SYMPATHIES. YOU SHOW UP, YOU GIVE ME WHAT I WANT, I DON’T KILL HIM.
LET HIM GO FIRST. THEN I’LL GIVE YOU WHAT YOU WANT.
The Ghost laughed and clacked the keys:
OH PLEASE. THE YARD, KEN. YOU REMEMBER THE YARD, DON’T YOU. I’LL GIVE YOU THREE HOURS TO GET THERE.
IMPOSSIBLE. I’M NOT EVEN ON THE EAST COAST.
The Ghost muttered, “Bull.” Then he typed frantically:
THEN YOU BETTER HURRY. THREE HOURS. IF YOU’RE NOT THERE, I CUT OFF A FINGER. I CUT OFF ANOTHER EVERY HALF HOUR. THEN I GO TO THE TOES. THEN I GET CREATIVE. THE YARD, KEN. THREE HOURS.
The Ghost disconnected the line. He slammed the laptop closed and stood.
“Well,” he said with the smile, “I think that went rather well, don’t you?”
56
Nora called Squares on his cell phone. She gave him an abbreviated version of the events surrounding her disappearance. Squares listened without interruption, driving toward her all the way. They met up in front of the Metropolitan Life building on Park Avenue.
She hopped into the van and hugged him. It felt nice to be back in the outreach van.
“We can’t call the police,” Squares said.
She nodded. “Will was firm on that one.”
“So what the hell can we do?”
“I don’t know. But I’m scared, Squares. Will’s brother told me about these people. They’ll kill him, for sure.”
Squares mulled it over. “How do you and Ken communicate?”
“Via a computer newsgroup.”
“Let’s get him a message. Maybe he’ll have an idea.”
The Ghost kept his distance.
Time was growing short. I stayed alert. If there was an opening, any opening, I was going to risk it. I palmed the broken bottle and studied his neck. I rehearsed in my mind how it might go. I tried to calculate what defensive move the Ghost might make and how I could counter it. Where, I wondered, were his arteries located? Where was he most vulnerable, his flesh the softest?
I glanced at Katy. She was holding up well. I thought again about what Pistillo had said, how adamant he had been that I leave Katy Miller out of this. He was right. This was my fault. When she first asked to help, I should have refused. I had put her at risk. The fact that I was indeed trying to help her, that I understood better than most how much she craved closure, did little to ease my guilt.
I had to find a way to save her.
I looked back at the Ghost. He stared at me. I did not blink.
“Let her go,” I said.
He faked a yawn.
“Her sister was good to you.”
“So?”
“There’s no reason to hurt her.”
The Ghost raised his palms and in that hushed-lisp, he said, “Who needs a reason?”
Katy closed her eyes. I stopped then. I was just making it worse. I checked the clock. Two hours to go. “The yard,” a spot where pot smokers used to gather after a fun-filled day at Heritage Middle School, was no more than three miles from here. I knew why the Ghost had picked it. The site was easy to control. It was secluded, especially in the summer months. And once in, there would be little chance of getting out alive.
The Ghost’s cell phone rang. He looked down at it as if he’d never heard the sound before. For the first time, I saw something that might have been confusion cross his face. I tensed, though I did not dare reach for the broken glass. Not yet. But I was ready.
He flicked on the cell and put it to his ear. “Go,” he said.
He listened. I studied his colorless face. His expression remained calm, but something was happening here. He blinked more. He checked his watch. He did not speak for nearly two full minutes. Then he said, “I’m on my way.”
He rose and walked toward me. He lowered his mouth toward my ear. “If you move from this chair,” he said, “you’ll beg me to kill her. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
The Ghost left, closing the door behind me. The room was dark. The light was starting to fade, shafts breaking through the leaves. There were no windows in the front, so I had no way of knowing what they were doing.
“What’s going on?” Katy whispered.
I put a finger to my lips and listened. An engine turned over. A car started up. I thought about his warning. Do not leave this seat. The Ghost was someone you wanted to obey, but then again, he was going to kill us anyway. I bent at the waist and dropped off the chair. It was not the smoothest move. Rather spastic, in fact.
I looked over at Katy. Our eyes met and again I signaled her to remain silent. She nodded.
I stayed as low as possible and crawled carefully toward the door. I would have gone to my belly and done it commando-style, but the small shards of glass would have ripped right through me. I moved slowly, trying not to cut myself.
When I reached the door, I put my head against the floorboard and peeked through the crack at the bottom. I saw the car drive off. I tried to get a better angle, but it was tough. I sat up and pressed my eye against the side crack. It was harder to see here. The opening was barely a slit. I rose a little and bang, there he was.
The driver.
But where was the Ghost?
I did the quick calculation. Two men, one car. One car drives off. I am not much with math, but that meant that only one man could be left. I turned to Katy. “He’s gone,” I whispered.
“What?”
“The driver is still here. The Ghost drove off.”
I moved back toward my chair and picked up the large piece of broken glass. Stepping as gently as possible, fearing that even the slightest weight change could shake the structure, I made my way back behind Katy’s chair. I sawed at the rope.
“What are we going to do?” she whispered.
“You know a way out of here,” I said. “We’ll make a run for it.”
“It’s getting dark.”
“That’s why we do it now.”
“The other guy,” she said. “He could be armed.”