Trust Your Eyes (48 page)

“Go,” I whispered.

“It’ll only take a second,” my brother said, starting to pick at the tape around my wrists.

Lewis’s footsteps were approaching.

“There’s not time!” I whispered urgently. “Go! Run! Get help!”

I could sense Thomas’s panic. He didn’t want to leave me.

“But—”

“Get the fuck out of here!”

So he did. He headed into the short hallway off the side of the room that led to an outside door. He ran, pushed open the door, and was gone.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lewis said, stopping midway to the back room. “Don’t worry.”

Just before he came through the curtain, I glanced down at Nicole and wondered,
Why isn’t there any blood under her?

SIXTY-FIVE

THOMAS
burst into the narrow alley, the white van right there in front of him, filling the space between buildings. He had to blink a couple of times until his eyes adjusted to the darkness, then looked in both directions, figuring out instantly which was the way to the street. He ran for it.

He came out of the alley, turned right for no other reason than that was what his instinct told him to do, and kept on running, past a bike shop, a tailor’s, other businesses. But he wasn’t paying much attention to them. All he could think was that he had to get away, he had to get away as fast as he could, and he had to get help.

Ordinarily, he would have known instantly where he was, but there were two things working against him. First, he was in a state of panic. And second, it was night. Whirl360’s images of the world were all taken during the day.

The first couple of blocks he was running almost flat out, but for someone who’d spent years and years sitting in his bedroom
at the computer without ever going outside for exercise, it was pretty impossible to keep up the pace.

So Thomas eased back from a gallop to a brisk walk. He made a number of random turns along the way. A left turn at this cross street. A right turn at the next.

Get away get away get away.

He reached a point where he had to stop. He leaned over, put his palms on his knees, and caught his breath. He was wheezing and his chest hurt.

He straightened up, wandered around in a couple of wind-down circles, and then, once he had his wind back, looked around. Even though it was dark, there were enough streetlights to focus in on things, see storefronts, read street signs.

On one corner, Stromboli Pizza, with some words written on the wall: “This moment is more precious than you think.” Next to it, some place offering vegetarian food. Across the street, a shoe store with all kinds of different sneakers in the window.

Without looking up at the street signs, Thomas said, “St. Marks Place and First Avenue.”

Then he allowed himself to look at the sign, saw that he was right.

“I know where I am,” he said aloud. “I know where this is.”

A short man with shoulder-length hair was strolling past at the time and said, “Good for you.”

Thomas, too mesmerized by his surroundings, took no notice of the man.

“This is New York,” Thomas said. “This is Manhattan. I know where I am.”

He walked over to the pizza restaurant, went right up to the glass, and touched it with the tips of his fingers.

He could feel it.

Thomas could feel the glass beneath his fingers.

He saw something in that window, something he had never seen before, not in any of the world’s cities that he had explored.

He saw his
reflection
.

Whirl360 had never been like this. He’d been able to see the homes and storefronts and signs and benches and mailboxes. He could even zero in on them, enlarge them for close examination. But he could only imagine what these items felt like to the touch.

He smelled something.

Bread cooking. Dough. Pizza dough. It was too late for the restaurant to be open, but there were lingering aromas.

It smelled so good. So delicious. Thomas realized it had been a long time since he’d had anything to eat. He’d never been able to smell the things he saw when he was on the computer.

Behind him, a truck rumbled past. Thomas spun around, watched it head up First Avenue. Here, the trucks moved, made noises. The people walked. And their faces weren’t blurred.

His Whirl360 world was noiseless. Odorless. Nothing to touch.

Thomas marveled at everything around him. Standing here, at the corner of First and St. Marks Place, was like being inside his computer monitor, but even
more
real. This was
amazing
.

For the first time, he thought of all the other places he had been. All around the world. Tokyo. Paris. London. Mumbai. San Francisco. Rio de Janeiro. Sydney. Auckland. Cape Town.

What would it be like to be in those places, to physically be there? To actually feel the streets beneath your feet? To smell these places? To hear their sounds?

