One Breath Away Page 16

  I think of my mom and my chest aches with missing her. Ever since my dad left, I’ve always known that it was my mom I was going to be able to depend on. She does stupid things sometimes. She isn’t great with money and sometimes we end up eating mac and cheese and ramen noodles for a week in between paychecks because she had to have a new shirt or P.J. had to have the same video game all the other kids were playing. She would buy things for me, too. A new pair of earrings or trendy pair of shoes. But I could never enjoy them. But one thing my mom was good at, is good at, is knowing when I’m feeling bad. She also knows when to try and get me to talk about things or when to leave me alone. My friends’ mothers suck at that. They nag and push until they just want to scream. Though I talk to my mom every night and she goes on and on about what’s happening in Arizona and with her physical therapy and how Grandma Thwaite is wonderful but can be annoying, I still feel like things will never be the same between us again.

  She has every reason to hate me, but at the end of each phone call she says the same thing. I love you, Augie. I picture her holding the phone in her scarred hands that were once so beautiful. I remember watching her file her nails into perfectly pink-tipped ovals and try to hide my own ragged, bitten-down fingers behind my back. I love you, Augie, my mother would say again. I just can’t say it back to her. I want to, but the words get stuck in my throat. Goodbye, Mom, I answer, and then quickly pass the phone to P.J. or my grandpa.

  Then I run out of the house, flinging open the door extra hard, knowing that Grandpa Thwaite hates it when I let the screen door slam. I run to the barn where I can hide and where I can whisper, I love you, too, Mom, and only the cows with their wide, sad eyes can hear me.

  I force myself to stand. I can’t sit here forever dreaming about being warm and being back in Revelation. I need to go get P.J., tell him he’s not some serial killer and hopefully get out of this school alive. Then we’ll get on the plane to Revelation tomorrow and never come back here again.

  Chapter 49:

  Meg

  I make my way back to the RV and the ambulances and ask around until I find little Faith Garrity. She is sitting in the back of an ambulance being checked over by an EMT.

  ���How are you doing, Faith?” I ask her.

  “Okay,” she says shyly.

  “She’s just fine,” the EMT assures me. “She can be taken over to Lonnie’s whenever you’re ready.”

  “What do you think, Faith? Are you ready to go and see your mom and dad?”

  She nods and the EMT lifts her gently out of the ambulance and sets her on the ground. “Have you ever been in a police car?” I ask her, and she shakes her head no.

  “Well, today is your lucky day,” I say, reaching for her hand, and she gives me a shaky smile.

  “Where’s Augie?” Faith asks once I buckle her into the backseat of my cruiser.

  “Augie wanted to check on her little brother, but when I see her I’ll make sure to tell her that you were looking for her.” I’m itching to ask Faith questions about what went on inside the school, although I know I should wait until I reunite her with her parents and get their permission for her to talk with me.

  We are barely out of the parking lot when Faith decides to speak all on her own. “I bet she went back to Mrs. Oliver’s room.”

  Immediately I become alert. “Oh?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light, conversational.

  “She’s the third-grade teacher. She’s really old, but nice, I think.”

  “Hmm,” I murmur, hoping she’ll add more.

  “Her brother is in Mrs. Oliver’s room. She said she wanted to get him.”

  “Faith,” I say, “did you see a man in the school? Maybe a man who shouldn’t have been there?”

  She is very quiet for a moment. We pull into Lonnie’s, to where Faith’s parents are undoubtedly waiting for her. I know the minute she walks through that door I will lose her as a witness. Through the brightly lit windows I see tables filled with frightened-looking parents. I only have a few minutes now. I put the car into Park and turn around in my seat to look at her. “Faith, did you see anything at all that might help Augie?”

  Faith looks around the car nervously.

  “Don’t worry,” I tell her. “No one can hear you but me.” Some of the parents inside Lonnie’s have noticed that a car has pulled into the parking lot and are approaching the front window, cupping their hands around their eyes and pressing their faces close to the glass to get a better look. There is a shout coming from inside Lonnie’s. We’ve been spotted.

