Part 9 (1/2)
Some of the fish were still whole and their dead, staring eyes looked like gla.s.s.
”How did they kill 'em, Cole?” Janelle asked.
He blinked; at first, he thought she was still talking about the faces on the milk cartons because they were still on his mind. ”The fish? Oh, they caught 'em on hooks.”
”How?”
”With bait.”
”What kinda bait?”
He hated it when she did this. ”Sometimes other fish. Y'know, smaller fish. And sometimes other things ... whatever the fish like to eat.”
The man behind the counter offered to help Mom, and she said, ”I'd like a couple of swordfish steaks, please.”
”Sorry, but we're all out. Till tomorrow.”
She sighed. ”You mean, we live right here on the coast and you're out of swordfish?”
”It happens.”
”Okay, then ... how about shark?”
”Oh, yeah, got some fresh shark steaks here. How many?”
”Two. And, uh-” She looked down at Cole and Janelle. ”What do you guys want for dinner?”
”Not fish,” Cole said. ”I hate fish.”
Janelle added, ”So does Daddy. He said so.”
”Well, that's just too bad for him. He could stand to lose weight and red meat is really fattening. Besides, it causes cancer. Fish is good for you, so what kind do you want?”
When they wouldn't respond, she ordered some whitefish.
Janelle leaned over and whispered to Cole, ”Poor fish. I don't wanna eat 'em if they've been tricked into bein' killed.”
Cole looked over the top of the counter at the enormous swordfish on the wall behind it. It was s.h.i.+ny and regal, with its long, needle-like nose jutting into the air. And, of course, it was very dead.
Once they had the fish, they had to walk fast to keep up with Mom on her way to the register. They stood in line for a while, then when they got up to the counter, they started looking over the racks of candy bars and gum to their right, asking Mom if they could have some.
”No, absolutely not, you know what that stuff does to you?” she hissed, bending toward them. ”Just go on outside and wait by the car. I'll be right out.”
So, they did. But not before Cole noticed the brown paper bags that were being packed with groceries at each counter.
Smeared faces looked back at him from the sides of the bags as if they were watching him lead his sister out of the store. The faces were haunted ... and haunting.
On the way to the car, they pa.s.sed the newspaper vending boxes and Cole stopped when he saw a picture of a little baby on the front page of the local paper with the word MISSING! beneath it. The word made him stop. He read the headline, frowning: 2 MONTH OLD BABY STOLEN FROM CRIB IN MIDDLE OF NIGHT-POLICE HAVE NO SUSPECTS Cole stared at the baby for a while, frowning, wondering what had happened to it. Who would want to take a little baby? Why?
With a slight burning in his gut, he turned and hurried after his little sister toward the car.
They stood by the car, kicking a smashed soda can back and forth between them over the dirty pavement. The nearby ocean gave the chilly, damp breeze a salty smell and seagulls circled overhead, calling out sharply.
The musical voice of a little girl called to them from a few yards away.
”Hey! Wanna see my puppies?”
She stood beside a gray van. The sliding door on the side was half open.
”What kind of puppies?” Cole asked as he and Janelle took a few steps toward her.
”Little bitty ones.” She held her palms a few inches apart to demonstrate.
”Let's go see the puppies!” Janelle said, grinning.
”Okay. But keep an eye out for Mom.”
Mom pushed her cart of grocery bags through the automatic door and stopp ed just outsid e the store. The door closed behind her with a h um as she fished a Marlboro out of her purse and turned against the wind, l eaning her head forward to lig ht up.
It was while she was lighting her cigarette that the gray van drove by.
By the time she lifted her head, taking a deep drag on the cigarette, the van was already gone.
So were the children.
Cole awoke in complete, solid, almost tangible darkness.
His ears rang loudly and his head throbbed. The ringing eventually subsided-slowly, gradually-and was replaced by the cry of a baby.
No, no, the cry of two ... no, three, maybe four ... no, several babies.
Somewhere nearby, there were voices that barely rose above the crying of the babies.
But there was something else ... something weird ... something wrong ...
The ground beneath him and the damp, cold darkness all around him was moving ... tilting back and forth ... this way, that way, back and forth.
He reached down to feel the surface beneath him, but suddenly realized that he could not move his arms. His wrists were tied together behind him and his ankles were tied together before him.
Then he noticed something else: A low rumble that made its way through the surface beneath him and up into his body, gathering in his chest like quivering indigestion. It sounded like an engine.
Are we on a bus, or something? he thought, then: We? We?
”Janelle?” he said, his voice hoa.r.s.e and weak. ”Janelle, you here? C'mon, Janelle, say something!”