It filled him with a sense of wonder.

It was almost enough to make him forget what he had to do. But not quite.

“Ray,” he said under his breath. “I have to help Ray.”

But how was he going to do that?

He didn’t see any police cars around, and he didn’t see any
phone booths. And even if he did see one, he had no money on him. No change, no bills, no wallet full of credit cards. Thomas didn’t even own a credit card. Wouldn’t know the first thing about using one.

“Taxi!”

Thomas looked up the street, at a man who’d raised his arm in the air to attract the attention of someone driving one of those yellow cars. The man hopped in and the yellow car took off.

Thomas didn’t have a cell phone, either. If he did, he could call the police, he supposed. But Ray always carried a cell phone, and their father had had one, and Julie had one, so it seemed safe to assume that most people carried them. Any number of these people walking by on the street probably carried them.

Two teenage girls, their arms linked as if to support one another as they teetered along on their high heels, were coming from the south.

“Excuse me,” Thomas said, putting himself directly in their path. “I bet you have cell phones. Could I borrow one to call 911?”

The girls stopped abruptly, blinked. Thomas thought they seemed frightened about something. They unlinked arms and went quickly around him on each side, one muttering, “Creep.”

Thomas guessed they must not have had phones, so he tried stopping two other people. The first was an old man in tattered clothes who was intensely interested in the contents of a trash can. He seemed more interested in the half cup of coffee he’d found than in helping Thomas. The other person was a middle-aged woman who clutched her purse more tightly to her bosom and quickened her step when Thomas asked for her phone.

Maybe no one in New York had cell phones. Thomas wished Julie were here to help him. He liked Julie. Julie would know what to do.

But how could he get in touch with her? Even if he had a phone, he didn’t know her number. So what could—

Wait a second.

Julie had a sister who lived in the city. She had a place that sold cupcakes. What did Julie say her name was? Candace? That was it. And her store was called Candy’s Cupcakes. Julie had said Candace lived above her shop.

On West Eighth.

Thomas closed his eyes for a second. He could see it. The window filled with baked goods. The red-and-white-striped awning. The couple of wrought-iron table and chair sets out front on the sidewalk.

Thomas bet if he could find Candace, she’d know how to get in touch with Julie.

Now he just had to get to West Eighth.

Thomas looked up the street, saw another one of those yellow cars approaching. So he walked out into the street, right into the middle of the lane, put both hands into the air, and shouted, “Taxi!”

The driver hit the brakes and the car screeched to a halt.

“You some kind of fucking nut?” the cabbie shouted.

Thomas walked up to the driver’s window. “Sir, I need you to take me to Candy’s Cupcake shop on West Eighth Street in New York City.”

“Where the hell do you think we are now?”

“We’re at St. Marks Place and First Avenue,” Thomas said, thinking a man who drives a cab should know that kind of thing.

“Get in,” he said.

Thomas ran around the car to get into the front passenger seat. “The back!” the driver shouted, shaking his head. Thomas got into the backseat and, although it had been a long time since he’d seen a movie, said what he thought was the logical thing to say at a time like this. “Step on it.”

The driver stepped on it.

“I have to get help for my brother who’s being held prisoner,” Thomas said.

“Uh-huh,” said the driver.

“That’s why I’m in such a hurry. It’s all because of the woman who was murdered in the window.”

“Listen, pal, we all got problems, you know?”

Thomas, observing street signs as they passed them, said, “I think there’s a better way you could go.”

“Never heard that before,” the cabbie said.

There was so little traffic it wasn’t long before the taxi pulled up in front of the cupcake store. “Looks closed,” the driver said. “If you need a cupcake real bad I know a few all-night diners could help you out.”

Thomas looked at the second-floor windows, figuring that was where Candace lived, but he didn’t know how to get up there. Maybe the apartment entrance was through the shop. If he banged hard enough on the door, maybe she would wake up and come down.

Thomas pulled on the door handle, putting one foot down on the pavement. “Thank you very much.”

