Picture Perfect (28 page)

An eight-foot-tall fence separated him from the kid; by the time he climbed it, the kid would be long gone. He twisted the small black-and-white leather shoe in his hands. Panda Bear—it was a stupid CB handle if ever he'd heard one. Only the kid wasn't so stupid—Cudge would give him that.

Cudge had been smart, too, when he was a kid, but he wondered how smart he was now. Here he was, chasing a little boy, when he should have been planning his own escape.

 

Stuart Sanders tapped his fingers on the steering wheel while he waited for the light to change. He'd been riding around for what seemed like hours, thinking, reviewing, but always on the lookout for Davey.

A car full of teenagers passed him just as the amber light flicked to green. Surprised, he checked his watch; it was two-thirty already, and the high school was letting out. That was when he noticed a billboard with an arrow pointing to Wild Adventure Park. Maybe he could spot the turkey farm on the way. He allowed a van and a sports car to pass him before inching into the moving traffic.

Within minutes the main gates to the park were in sight, but it was the appearance of a secondary road, probably for employees, which caught his interest. After following a circuitous route for several miles, the road ended in a graveled parking area. The gates were chained shut.

Sanders turned off the engine and surveyed his surroundings, attempting to pinpoint his location. Last night he hadn't come this far through the woods. On the map, the distance between the park and the campground hadn't appeared so close. He knew he wouldn't have any difficulty gaining admittance to the park; all he had to do was flash his credentials. He could even climb the fence if he had a mind to.

Back at the car he retrieved the binoculars he'd borrowed from Feeley. Training the sights on the horizon, he scanned the treetops, spotting the tall girders of the Ferris wheel. Rides, thrills, and adventure, all waiting till spring, when flocks of children would swarm over them, laughing and shrieking. He wondered if Davey Taylor had ever ridden on a Ferris wheel or a carousel.

Lighting a cigarette, Sanders turned to his left, and walked along the fence. He took a drag on the cigarette as he retraced his steps past the gate, along the perimeter of the parking lot. He would have missed it if he hadn't dropped the cigarette to grind it out with the heel of his shoe. There was a hole under the fence. Dropping to his heels, Sanders saw the small mud-caked Reebok lying close by. He hadn't realized he had been holding his breath until it exploded from his lungs, making him lightheaded. Both hands reached for the bedraggled leather shoe. The hole under the fence was just about big enough for the kid to belly through, and it was freshly dug.

“Good boy. You're almost there. Just a little longer and I'll find you, Davey.”

The pain that had been gnawing at his stomach stilled. Davey was free, not in Balog's hands. At least not for the moment. Sanders gripped the shoe hard, as though trying to squeeze information out of it. Looking at it, thinking about Davey, the chewing in his stomach began again. Davey wasn't the kind of kid who was careless with his things. He would never have left his shoe behind unless something had prevented him from retrieving it. Or someone. Balog.

 

Davey Taylor was on the run. His path took him across a park-like area littered with outbuildings that looked like the Quonset huts that came with his army and soldier set. All the buildings had wide doors like garages, and there were stacks and stacks of trash cans nestled inside one another. There was no safety to be found here, nowhere to hide. He ran on blindly, not stopping to take his bearings or note his surroundings. Past the utility buildings, alongside the storehouses and equipment garages he ran. His stockinged foot hurt from the pebbles on the ground and his sock was cold and wet from the puddles left by last night's rain.

Ahead of him was the visitors' area of the amusement park. The rides looked stark and alien against the vibrant golds and reds of the autumn leaves. To Davey's right was a tall, semicircular amphitheater with a blue dolphin pictured on the stark white concrete. Beyond this, the brick path widened into an expanse of cement where the desolate rides were located. Between two towers hung a huge pirate ship, painted bright red and suspended over a now-empty pool.

Glancing up at the sky, Davey saw the tall pylons which supported the guide wires for the Sky Ride. There were lots of buildings dotting the area between the trees. Once, for an instant, he drew up short, staring at a candyland structure with peppermint sticks for columns, supporting a sugar-frosting roof and ice-cream-cone facade. He was reminded of how long it had been since he'd eaten, and how good a cupcake would taste right now. The chocolate browns, vanilla whites and shiny reds of the building fascinated him.

