scornfully.
“Especially this one.”
Mitch pulled the door shut. Several steps from the house, he stopped, turned, and studied the place perhaps for the last time.
He had not only lived here but had also been home-schooled here from first grade through twelfth. More hours of his life had been spent in this house than out of it.
As always, his gaze drifted to that certain second-story window, boarded over on the inside. The learning room.
With no children at home any longer, what did they use that high chamber for?
Because the front walk curved away from the house instead of leading straight to the street, when Mitch lowered his attention from the second floor, he faced not the door but the sidelight. Through those French panes, he saw his father.
Daniel stood at one of the big steel-framed foyer mirrors, apparently considering his appearance. He smoothed his white hair with one hand. He wiped at the corners of his mouth.
Although he felt like a Peeping Tom, Mitch could not look away.
As a child, he had believed there were secrets about his parents that would free him if he were able to learn them. Daniel and Kathy were a guarded pair, however, as discreet as silverfish.
In the foyer now, Daniel pinched his left cheek between thumb and forefinger, and then his right, as if to tweak some color into them.
Mitch suspected that his visit had already more than half faded from his father’s mind, now that the threat of a loan request had been lifted.
In the foyer, Daniel turned sideways to the mirror, as though taking pride in the depth of his chest, the slimness of his waist.
How easy to imagine that between the facing mirrors, his father did not cast an infinity of echo reflections, as Mitch had done, and that the single likeness of him possessed so little substance that, to any eye but his own, it would appear as transparent as the image of a spook.
18
A t 5:50, only fifteen minutes after he had arrived at Daniel and Kathy’s house, Mitch drove away. He turned the corner and traveled a quick block and a half.
Perhaps two hours of daylight remained. He could easily have detected a tail if one had pursued him.
He pulled the Honda into the empty parking lot at a church.
A forbidding brick facade, fractured eyes of multicolored glass somber with no current inner light, rose to a steeple that gouged the sky and cast a hard shadow across the blacktop.
His father’s fear had been unfounded. Mitch had not intended to ask for money.
His parents had done well financially. They could no doubt contribute a hundred thousand to the cause without being in the least pinched. Even if they would give him twice that sum, and considering his own meager resources, he would still have in hand only a little more than ten percent of the ransom.
Besides, he would not have asked because he knew they would have declined, ostensibly on the basis of their theories of parenting.
Furthermore, he had come to suspect that the kidnappers were seeking more than money. He had no idea what they desired in addition to cash, but snatching the wife of a gardener who earned a five-figure income made no sense unless they wanted something else that only he could provide.
He had been all but certain that they intended to commit a major robbery by proxy, using him as if he were a remote-controlled robot. He could not rule out that scenario, but it no longer convinced him.
From under the driver’s seat, he retrieved the snub-nosed revolver and the ankle holster.
He examined the weapon with caution. As far as he could tell, it did not have a safety.
When he broke out the cylinder, he discovered that it held five rounds. This surprised him, as he had expected six.
All he knew about guns was what he had learned from books and movies.
In spite of Daniel’s talk about inspiring children to be self-sufficient, he had not prepared Mitch for the likes of John Knox.
The prey must learn evasion, and the predator must learn to hunt.
His parents had
“Especially this one.”
Mitch pulled the door shut. Several steps from the house, he stopped, turned, and studied the place perhaps for the last time.
He had not only lived here but had also been home-schooled here from first grade through twelfth. More hours of his life had been spent in this house than out of it.
As always, his gaze drifted to that certain second-story window, boarded over on the inside. The learning room.
With no children at home any longer, what did they use that high chamber for?
Because the front walk curved away from the house instead of leading straight to the street, when Mitch lowered his attention from the second floor, he faced not the door but the sidelight. Through those French panes, he saw his father.
Daniel stood at one of the big steel-framed foyer mirrors, apparently considering his appearance. He smoothed his white hair with one hand. He wiped at the corners of his mouth.
Although he felt like a Peeping Tom, Mitch could not look away.
As a child, he had believed there were secrets about his parents that would free him if he were able to learn them. Daniel and Kathy were a guarded pair, however, as discreet as silverfish.
In the foyer now, Daniel pinched his left cheek between thumb and forefinger, and then his right, as if to tweak some color into them.
Mitch suspected that his visit had already more than half faded from his father’s mind, now that the threat of a loan request had been lifted.
In the foyer, Daniel turned sideways to the mirror, as though taking pride in the depth of his chest, the slimness of his waist.
How easy to imagine that between the facing mirrors, his father did not cast an infinity of echo reflections, as Mitch had done, and that the single likeness of him possessed so little substance that, to any eye but his own, it would appear as transparent as the image of a spook.
18
A t 5:50, only fifteen minutes after he had arrived at Daniel and Kathy’s house, Mitch drove away. He turned the corner and traveled a quick block and a half.
Perhaps two hours of daylight remained. He could easily have detected a tail if one had pursued him.
He pulled the Honda into the empty parking lot at a church.
A forbidding brick facade, fractured eyes of multicolored glass somber with no current inner light, rose to a steeple that gouged the sky and cast a hard shadow across the blacktop.
His father’s fear had been unfounded. Mitch had not intended to ask for money.
His parents had done well financially. They could no doubt contribute a hundred thousand to the cause without being in the least pinched. Even if they would give him twice that sum, and considering his own meager resources, he would still have in hand only a little more than ten percent of the ransom.
Besides, he would not have asked because he knew they would have declined, ostensibly on the basis of their theories of parenting.
Furthermore, he had come to suspect that the kidnappers were seeking more than money. He had no idea what they desired in addition to cash, but snatching the wife of a gardener who earned a five-figure income made no sense unless they wanted something else that only he could provide.
He had been all but certain that they intended to commit a major robbery by proxy, using him as if he were a remote-controlled robot. He could not rule out that scenario, but it no longer convinced him.
From under the driver’s seat, he retrieved the snub-nosed revolver and the ankle holster.
He examined the weapon with caution. As far as he could tell, it did not have a safety.
When he broke out the cylinder, he discovered that it held five rounds. This surprised him, as he had expected six.
All he knew about guns was what he had learned from books and movies.
In spite of Daniel’s talk about inspiring children to be self-sufficient, he had not prepared Mitch for the likes of John Knox.
The prey must learn evasion, and the predator must learn to hunt.
His parents had
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