time, and one of them would have said, “Nightingale Hall. He could be at Nightingale Hall. We heard a noise upstairs.”
That’s why he wasn’t about to let them out of here alive. He knew they’d heard him. He knew they’d tell.
Four of them had come into this house. One of them was lying unconscious in a trunk in the attic. One of them had been pushed from a second-story window and was missing. One had left the house to seek help.
That left only one other witness to report that a fugitive was hiding in Nightmare Hall. Molloy Book.
A sound from upstairs sent Molloy flying out of the kitchen and down the hall into the library, where she crouched behind the overstuffed couch, her panicked eyes searching the darkness for a better place to hide. She didn’t see one.
She hid there for what seemed like hours. She heard other sounds, faint scratching sounds and dull, distant thumpings, but she heard no footsteps on the front stairs leading from the upper floors down to the first floor. Telling herself the other noises could have been made by a squirrel or a mouse, wanting desperately to believe that , she wrapped her arms around her bent legs and huddled against the back of the couch, struggling to think through her fog of fear.
Daisy found the trek down the hill easier than climbing up it. She slid most of the way, as if she were sitting on a piece of cardboard on a snowy slope.
The creek was her biggest problem. The water had risen several inches since they crossed it. Frothing and foaming like a mad dog, it churned through the woods like a raging river.
Daisy surveyed it with hopelessness in her eyes. On the other side, in the distance, she could see the police car, parked in the middle of the dirt road as if it had been waiting for her all this time. Had Reardon left the keys in the ignition? Probably not. But she could start it without a key. She knew how.
What she didn’t know how to do was swim. And the body of water in front of her, which was probably a harmless little creek in good weather, looked like it would swallow her up the second she stepped into it.
Daisy walked a little way to her left, then to her right, hoping for an opening, a place where the water seemed shallower, tamer.
Her only hope was the huge boulder that had nearly flattened them into mulch. It was lying peacefully now, in the middle of the creek, looming up out of the darkness like a large, gray hippopotamus seeking respite from the heat.
If she could get to that boulder …
With the aid of the flashlight, she located a long, thick tree branch lying on the ground. She picked it up, clutching it tightly.
Okay, here goes nothing, she told herself, taking a tentative step into the water, then another. If it hadn’t been for the tree branch, which she had implanted firmly in the bed of the creek, the swirling waters would have knocked her off balance instantly. The water rose to her hips, and its force took her breath away.
With the aid of the branch, which she repeatedly thrust into the creek bed just ahead of her, maintaining her grip on it, and then half-walking, half-floating forward until she was alongside it, she made her way to the boulder and clung to its rough, sharp edges, fighting to catch her breath. The rushing water tugged at her. Daisy held on, thinking of Lynne and Toni and Molloy.
The car, the car, I have to get to that car, she told herself over and over, and by doing so, managed to pull herself up, an inch at a time, to the top of the boulder. She lay there, wet and cold and shaking violently, until she had enough energy to stand upright.
The flashlight was gone, lost to the turbulent water. But she was halfway there, halfway across the creek, halfway to the police car and its radio that would make everything all right again.
Rain pouring down upon her, Daisy looked down at the raging creek and thought, I can do this. I can.
Steadfastly refusing to think of what would happen to her if she failed, Daisy Rivers
That’s why he wasn’t about to let them out of here alive. He knew they’d heard him. He knew they’d tell.
Four of them had come into this house. One of them was lying unconscious in a trunk in the attic. One of them had been pushed from a second-story window and was missing. One had left the house to seek help.
That left only one other witness to report that a fugitive was hiding in Nightmare Hall. Molloy Book.
A sound from upstairs sent Molloy flying out of the kitchen and down the hall into the library, where she crouched behind the overstuffed couch, her panicked eyes searching the darkness for a better place to hide. She didn’t see one.
She hid there for what seemed like hours. She heard other sounds, faint scratching sounds and dull, distant thumpings, but she heard no footsteps on the front stairs leading from the upper floors down to the first floor. Telling herself the other noises could have been made by a squirrel or a mouse, wanting desperately to believe that , she wrapped her arms around her bent legs and huddled against the back of the couch, struggling to think through her fog of fear.
Daisy found the trek down the hill easier than climbing up it. She slid most of the way, as if she were sitting on a piece of cardboard on a snowy slope.
The creek was her biggest problem. The water had risen several inches since they crossed it. Frothing and foaming like a mad dog, it churned through the woods like a raging river.
Daisy surveyed it with hopelessness in her eyes. On the other side, in the distance, she could see the police car, parked in the middle of the dirt road as if it had been waiting for her all this time. Had Reardon left the keys in the ignition? Probably not. But she could start it without a key. She knew how.
What she didn’t know how to do was swim. And the body of water in front of her, which was probably a harmless little creek in good weather, looked like it would swallow her up the second she stepped into it.
Daisy walked a little way to her left, then to her right, hoping for an opening, a place where the water seemed shallower, tamer.
Her only hope was the huge boulder that had nearly flattened them into mulch. It was lying peacefully now, in the middle of the creek, looming up out of the darkness like a large, gray hippopotamus seeking respite from the heat.
If she could get to that boulder …
With the aid of the flashlight, she located a long, thick tree branch lying on the ground. She picked it up, clutching it tightly.
Okay, here goes nothing, she told herself, taking a tentative step into the water, then another. If it hadn’t been for the tree branch, which she had implanted firmly in the bed of the creek, the swirling waters would have knocked her off balance instantly. The water rose to her hips, and its force took her breath away.
With the aid of the branch, which she repeatedly thrust into the creek bed just ahead of her, maintaining her grip on it, and then half-walking, half-floating forward until she was alongside it, she made her way to the boulder and clung to its rough, sharp edges, fighting to catch her breath. The rushing water tugged at her. Daisy held on, thinking of Lynne and Toni and Molloy.
The car, the car, I have to get to that car, she told herself over and over, and by doing so, managed to pull herself up, an inch at a time, to the top of the boulder. She lay there, wet and cold and shaking violently, until she had enough energy to stand upright.
The flashlight was gone, lost to the turbulent water. But she was halfway there, halfway across the creek, halfway to the police car and its radio that would make everything all right again.
Rain pouring down upon her, Daisy looked down at the raging creek and thought, I can do this. I can.
Steadfastly refusing to think of what would happen to her if she failed, Daisy Rivers
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