  “I saw him,” she whispers, brushing her snow-damp hair from her eyes. “I was coming out of the bathroom and I saw him.”

  The door to Lonnie’s opens and a couple steps out into the parking lot, sending a rush of snow swirling around their knees.

  “What did you see?” I ask, trying to keep the urgency out of my voice.

  The couple, most assuredly Faith’s parents, move toward the squad car, clinging to each other as they step across the icy pavement.

  “He had a gun.” Her brown eyes widen. “He held it like this.” She pointed her index finger at me and lifted her thumb upward. “Then he dropped his phones.”

  They are almost to the car. Faith hasn’t seen them yet.

  “His phones?” I asked in confusion. “He had more than one?”

  She nodded and spread her fingers out wide. “He had like five.”

  “Five phones?” I ask just to make sure. Faith nods. “Anything else, Faith? Anything at all special about him that you remember? Have you seen him before?” I work hard to keep my voice neutral.

  I don’t want to spook her. She thinks for a second and nods again. “You know him?”

  She shakes her head no. “You’ve seen him before, but you don’t know who he is?” She nods. Now Faith spies the man and woman through the car window and is scrambling to unbuckle her seat belt. “Think, Faith,” I urge. “Where did you see him before?”

  Faith presses against the window. “Mommy! Daddy!” she calls, and then they are upon us.

  Faith’s hand pushes against the door handle and nothing happens. She jiggles it impatiently and looks desperately to me for help.

  I release the door locks and Faith’s father wrenches open the door and she leaps into his arms. The woman wraps her arms around Faith and her husband and the three of them rock back and forth while I stand by, trying to patiently wait for the right time to interrupt their reunion.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Garrity,” I finally say, knowing that each minute that passes could mean the life of one of the remaining students or teachers in the building. The Garritys look up at me with wet eyes. “I’m Officer Barrett. I’d like your permission to speak with Faith for a few minutes.”

  Mr. Garrity pulls Faith more tightly into his chest and his eyes narrow in wariness. “I don’t think so,” the woman says, stroking Faith’s hair. “Thank you for bringing her to us.” Her voice breaks with emotion. “But we just want to get Faith home.”

  “I understand,” I say. “My daughter is a third grader at the school.” They lower their eyes in sympathy, thinking that Maria is still back at the school. I don’t correct this misunderstanding. “Faith is a witness. Anything she can share could help a lot of kids.”

  Mr. Garrity shakes his head. “Tomorrow. You can talk with her tomorrow. She needs a good night’s sleep.” Faith is laying her head on her father’s shoulder, her eyes heavy with fatigue.

  “Just one minute. I promise,” I plead.

  A look passes between Mr. and Mrs. Garrity and for a second I think they are going to let me talk to Faith.

  “I’m sorry, no,” Mr. Garrity says with a finality I know I can’t argue with. “Tomorrow. If she isn’t too upset.”

  I nod, unable to keep the disappointment from my face. “Okay. Tomorrow, the
n.” I turn my attention to Faith. “Nice to meet you, Faith. You are a very brave girl.”

  “You, too,” she murmurs, her eyelids fluttering.

  “Please call the police department if Faith says anything that you think might be helpful. Ask for Officer Barrett and they’ll get a hold of me.”

  “She’s five,” Mrs. Garrity says as if apologizing.

  “I understand, have a good night,” I say to the family, meaning it. I stare up at the snowy sky, snowflakes dancing maniacally, causing me to teeter dizzily on my heels. I place my hand on the hood of the squad car to steady myself and review the information I was able to get from Faith: the gun, the multiple phones, the fact that she had seen him before. It wasn’t much, but it was something. I spend a moment watching the Garritys shuffle across the restaurant parking lot as one seamless entity. I think of my own little family, at one time just like the Garritys. I blinked once and it all unraveled.

