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"He? Oh, that's Ollie the Owl. Yes, little boys seem to like him. Why I remember my own Brian. . . ." She stopped abruptly. "Brian?" Maggie shook her head. "Never mind. That's all in the past." "But. . . . Did Brian know Teddy, too? Was he Teddy's friend?" "No more talk, child." "But--" She moved toward the door, turned back. "There's raison bread, bananas and grape juice waiting in the kitchen. Come along now." The floorboards creaked as she disappeared down the hall. He'd got Maggie mad at him. What if she stayed mad? Then he'd never get home, never see Mom and Dad again. He looked at the small window and bounded across the room. Too high up. He needed something to stand on. But what? There were only two things: a tall chest, and the bed. Ronnie tried the chest first, attempted to pull it away from the corner, felt it teeter toward him and quickly pushed back against it, puffing panting, hoping it wouldn't fall and make a big noise. It didn't, and he moved to the bed. It wasn't on wheels or anything else that could move. He couldn't budge it. Ronnie wiped at his eyes and stared at Ollie the Owl, then lifted Teddy from the bed and squeezed the toy close. "Mommy," he whispered. "Daddy." He stumbled out the door. The kitchen was to his left -- he could hear Maggie moving around out there. And straight ahead. . . . Ronnie stared at the draped window, at the door in the same wall. He could be out it in seconds. But should he? Maybe there was a phone? He knew his number, and he could call Mom and Dad. If Maggie would let him. . . . "Food's on!" Ronnie sucked in a breath, darted for the door, and twisted its knob. The door opened only an inch. A chain held it shut from high above. "Child!" Ronnie jumped. "I was just. . . . Please, don't hurt me." "Hurt you? Dear me, love. Oh dear me." Maggie touched his face. "You're still feverish. Perhaps you should go back to bed. Yes, I think you better. Go get under the covers. I'll bring you some food on a tray. You can eat in there, then rest and--" She broke off, head cocked. Then Ronnie heard it, too. A sound outside, drawing closer. A motor. "Mom!" he shouted. "Dad!" "No, child. It's not!" She pulled aside a corner of the drape, peered out, and let it drop back. "You must hide. Quickly now. Quickly." She reached out for him. Ronnie backed away. "I don't want to hide. I want to go home." The man out there. . .if he finds you here. . . ." Again she tried to grab him. Ronnie ducked, slipped by, and dashed to the window. He pulled at the drape, saw a burly figure emerge from a rusty blue van. The man's face. . . . Thin mustache, unsmiling lips and evil eyes. And in the man's hand. . .a gun. Ronnie trembled. The man seemed to be looking right at him and was coming toward the house. "This way, child." Maggie hustled him into the kitchen, past the humming refrigerator, and stopped before a door. "Out this way. Hurry. Go down the hill and hide in the tall grass." "But--" "Trust, Maggie, dear. Please trust Maggie." Her hand squeezed his, and pressed two slices of raison bread into them. "Share those with Teddy." She brushed her lips over his forehead, threw open the door, and gave him a little shove. "Go now. Hide!" Ronnie clawed at the door as it shut, the bread dropping to the ground, tears filling his eyes. He looked at the field. He could more than just hide in the grass. He could run and keep on running until he got away from here. A harsh male voice came from around the side. "Where is he?" "I don't know what--" "Don't
give me that! I had him trussed up in the cave tighter than a
pig goin' to market. He couldn't have got loose without help." |