The Stolen - Jason Pinter [70]
to search the place. My goodness, if this is all true..."
"Does this mean I'm back on the story?" I asked.
"One step at a time, Parker," he said. I knew this was
as good as a yes. "Right now, all we need to do is..."
Just then a loud commotion began outside the conference
room. We turned around, could see cops running, grabbing
equipment, heading out the door. They looked panicked.
"What the hell...?" Curt said.
We got up simultaneously and headed outside. Half a
dozen cops jogged by us.
"What's going on?" Amanda asked nobody in particular. We saw the fat cop from earlier rushing past. Wallace
managed to get his attention.
"Officer, what's going on?"
"Four-alarm blaze," he said. "Possible survivors
trapped inside the building."
"Oh, God," Amanda said.
"Where?" Wallace asked.
"Not sure exactly," the cop said. "Somewhere off
Huntley Terrace."
"Huntley Terrace," Amanda said. "Isn't that...?"
198
Jason Pinter
I nodded, a chill running through my blood. "That's the
street where we followed Petrovsky."
Wallace stood rigid. "Come on," he said. There was
urgency in his voice, but something else as well. Something scared.
We ran outside. Wallace led us to a brown Volvo. We
piled in; he and Curt in the front, Amanda and I in the back.
He pulled out of the lot and followed the caravan of HCPD
police cars as they peeled out, sirens blaring.
The silence in the car was deafening. Nobody wanting
to state what was clearly on all our minds. What we were
all praying wouldn't be true.
After several miles the caravan made a right onto
Huntley Terrace. Amanda nudged me. I nodded back to her.
I felt her hand take mine. And squeeze.
"This is where we were last night," I said.
Wallace just drove.
A few miles along Huntley Terrace, we noticed the
flashing lights multiply. I heard the familiar siren of a fire
truck. Then the horrible stench of smoke filled the car, and
we could see a thick, black cloud rising above the treeline.
We parked the car outside the road the cop cars had turned
onto. There was a small wooden sign outside the gravel
road that read "482." It had been too dark to see any signs
the other night. We got out and began to tentatively walk
down the road to see what was going on. There was
shouting, cursing, and there were more sirens on the way.
My heart was hammering in my chest. We all stayed
close together. And then there they were. The same metal
gates we'd climbed over last night. Beyond that the very
house where we'd barely escaped with our lives.
Only now the house was engulfed in a horrific plumage
of red flames. Burning that home right to the very ground.
24
The minivan pulled into the parking lot at a quarter to four
in the afternoon. Caroline watched as Bob Reed pushed
open the driver's-side door, then paused a moment to let
the muscles in his arm and shoulder stretch. He gingerly
stepped out one foot at a time, then threw his arms back
in an exaggerated stretch, yawning at the top of his lungs.
The were outside of some sort of hotel or motel.
Caroline could see other people entering and exiting. She
didn't know where they were or why they were here, only
that Elaine and Bob had spent nearly the whole car ride in
a chilly silence.
When Bob regained his composure, Elaine was out and
opening the minivan's door. Caroline watched as Elaine
unbuckled Patrick's seat belt, then picked her child up and
held him fast in her arms. Caroline felt a longing as she
watched this intimate act, and even though both Elaine and
Bob smothered her with kisses and presents, they always
felt somewhat odd, forced. Last night, when Elaine entered
her room with the curt instructions to get ready for a long
car trip, Caroline didn't know what to think. She was too
confused to be scared, and she hadn't been in that house
long enough to really miss it. After placing Patrick on the
200
Jason Pinter
ground, Elaine came around to her side. She stroked
Caroline's hair, her fingers gentle, and Caroline smiled at
the warmth of her fingertips. She gently