“Whoa!” the cabbie said. “There’s five-eighty on the meter.”

“What?”

“You owe me five-eighty.”

“I don’t have any money,” Thomas said. “I don’t need it because I’m home all the time.”

“Five-eighty!”

Thomas said, “My brother has money. When he’s not abducted anymore, he could pay you.”

“Get the fuck out of my cab,” the driver said, and floored it the moment Thomas had closed the door.

He walked to the door of Candy’s Cupcakes and banged on the glass. The shop was dark, but he thought he could see light in the back.

“Hello!” he shouted. “Candace?”

He banged the door continuously, the glass rattling relentlessly.
Finally, a small black man came striding through the store, unlocked the door, and opened it a foot.

“Knock it off!” he shouted.

“I need Candace to call Julie,” Thomas said. He could smell baking aromas, and this man had what looked like cake batter splattered on his shirt. Was he working in the middle of the night?

“What?” the man said.

“I have to talk to Julie. It’s about Ray. They’ve got him tied to a chair.”

“Piss off!” the man said, and started to close the door, but Thomas was pushing back.

“I have to talk to Candace!” he shouted. “Does she know Julie’s phone number?”

The man yelled to the back of the store: “Boss! Hey, boss!”

Seconds later a woman in a full white apron, her hair in a net, appeared and came to the door.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“This nut bar’s screaming for you, something about a sister? Julie?”

The woman shunted the man aside and opened the door wider. “Who are you?”

“Thomas.”

“Thomas who?”

“Thomas Kilbride. Are you Julie’s sister?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have to work in the middle of the night?”

“What the hell do you want? What’s this about Julie?”

“Do you know her cell phone number?”

“Why?”

“I want her to help me save Ray.”

Candace shook her head in exasperation, stuck her hand into her pocket, and pulled out a cell phone. She called up a number, hit the button, and put the phone to her ear.

She looked surprised that someone picked up so quickly.

“Hey, listen, it’s me. I’m
really
sorry to call you but there’s this crazy guy here, says he has to talk to—uh, Thomas. He says his name is Thomas. Okay.” She handed the phone to him. “She wants to talk to you.”

Thomas took the phone and said, “Hi, Julie, they kidnapped me and Ray and took us here and I got away and they’ve still got Ray and he helped untie me but there wasn’t time for me to untie him and—”

“Are you at the cupcake shop?” Julie asked incredulously.

“Yeah.”

“I can be there in two minutes. Stay there!”

Thomas handed the phone back to Candace. “She’ll be right here.”

Candace, looking perplexed and bewildered, said, “How come, if my sister’s in New York, she doesn’t call me?”

SIXTY-SIX

MORRIS
Sawchuck had slipped his gun, the one he’d started carrying back in the days when he was receiving death threats, back into its holster and had his hand on the inside of the front door to Ferber’s Antiques, but before he could open it Howard threw up a hand and slammed it shut.

“What are your intentions, Morris?” Howard said.

“Get out of my way.”

Lewis had caught up to them. “It’s a good question,” he said. “What are you planning to do when you walk out of here?”

“I don’t care what happens,” Morris said. “Nothing’s worth this. I’m going to tell them what I know. They’ll believe me or they won’t.”

Morris felt something cold and hard touching his temple. He shifted his eyes left and saw that Lewis was holding the barrel of his gun to the attorney general’s temple.

“You think that’ll make it easier, Lewis? Blowing my brains out? You think you’re in a mess now? Think that’ll make your problems go away?”

“Maybe,” he said. “Howard, get his gun.”

Howard reached under Morris’s coat and removed the weapon and handed it to Lewis, who tucked it into the waistband of his pants.

Howard said, “I know this has all been a terrible shock, a hell of a lot to take in. I get that. But you need to think before you do anything rash. The thing is, Morris, while all of this was done to help you, things are kind of turned around now. You have to help us continue to help you, or there won’t be a you anymore.”

“I don’t know why I didn’t cut you loose years ago.”