Live to Tell - Lisa Gardner [151]
Evan still screaming. Footsteps pounding up the stairs.
“Police, police! Drop your weapons!”
Andrew picking himself off the floor, shaking his head.
I noticed two things at once. His right side was bleeding, and he still held the knife.
He looked down at me and started to grin, just as Michael Oliver tackled him from behind.
“Son of a bitch. How dare you hurt my family. Son of a bitch!”
“Drop your weapon! For God’s sake, drop it!”
Sergeant D.D. Warren had topped the stairs, blonde curls flying. She had her drawn weapon pointed at me, and her gaze locked on the tangle of grown men. Her partner, and Victoria, poured into the hall behind her.
“The police, Michael,” Victoria was trying to say. “The police.”
“Mommy?” Evan cried from the closet.
“Drop your weapon!” D.D. screamed again.
I put down the gun, my gaze still on Andrew.
“Kick it away. Behind you,” D.D. ordered.
I did as I was told. Michael was on top of Andrew now, bashing Andrew’s forehead into the floor.
“Stop it!” D.D. yelled angrily. “Police! Get up, get away. Now!”
Her voice must have finally penetrated. Michael slowly released Andrew’s hair. He rose shakily, breath shallow, expression wild. D.D.’s partner stepped forward to assist.
“Evan’s in his closet,” I spoke up. “He needs help. Please?”
Those words seemed to finally rouse Michael. He stepped back from Andrew. Victoria was already scurrying by the detectives into her son’s room. She returned a minute later, Evan in her arms.
She looked at her husband. He looked at her. The next instant, they were together, parents, holding tight, their child cradled between them.
And I felt an ache, deep and endless inside my chest. My mother, Natalie, Johnny.
I love you. I love you. I love you. And I miss you so much.
A brush against my cheek. A flutter, like butterfly wings against my right temple. I wanted to hold on, hold close.
I love you, I thought again. Then I let go, as I should’ve done years ago.
The other detective was beside Andrew’s prone form. He reached down to feel for a pulse while D.D. covered him with her gun.
The detective frowned, looked back at D.D., made a small shake of his head.
I realized then what we’d all missed before: the pool of blood slowly growing beneath Andrew’s body. When Michael tackled him, Andrew had still been holding the knife. Apparently, it had finally found a target.
“Everyone out,” D.D. ordered flatly.
We moved to the driveway, where the sun was coming up. Michael and Victoria remained huddled close, Evan nestled between them, refusing to let their son go. I stood off to the side, turning my face toward the light.
EPILOGUE
VICTORIA
We’ve found a school for Evan. It’s full-time care in a family-friendly environment in southern New Hampshire. The kids live in actual homes, with trained caretakers serving as surrogate parents. The campus includes a lake, huge gardens, and neighboring woods. The curriculum combines a structured schedule with plenty of outdoor time, where kids get to breathe fresh air, learn to garden, and benefit from the healing powers of nature.
The school even utilizes meditative training to help agitated children improve their self-soothing skills.
Evan’s nervous, but not morally opposed. We can visit on weekends. If his behavior improves, he can come home for the holidays. It’s beginning to feel manageable. Yes, he’s on medication. Yes, he’ll be going away. Yes, we have many “learning opportunities” ahead.
But the school is beautiful. Evan’s calmer. And our family is healing again.
The DA decided not to press charges against Evan. Our lawyer argued Evan had been unduly influenced by Andrew Lightfoot’s now obviously violent tendencies. Prosecuting a child who’d just been kidnapped by his spiritual healer didn’t make for great headlines, so the matter was quietly dismissed. After another week at the acute care unit, a bit of tweaking