Small as an Elephant - Jennifer Richard Jacobson [57]
The third floor was a wide-open space with mirrors on one wall and a line of chairs on the opposite. A dance studio, Jack thought. He tiptoed across the floor to see what was behind an open door. Just then, he saw movement from the corner of his eye — he wasn’t alone!
He spun around, and the figure spun around, too. It was only his reflection in the mirrors. He waited till the panic stopped ringing in his ears and then completed the slow trek across the floor.
A bathroom. There was a small bathroom behind the door. Where was the fire escape? He crept over to the large windows, standing off to the side so that he wouldn’t be seen. There was a police car parked in front of the store, just as he’d suspected. But only one. Maybe that was what counted as backup around here.
Perhaps they hadn’t even bothered guarding the rear exit.
He padded over to the windows on the side of the building. It was hard to see what was below without moving right up to the glass. Yes! There was a wrought-iron fire escape off this window, and no police car below — or any other cars or people, really, except for one red pickup truck, parked on a hill below.
Jack carefully opened the window and tried to yank off the screen. At first, the springs wouldn’t budge; then one gave loose. The other followed suddenly, causing the screen to fly out of his hands and clatter against the metal fire escape.
Dang it! So much for a quiet getaway!
Jack climbed out the window and scrambled down the metal steps, no longer caring how much noise he made. He was thinking only about going fast enough to escape yet slowly enough to not careen off the side and smash his skull on the street below. Left, right, left, right — by concentrating on the steps this way, he’d reach the bottom safely.
He could see that the stairs didn’t go all the way to the ground and that at some point, he’d have to jump. He reminded himself to keep his injured finger out of the way this time and to roll with the force if he needed to.
He hit the final step and leaped off, hoping that the landing would be soft and that he could keep right on moving, racing far away from here.
Jack’s feet hit the grass and his knees buckled, but he managed to keep himself upright. He had just pushed off again when he was grabbed from behind and jerked back.
He tried to thrash his arms, but two much larger arms had pinned them down. So he kicked, kicked hard. He had to get free, had to keep going . . . !
The arms held tight. And Jack knew it was useless. He’d been caught. It was over.
He couldn’t believe it! After all he’d been through, trying so hard to keep his mother’s disappearance a secret. To keep her from getting in trouble. And he’d been so close to his goal, to doing the one thing that would tell her it was all OK. That he still loved her, no matter what.
With a heartbroken sob, Jack gave up. He stopped kicking. He stopped struggling. He just went limp.
“So, how’s the finger, kid?”
He knew that voice!
It wasn’t a cop! It was Big Jack!
Big Jack must have sensed the change in Jack. He loosened his hold, and Jack whipped around and hugged him round the middle.
“What are you doing here?” Jack blurted.
“Looking for you, that’s what. I can’t tell you how relieved I was when I got a call telling me they’d found you.”
Jack backed up. Big Jack was working with the police? He should have known he was just one more adult trying to trap him! To keep him from doing the one thing in the world he needed to do right now!
Jack glanced down the hill. Big Jack was, well, big. If he took off now, he could probably outrun him.
“Hey, talk to me. I’m not a bad guy. I can help,” Big Jack said in a real calm voice, like the kind you use with trapped animals.
“You’re not going to help,” said Jack, inching backward. “You’re just trying to turn me over to DSS like everyone else.”
“I’m just trying to do what’s best for you,” said Big Jack.
“What you think is best for me,” Jack countered. “No one cares about what I want.”
“Well, for starters,”