by Guy Belleranti

If Maggie said anything in reply it wasn't more than a mumble. The man went on. "What'd you do. . .hear me on the kitchen phone, follow me, see me stop at the cave, wait for me to come back out and to drive to town for the ransom pick-up?"

"The poor child. How could you be so cruel?"

"This is how." There was a sudden silence. Then the man laughed. "Never seen so much dough, have you? A sweet two hundred G's. I spent days planning it, watching the kid's house, picking out when to do it."

"And now you've done it. And you have your dirty money. So leave. You don't need the boy."

"He's a witness. He'll--"

"He's just a child. And it was dark. He can't describe you."

"How can you know that? How can I take that chance?"

"Because you don't have any other choice. Because I know you better than you think. Despite all the terrible things you've done, you still have some good in you. You're not a murderer."

"You think you know me so well, do you? Well I know you, too. I leave without the kid, and you'll call the cops. You'll give 'em my plate number and a description of my van."

"Leave the boy. . .and the money. I'll return them won't bring you into it. You'll get a second chance."

"You're crazy. My only chance is now."

"No. You're wrong. You're-- Where are you going? Where--"

"Where do you think? Inside. And he better be there. You hear me."

"Stop. You can't go in. You--"

The man cursed. "Let go of me, damn it! Let go of me or--"

Ronnie heard a sudden explosion. No. No! He buried his face into Teddy. He wanted to run, wanted to hide just as Maggie had told him to. But he couldn't. His feet seemed frozen in place. He couldn't make his legs move at all.

The man wouldn't find him inside, would come back out and then, sooner or later, around the side looking for him.

But he didn't come. And his van didn't start up either. Nobody, and no sound, came at all.

And, suddenly, Ronnie found himself moving, but not away from the house. Instead, he edged along the wall until he reached the front corner, until he could peek around it. He saw two figures on the ground, one sprawled motionless, the other sitting, shoulders shaking as she sobbed.

"Maggie!" He started toward her, breaking into a run, mud coating his bare feet, uttereda joyous cry as she looked up and scooped him into her arms. They clung to one another, sprinkling tears.

"I heard a loud noise. I was scared." Ronnie glanced at the figure, at the blood staining the man's jacket, and looked away, trembling.

"It was the gun, child. I grabbed it and. . .it went off. It. . . . He didn't want to hurt you. Brian didn't want to hurt anyone. Not really."

"Brian?" Ronnie stared up at her, at the tears coursing down her cheeks, then looked back the man. This man. . .her Brian? The little boy who'd liked Ollie the Owl? He pressed his lips to Teddy, then, hesitatingly, held it out to Maggie. "Here. Brian's."

Maggie drew in a sharp breath and closed her eyes a moment, as Ronnie set the teddy bear in her arms. "Dear, child," she whispered.

They sat there silent another minute. Then Maggie lay the toy beside the dead man and took Ronnie's hand, and they walked inside to phone the police.

******* THE END *******