Shelly bent down and picked up from the pile a small flat hand-sized chunk of sandstone. She heaved it at the boy and was gratified to see it fly into his small dangling testicles. The boy fell, writhing, drawing up his legs, causing the bridge to tilt.
From inside of the hole came a pulsing glow, a divine whiteness.
The boy tried to stand again, but his hands were tied, his pants were around his ankles and he could get no purchase. The bridge tilted again, in the opposite direction, and with a primal yell, the boy fell.
Shelly moved to the edge of the hole with everyone else. She looked down into the opening and smiled.
Jesus fed.
Corrie's car was not parked in the driveway, and the house was dark when Rich came home. He looked at his watch. It was after eight.
Corrie had promised him before he left this morning that she would pick up Anna at lunch and take her home. This was supposed to be a day off for her. Pastor Wheeler in his infinite magnanimity had been so pleased with Corrie's work that he had graciously condescended to give her a day off with pay.
So why wasn't she home?
And where was Anna?
The thought occurred to him that they were at the church, and he cursed himself for being so selfish and stupid. He'd been so wrapped up in getting the word out to the general public, trying to play hero and save the damn town, that he had taken Corrie at her word and had not bothered to check up on her.
He should have known better than that. He should have called at noon.
And at one. And at two. Corrie had not been herself lately, and it was more than possible that she had taken their daughter to church in an effort to indoctrinate her.
Why was he thinking of Corrie as the enemy? Had their relationship really deteriorated to that extent?
He went inside, looked on the refrigerator to see if Corrie had left him a note. She hadn't, but he saw some thing in the kitchen that made his blood run cold.
The milk and bread and butter from breakfast were still out on the counter, the butter melted.
Corrie never left perishables out for more than ten minutes at a time.
On those rare occasions when she awoke earlier than he did and made herself breakfast, she put the refrigerated food away, making him take it out again when he made his own meal.
The bread and butter and milk had been left out all day. Something had happened to her and Anna. He knew it as surely as he knew that tomorrow was Saturday. He ran into the bedroom. As he'd known, as he'd feared, Corrie's jade necklace was lying on top of the dresser.
Anna was wearing her jade, though. He knew that. Would it be enough to protect both of them?
He felt himself slipping, his thought processes not reasoning as clearly as they should be, worry and panic di tracting him, injecting emotional responses where there should be none.. :
Robert. He needed to call Robert.
No. The church. He should call Wheeler first, see if they were there.
He dug through the notes and scraps of paper underneath the telephone that served as Corrie's address book, found the number of the church, and called it. He got an answering machine, Wheeler telling him in the slow placating tones usually reserved for obstinate children that he was not in right now, but he cared about what you had to say; you could leave a message at the beep. Rich left a message, then found Wheeler's home phone number, her and dialed it. No answer.
Corrie had no real friends in Rio Verde. Acquaintances maybe, but no friends, no one she saw socially after dark. Still, he called the women she did knowmMarge and where Peggy and she was.Winnie--but' as he'd known, they had no idea
Maybe she was paying him back for the pizza night. Maybe she'd just taken Anna out for dinner.
But she didn't believe in wasting money on eating out. He called Robert at home, let the phone ring fifteen times, in case he was in the shower or going to the bath room, then dialed the station. His brother wasn't there, but Rich talked to Ted, told him the problem, and the officer promised to let Robert know the second he came in.
"You want me to have Steve swing by the church on his patrol?" Ted asked. "See if anyone there can tell him anything? Those construction volunteers are still working all night." "Yeah," Rich said. "If you would. I'll make some more calls. I'll buzz you back in a few minutes."
"Make it ten."
Rich hung up. Underneath the end table on which the phone sat, he saw the peachy pink legs of a haft-dressed doll. He was filled with a sudden, aching sense of loss. He'd been about to try dialing the number of one of Anna's friend's parents, but he found that he had to put down the phone. He was shaking, and it was difficult for him to breathe. He hadn't realized until this moment how much he had taken for granted the notion that none of this would touch his family. He had made them take pre cautions, sure. He had done everything he could or was supposed to do. But deep down, on that bedrock emotional level that set the tone for the thoughts that came after it, he had not thought that he or Robert or Corrie or Anna would be touched by this.
Not even last night, when he'd seen the Laughing Man. He'd been terrified, but he had not, in his heart of hearts, thought that he or his family could be killed or even hurt. They were the good guys. The injuries would happen to other people, people he didn't know that well, peripheral people.
He knew now how wrong he was.
He reached out and picked up the doll. Maybe this morning, maybe yesterday, Anna had been playing with this toy, pretending it was another person, making believe that she was its mommy.
What would he do if something happened to Anna? Since the day she was born, he had not conceived of a future without her. His mind had concocted a million see narios. She'd been everything from the first woman president to a runaway hooker, and he had mentally prepared himself for all eventualities, deciding ahead of time how he would react to each situation.
But he had never imagined her death.
That was something he had never planned for.
He took a deep breath. They weren't dead. They couldn't be dead. At the very worst, they were being held hostage, and he and Robert and Sue and their team would rescue them at the last minute. Probably it was not even that bad. Probably the car had gotten a flat, or they were at Basha's or Dairy Queen.
Maybe.
Hopefully. His hands were still shaking, he was still having a tough time catching his breath, but he forced himself to pick up the phone and start dialing.
They were in the living room of Sue's house: Rich and Robert, Rossiter and Woods. Rich and the coroner sat on the couch across from Sue and her parents. Rich's eyes were bloodshot. He had obviously not slept at all last night, and his head kept falling forward and snapping back as he began dozing and then suddenly jerked awake. Robert and the FBI agent stood, Robert pacing agitatedly back and forth in front of the silent television.
"This is bullshit!" Robert said. "How long are we going to wait here and do nothing? I'm starting to think you guys don't know as much as you pretend." He addressed Sue but pointed at her grandmother. "How many people die before that old off her wrinkled have to woman gets ass and starts helping us here? ..... Robert," Woods warned..
"It's okay." Sue faced the police chief. "You can't hurry Iaht sic.
'"
"Lot sick?
"Fate."
Sue's father nodded. "World not follow your timetable," he said. "You follow world timetable."
"Exactly. Just because you want something to happen at a certain time doesn't mean it will. Even my grandmother cannot hurry laht sic.
Things will be revealed in their own time."
"It just seems to me that you're all being way too calm and inscrutable about this."