Melody Burning by Whitley Strieber

order—he dropped the bottle. In three steps he was in the door, but there were footsteps and a man in a uniform but with no gun was there, and then Frank was coming in also.
    “Careful, Joe, he’s a monster!”
    Joe stepped aside as Beresford went past. He needed to go up this time, to get to the foot of one of the shafts and climb into the heights of the building. But then more lights came on and the door into the lobby opened. A whole bunch of cops crowded into the narrow corridor and tackled Beresford.
    He fought, pushing one of them aside and then another, slowly working his way closer and closer to the entrance to the equipment room, where all the shafts came out. But finally they had his arms and legs, and he was upended and being carried into the open space of the lobby, where the lights were blazing and there were more people than he had ever seen.
    He struggled, he fought, but there were just too many of them, and despite his strength, he ended up in steel cuffs.
    “He’s just a kid, a big kid.”
    “Hey, kid, take it easy. You’re gonna be fine.”
    “Man, he’s pale as a damn fish.”
    “You stay in here, kid? You ever go outside?”
    “Get him on his feet, but be careful.”
    Mrs. Scutter was there, and she shrieked, “He tried to kill me! He was going to rob me!”
    As they took him out the front door, he craned his neck, looking for Melody but not seeing her anywhere.
    But then he heard a cry, unmistakable, her voice in the crowd, her voice !
    “Melody! Help me! Help me!”
    “Wait! Give him to me!”
    The crowd fell silent. One of the police said, “Miss McGrath?”
    Then her mother was there and Julius, her bodyguard, and they swept Melody away, and Beresford called out to her—he called again and again—but she did not come back. Then he was in a strange little cabin with wire all around and a policeman beside him. The world was rushing past him, and he could not understand what he was seeing. The room was bouncing, flashing by, all blurred, none of it making much sense. He threw himself against the window, trying to get out.
    “Jesus Christ, he’s like a damn animal!”
    Beresford felt himself being grabbed—his arm—
    “Cool it, damn you! Stop the car, Jake, stop the car !”
    The outside came into focus again, and Beresford settled down, once more looking for some way to get back to the building. But the building was gone.
    Then they clicked more locks behind him, and the cop got out and went in the front on the other side of the wire. The space started moving again, and Beresford tried to get out and run, but his hands were cuffed behind him. No matter how hard he tried he could not move, so he yelled and tried to bite them and growled, but they just sat there.
    “Okay, we got—we don’t know what we got. Possible fifty-one fifty. Probable minor. We’re gonna need social, and we’re gonna need restraint on him big-time.”
    “You think he’s a nutcase?”
    “What’re you, blind?”
    “Just askin’.”
    This made more sense. This sounded like the way cops talked on Law & Order .
    “I’m not blind,” Beresford said.
    “Hey, it can talk. Hey there, kid, take it easy. We’re just runnin’ you into juvie. Piece-a cake. Get you all squared away.”
    “You like hot dogs, kid? How long since you had a decent meal?”
    “I had spaghetti.” Earlier he’d eaten at the Neimans’, a can of Chef Boyardee Forkables that had been in their pantry so long they’d never miss it.
    “You’ll get a square in juvie. How old are you?”
    He didn’t answer. He didn’t want them to know that he wasn’t sure.
    “What’s your name?”
    Silence.
    “You don’t know your name?”
    “We got some kinda problem child deal here, be my guess.”
    “There’s a possible violent offense.”
    “You got ID, son? Driver’s license?”
    Beresford was not sure what he was supposed to say, so he said nothing.
    The car stopped, and they unchained him.
    “Now, stay calm, okay? ’Cause we