Then he remembered his predicament and, with great effort, forced his weary legs on. The knee that usually had the support of the brace was sore and throbbing. Mustering his courage yet again, he ran onward, heading for a small building where he hoped he could hide.

The building had two doors. By stretching back, Davey could see the pictures on them: a lady and a man. He reached for the knob to the men's room then hastily withdrew his hand. The man would definitely look for him there. Without another second's hesitation, he opened the door to the women's bathroom. The heavy hinges stopped the door from closing immediately. Davey leaned against it to push it closed; now he felt almost safe. But then he noticed there was no lock on the doorknob. If he'd gotten in, the man could get in too. Frantically he looked around for something to block the door.

He could see sinks, toilets with doors, and a garbage can—everything looked clean and forgotten, as though no one was coming back. There was nothing here, not even a sliver of soap on the sink. He decided not to wash his hands and dirty the sink, but he had to go to the bathroom. Six of the doors had silver coin slots, and were locked shut, but one door at the end stood open. He had only Mr. Sanders's three quarters—he didn't want to spend them going to the bathroom. He looked in the open door as he unzipped his jeans. Carefully, he held up the seat while he urinated. He liked watching the steady stream as it hit the water. As he zipped up his pants a door slammed close by. Arrow swift, Davey had the door closed and locked behind him. He hopped up onto the seat and braced his hands against the door. He sucked in his breath.

He could tell Cudge was mad by the way the door banged against the tiled wall. Davey waited while footsteps sounded. Looking down from his perch, he could see heavy yellow boots, caked with mud, appear and disappear as the man stalked back and forth. With a growl, he moved toward the door. Davey waited for the sound of the door closing, but he didn't hear it. Did that mean the man hadn't pulled it closed, or did it mean he was still there, waiting to catch him? Davey wished he could hear the sound of the workman banging the nails. He was tired, and his arms ached, but he would wait a little longer. He couldn't get caught now, not when he was so close to Aunt Lorrie. He had to be more careful than ever.

Just when he thought he couldn't stand another second of waiting, Davey heard the snick of the closing door. There were no more footsteps, no muttered curses. The man was gone. Davey gingerly pulled back one arm and then the other. Dropping to the floor, he reached out a quivering arm to flush the toilet, but then quickly withdrew it. The frothy bubbles would have to stay—toilets made a lot of noise in places like this. It wasn't safe here; he had to leave. If the man came back, he would see the open door, and then he would know Davey had tricked him. The thought pleased Davey—he really had tricked him.

Now, when he walked out of the bathroom, he would go to his left, because if he went right he would end up back at the hole in the fence. He had to keep going in the opposite direction; he had to stay behind the man.

As Davey started out, he listened for sounds of hammering; his entire body was alert to any movement within his line of vision. He shivered, it was getting cold. Now that he was moving again, he realized he still didn't feel well. If only he could lie down and take a nap, but he couldn't. It was important to keep going, to find Aunt Lorrie. If he lay down and fell asleep, the man would find him.

Davey gradually slowed as he trudged around the park, bewildered by the shadows the giant rides created. He knew he had to be quick to hide at the first sound that fell on his ears. He wished he could read better so he would know what all the signs meant. Why couldn't he find the man with the hammer? Why hadn't he seen anyone to ask for help? Then he saw Cudge, just ahead, stalking the area in front of a hamburger restaurant. The little round tables and chairs were painted to look like polka-dotted mushrooms and toadstools, and Cudge was bending down, peering underneath them. Davey crouched low. Sometimes, like now, he was glad he was small. When you were little, there wasn't so much of you to see. He maneuvered his way behind a big red trash can and watched Cudge work his way around the perimeter of the restaurant. His heart hammered in his chest and he felt as though the ocean was slapping at his ears.