  But at least, one by one, the children were being reunited with their families. I needed to get back to the school. But first I had to talk to Will Thwaite and find out what was going on with his granddaughter.

  Chapter 50:

  Mrs. Oliver

  When Mrs. Oliver had time to watch television she preferred medical dramas and she tried to remember what the heart attack victims on television looked like. They always clutched at their left arm. Or was it their right? She gasped for air, her hand clawing at the air in front of her, the other at her left arm and then at her right just in case. “My medicine,” she wheezed. The man look startled. Maybe he isn’t a complete monster, Mrs. Oliver thought. He looked frantically around the room at the frightened children, some who were openly sobbing now at seeing their teacher in distress, and then back at Mrs. Oliver. Seeing the irritation on his face, Mrs. Oliver realized that this man didn’t care a hill of beans about her. He was just worried that she would die and leave him in charge of seventeen hysterical third graders. Served him right, she thought, if she died. But she couldn’t go and do that. Her students needed her. She tried, telepathically, to let them know that she was just acting, but it didn’t seem to be working. Julia was wailing loudly, her mouth an open cavern, and poor Colin just sat there, with his eyes tightly screwed shut, shaking. Only P.J. seemed to be looking at her curiously but without alarm.

  “Please, my purse.” She gurgled. “In my desk.” The man only hesitated for a moment and then turned to P.J.

  “Go get the purse,” he ordered. P.J. stood and moved quickly behind Mrs. Oliver’s desk.

  He rummaged around through the drawers and in triumph lifted the leather purse in the air. “Got it,” he said.

  “Grab the medicine and bring it over here,” the man directed.

  Mrs. Oliver moaned loudly and slid from her chair to the floor in what she hoped was a realistic but graceful collapse onto her stomach.

  The man kneeled down beside her. “Come on,” he snapped. “Bring me the medicine.” P.J. dug around in the black purse until his hand found the pill bottle. He tossed it to the man and it clattered across the floor where both Mrs. Oliver and the man reached for it.

  “I got it,” Mrs. Oliver said more robustly than she intended and grabbed the orange bottle.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” came Lucy’s muffled voice from the closet as she pounded on the door. “Let me out of here!”

  “Quiet!” the man shouted, and Mrs. Oliver twisted the childproof lid and shook two pills into her open palm and tossed them into her mouth.

  “Just give me a second,” she said, lying prostrate on the floor, the bitterness of the pills prescribed to her for her arthritis pain filled her mouth. She was aware that all sound had ceased. The children had stopped crying, Lucy had stopped pounding on the closet door. Everyone was waiting to see what was going to happen next.

  Chapter 51:

  Augie

  I tiptoe through the gymnasium, wondering what could have happened to Beth. I wonder if she is hiding in a corner somewhere, like I am, trying to get up the courage to go back to the classroom. Only she wants to find out if her dad could possibly be the one upstairs in her sister and P.J.’s classroom with a gun. I imagine for a minute what it would be like to have a dad who would do anything to be able to see his kids, spend time with them. My dad would rather pass up spending time with me so he can avoid spending time with a super-nice kid like P.J. And the saddest thing of all is P.J. is like some little stray puppy just begging for attention from my dad. More than anything in the world P.J. wants a dad. No, my dad isn’t a psychopath with a gun, but he sure is a jerk.

  I reach the gym doorway that leads back to the hallway and realize for the first time how thirsty I am. I bend over the drinking fountain and take a long drink. The water is lukewarm and tastes a little rusty, but it feels good in my throat. I step into the hallway and tiptoe toward the staircase. If I go upward I will be in P.J.’s hallway. If I take a right and then a left I will be in the primary wing of the building, where the kindergarteners, first and second graders have their classrooms. I think of Faith Garrity and how scared she was and I imagine that all the other little kids are, too. Faith, though, would be with her mom and dad now, while the rest of the kids are stuck in their classrooms not knowing what is going on out here.

