The Midnight Club_ A Novel - James Patterson [101]
“We want you to know that your little boy is fine…He’s safe as he can be. Not a hair on his head has been harmed,” she heard.
Then the telephone wire went dead.
Sarah leaned up against the wall. She couldn’t take any more of this. Her heart physically ached. She was suddenly trembling all over, her hands, her entire body.
Who had that been on the telephone? Why were they calling her now, then hanging up? What did it mean—your little boy is fine?
There was nothing else they could take from her. So why had they called to say that? Sam wasn’t fine at all. How could he be fine?
Who was the call from? St.-Germain? The Club? She didn’t understand the kidnapping, and now this call. But why should she suddenly understand the inner workings of the Club?
Sarah stayed within steps of her telephone for the remainder of the interminable day. During the early afternoon, she noticed her reflection in the mirror in the foyer. It startled her. She had never looked so drawn, so completely exhausted. Sagging black and purplish bags hung beneath both eyes. Her hair looked as if she’d used it to dust the apartment…. Where were they keeping Sam? What could they want from her now? What could they possibly want?
There was no follow-up phone call the next day. Twenty-four hours passed, with nothing but the torture of her inner thoughts to occupy her.
Keeping her mind in this nightmarish state was clearly part of the plan. Why, though? For what purpose?
She couldn’t go outside her apartment without meeting reporters camped like an aging neighborhood gang on Sixty-sixth Street. They wouldn’t leave her alone, and suddenly Sarah understood what it was like for victims besieged by newspeople after a tragedy.
She felt as if she had visible open wounds, and the newspapers and TV reporters were shamelessly picking at them. She had never been brutal at these kinds of news scenes herself, but she had certainly been a part of them. Only now did she understand what it felt like on the other side; to be besieged for news the public “deserved to know.”
One morning, when Sarah was short-tempered with the reporters, they sharply reminded her that she, of all people, ought to know better. She did know better, she told them. And so should they.
She visited New York Hospital again that same afternoon. Stefanovitch had just undergone a major operation.
The only blessing was that his doctor was excellent, a tireless healer named Michael Petito. Dr. Petito wasn’t one to dispense false hope or a misleading prognosis, however. He told Sarah that he didn’t know if Lieutenant Stefanovitch was going to come out of it.
Finally, someone had at least told her the truth.
97
“WE WANT YOU to do something for us, Sarah…If you do it, we’ll bring your little boy home to you.”
The second phone call came as suddenly and unexpectedly as the first.
Both times, Sarah could picture the man who had taken Sam on Park Avenue. That moment was still so vivid in her memory.
“Yes… What do you want? Please,” she whispered hoarsely into the receiver. She knew she was hoping against hope: she was truly desperate now…
The telephone had woken Sarah from a rare sleep on Friday morning. She tried to concentrate on each word she heard. She needed to understand and remember every nuance.
The voice on the phone told her what to do next and what the consequences would be if she didn’t. It was all put very clearly.
At the end of the conversation, the caller even offered a measure of reassurance.
“There is no need for you to worry about your little boy. We want you to get your son back. It’s up to you. If you cooperate on this one thing, he’s as good as home….We don’t want any more attention drawn to us.”
It was all up to Sarah. The explanation had been that simple. She had her instructions to follow. Whether she trusted the caller or not, she had no choice but to go.
As she drove north toward the upstate New York village of