He was getting colder and he was so tired. He stifled a yawn, never taking his eyes from Cudge's slouched form. He drew back suddenly. Cudge was standing upright now and looking around, deciding which way to go. Davey risked another quick look and saw him head for a low, white building with a red and black sign. He watched as Cudge opened the door and looked inside. He didn't go inside, just looked. Then he closed the door and moved on. As soon as Cudge was out of sight, Davey ran across the space and into the building. If Cudge had already looked in there, he probably wouldn't come back there again.

One wall was lined with lockers, the other with open-stall showers. To the left, in a room littered with cartons and boxes, Davey saw a desk with a push-button telephone sitting on it. Frantically, he dialed 911. He waited and waited but no one picked up the other end. He tried again but achieved the same result. Defeated, he sat down on the swivel chair, his face puckered with despair. Mom had told him to dial 911 if ever he had an emergency. But it didn't work. There wasn't anybody there.

Maybe this telephone was broken. Maybe if he could find another telephone it would work. Outside, in the locker room, he saw a pay phone on the wall. He knew it was a pay phone because he'd been with his mom once when she'd used one to call his dad. For almost a full minute Davey stared at the phone. He couldn't reach it. Maybe if he dragged the bench over and stood on it . . . He had to try.

Pulling and tugging, he managed to drag the heavy wooden bench directly underneath the telephone. He climbed onto it, lifted the receiver and listened to the dial tone. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to put the money in before or after he dialed.

Again, he dialed 911 but, as before, no one answered. He tried it again, putting the money in first. No answer. When he'd gotten out his money, he'd felt Mr. Sanders's card in his pocket. He would call Mr. Sanders! Mr. Sanders would help him. He would know what to do.

With shaking hands Davey dialed the numbers on the card. A voice came on the line and told him to deposit fifty cents. He dropped two quarters into the slot and waited. Three, four, five rings.

“Hello, this is Stuart Sanders,” a voice said. “I'm away from the phone right now but you can page me at—”

“Hey you,” a gruff voice shouted outside. “What are you doing in here? The park is closed, mister. How did you get in?”

“I climbed the fence, that's how!” It was Cudge. “My kid got in here by digging under the fence out by the parking lot. I had to climb over, because the hole he dug wasn't big enough for me. Are you sure you ain't seen him? He's about this high, has blond hair? I gotta find him before his mother takes a fit!”

Davey put the receiver back on the hook. He wanted to run outside and ask the man Cudge was talking to for help, but he was afraid to because of what had happened at the farmhouse.

“Mister,” the other man continued, “I haven't seen any kids around here. I've been working all day over by the roller coaster, dismantling the cars and getting them ready for next spring. There's no kid around here. You'd better be on your way before I call the police.”

Suddenly the man's voice changed, as though something had choked off his words. “Now look, mister, if you want I'll go around and ask the shut-down crew if they've seen anything.” He was speaking faster, higher pitched, as though he were scared. Davey knew that the man was afraid of Cudge too.

“I want to find my kid. I'm not leaving till I do!”

“I know, I know. I've got kids of my own. Come on with me, we'll go around and ask the other guys. We'll be punching out for the day pretty soon. Maybe somebody's seen him.”

Panic-stricken, Davey dropped the phone and jumped down from his perch atop the bench. He had to get away.

He looked around—there was no back door! Saliva dribbled down his chin; he was too frightened to swallow. Into the small storage area behind the locker room he ran, hoping there might be a door through there. He saw some double doors with a big red exit sign above them. Silently, he inched open one of the doors and peered out.

The sun was gone now and the sky looked dark. A strong breeze that smelled of rain was sending fallen leaves and paper spiraling along the ground. He could hear voices outside. His heart pounding, he inched the door back into place then ran. Faster and faster—up the incline, past the miniature golf course, around the bend to the haunted house, down the rise to the old-fashioned carousel. Sobbing, gasping for breath, he ran blindly, not caring where he went as long as he was putting distance between Cudge and himself.

Would Cudge go into the building? Would he notice that the bench had been pulled up to the phone?
He'll catch me!
Faster, always faster, Davey staggered onward. He had to keep running away. He had to make himself safe. Safe so Aunt Lorrie could find him.