  I can’t be sure that the man is still up in P.J.’s classroom. If it was Beth’s dad, he may have grabbed Natalie and was off in search of Beth. He could be roaming the hallways right now. I duck into the space beneath the steps, sit down and try to decide what to do next.

  My stomach makes a sloshing sound; it’s empty except for the gallon of water I just drank. I’ve lost about fifteen pounds since we’ve moved here and when I look at myself in the mirror I barely recognize myself. My eyes look too big for my face and the spot at my throat looks like it’s been hollowed out with an ice cream scooper. I can’t say I look very good, though some of the girls at my old school who talked only about how fat their faces or thighs or butts looked would be impressed with my transformation. It’s not exactly a diet I would recommend to others: the Watch Your Mother Get Her Skin Burned Off Diet.

  Ever since the fire, the smell of any kind of meat cooking makes me sick. All I can think about when my grandpa is frying bacon or making sloppy joes is the sizzle of my mother’s skin. I threw up for twenty-four hours after the fire trying to get the ashy taste out of my throat and the horrible, sweet smell of her hair and skin burning out of my nose.

  When Grandpa was driving P.J. and me to the airport to catch our flight to Iowa he wanted to stop at a fast-food place. He said that he and Grandma Thwaite rarely ate out—maybe once every few weeks at the only restaurant in Broken Branch. Plus, Grandma didn’t approve of the nutritional value of such establishments. While the cat’s away…he said. As he pulled up to the drive-through of a Buster Burger the thought of the car filling up with the smell of grease and burgers made my stomach lurch. Out of the blue I told him that I was a vegetarian and that I didn’t eat meat products of any kind. P.J. looked at me as if I’d sprouted antennas or something. Grandpa laughed at me and I think that’s when I decided to hate him. I already didn’t like him because of all the things my mother had told me about growing up with him as a father, like how strict and sarcastic he was, but right then and there I decided I would loathe him. His laugh was my mother’s. Sweet and slow like taffy being pulled. But it didn’t sound right coming from his mouth and didn’t earn him any popularity points with me. “Well, a vegetarian on a beef cattle farm.” He laughed. “This is going to be entertaining.”

  I sat in the car while he and P.J. went into the restaurant to eat. I fell asleep wondering what in the world I would be eating for the next how many weeks until my mom got better and we could go home.

  Right now I think about curling up in a little ball like Grandpa’s dog, Roxie, does. It would be so wonderful to close my eyes and then wake up a few hours fr
om now with this whole thing over. But P.J.’s upstairs and all those kindergarteners are down the hallway. I stand and decide to go up to P.J.’s room and see what’s happening. If the man is in the classroom, I’ll sneak back downstairs and tell all the little kids and their teachers that it’s safe for them to get out. Unless, of course, there is more than one man in the school, but that thought is just too awful to imagine.

  Chapter 52:

  Meg

  I spare about ten more seconds watching Faith and her parents before making my way into Lonnie’s to talk to Eric Braun, the officer stationed there. Faith’s father holds on to her like he will never let go again. Her mother strokes Faith’s hair and smiles while tears roll down her cheeks.

  Two statements that Faith had made were nagging at me. The first being that the gunman had at least five cell phones. Why in the world would anyone have five phones with them? The second thing that struck me was that Faith said she had seen the gunman before but didn’t know him. Broken Branch is a small town. Two churches, one school, one grocery store. Everyone pretty much knows everyone else by name in town. The gunman has to be someone on the periphery. Someone who has a connection to Broken Branch but most likely doesn’t live here.

  I need to get back to the school and check in with the chief. I still haven’t had the opportunity to talk more with Gail Lowell and haven’t even spoken with the school principal. I feel at loose ends; the little information I have is fragmented and disjointed, doesn’t make sense. An unknown gunman with five cell phones and an unknown motive, and one teenage girl who had the opportunity to escape but runs back into the school.