When the Wind Blows - James Patterson [28]
He had always been good, obedient. Matthew did know that. He hated that Uncle Prick Thomas said “pinkie swear.” That was something between Max and him, nobody else. They would join pinkies and make a promise to each other, “pinkie swear” on it. Just Max and him.
He was busted now, though. No way out. The boy rose up on his wobbly legs. Man, he was shivering all over: legs, arms, the muscles of his face, even his butt. He was filthy, too, smelled awful, and it embarrassed him.
He peeked out of the hiding place.
There was Uncle Thomas. Several of his henchmen were with him. Man, he wanted to trust them. He even kind of wanted to go home.
“Ah, there you are, Matthew. There you are,” Uncle Thomas said. He sounded nice enough, sounded like a friend.
Uncle Thomas watched the stunning blond boy walk slowly forward. Matthew was good-looking, just like his sister. His wings were off-white, with silver and navy blue markings. An extraordinary specimen.
Matthew loved to tell jokes, and he told one now. He told jokes when he was nervous or scared. “If you shoot a mime,” he said, “should you use a silencer? Hardee-har-har.”
Uncle Thomas fired once. No silencer was necessary. Matthew, the good boy, flopped down hard on the forest floor.
Book Two
TINKERBELL LIVES
Chapter 27
HARDING THOMAS sat on the ground beside nine-year-old Matthew. He spoke softly, even tenderly. “I’m sorry I had to use a stun gun on you. You know that I love you and Max.”
Matthew’s eyes were red-rimmed and still tearing. It was hard not to feel pity for the small boy, but Thomas knew this wasn’t a time for sentimentality. He had a job to do.
“I don’t believe what you say anymore,” Matthew whispered.
“You used to believe me, Matthew. We were friends. I’m here now because I’m your friend. There was talk of putting you to sleep. I disagreed. I couldn’t do that to you, son. Now I want you to help me find Max. You have to help me save her.”
Matthew spoke so softly it was difficult to hear him. “What do I do? How can I save my sister?”
Thomas nodded approval and he finally smiled at the boy. “I want you to fly, and then call out for Max. You’re the only one who can save Max.”
He showed something—it looked like a length of fishing line, a large spool.
“Listen to me closely,” he said, “this clear line is impossible to break. They use it to catch thousand-pound tuna in the Pacific. I’m giving you a hundred yards of line to run with. You follow me?”
“Yes, Uncle Thomas.”
“You are a good boy, and you’re helping me save Max. Only you can save her now. Don’t forget that.”
Uncle Thomas attached the tether to a khaki vest around Matthew’s chest and waist. The other end was strung around a thick oak that sat high on the side of the mountain. This was as good as it was going to get. The trap for Max was set.
Thomas checked the tether to make sure it was secure. He had grown up on farms and ranches. He knew about animals and birds, how to treat them.
“Go ahead and fly. You have my permission. You also have my permission to call out for your sister. Now, fly! Go and fly, Matthew.”
Matthew did as he was told. He couldn’t wait to get off the ground. With a sudden flourish he unfurled his wings. He ran as fast as he could away from the big oak until he figured he had enough speed for liftoff.
He flapped his wings hard and they appeared to unhinge. Then Matthew was airborne. He banked in a slow circle, drifting down a lazy vortex toward the rising sun.
He felt so free that for a few breathtaking seconds he almost forgot what he was doing, why he was up here.
But then he heard Uncle Thomas from his hiding place below. He hadn’t believed a word that had come out of Thomas’s mouth. He and the other guards were down there with rifles. They were a firing squad. They were killers, and they were going to shoot Max down as soon as she appeared.
“You call for her! I don’t hear you yet, Matthew!”
Matthew flew out as far away as he could from Thomas and his taunting voice