Sara's Game (21 page)

When he’d finished, Barker said, “You keep this up, I might be able to retire earlier than I thought.”

“Don’t buy your plane ticket yet.  We’ve got the who, and the what.  The how is shaky, but the where and why...zip, zilch, zero.  Can’t figure out what this game has to do with anything.”

Barker scooped the cup into the baggie, zipped it shut.  He said, “Sounds to me like she’s out for revenge of some sorts.  Maybe our buddy Brian talked too much about the wifey.  Miss Shelley can’t take it, comes up here to take care of business.”

DJ crossed his arms.  “Why not go after her directly?  Why get the kids involved?”

“She could’ve knifed her in a parking lot somewhere, but what fun would that be?  She’s hell-bent on revenge, she’d want to make it last, hit her where it hurts the most.”

“Sometimes your mind scares me.”

Barker tapped the side of his head.  “The more you think like them, the easier they are to catch.”

“Then where do we go from here?”

“JonJon, I’m afraid I’m done chasing my tail for the night.  Sleep on it, and we’ll start fresh in the morning.”

***

But DJ knew he
wouldn’t
be able to sleep on it.  Sure, he could go home, flop down on the couch, or eat another cold meal while Jessica read or watched another home improvement show.  Then, as always, when something about a case was bothering him, the inevitable tossing and turning would lead to an hour on the couch, surfing the internet at 4AM, or checking the refrigerator to see if something new had manifested itself out of the cold ether.  He’d crawl back into bed for another round of choppy, broken sleep, then eventually relent and head out to the garage for a quick 5K on the treadmill before the sun came up.

Instead of heading for home, as Barker had done, he made laps up and down Lombard Street, thinking, analyzing, trying to figure out where Shelley could've taken the kids.  He read the street signs, the same ones over and over.  Stopped for a cup of coffee at 7-11, chatted with the clerk for a couple of minutes about how they thought the Timbers were doing.  Got back in his unmarked sedan, resumed the slow march toward more unanswered questions.

What kind of game was she playing?  A literal game?  Figurative?  Back at the school, Sara had taken a phone call, and had rushed out in a panic.  Someone matching her description had been spotted naked in the Rose Gardens, and then there were reports of her running away.

This person was toying with Sara.  Had to be.  Playing with her, testing her, seeing how far she would go to save her children.  Humiliating her because she could.  Her game, her rules.

If Sara was running away, where was she going?  On to the next demeaning episode that Shelley had devised?  There were no reports or sightings of Sara since that morning.  She could be anywhere.  The kids could be anywhere.  Tens of thousands of buildings and homes.  Hidden away while Shelley got her revenge on a woman who had been nothing more than a victim of an unfaithful husband who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.

She could be dead by now.  All four of them.  They’d be found in the morning by some unlucky janitor making his early rounds, or a hiker who had taken a shortcut through the woods and managed to stumble across their bodies.

Don’t think like that.  There’s still time.

How many cases went unsolved each year?  How many times did a child go missing from a playground and never came home? 

No matter what the number might be, he refused to add to that total. 

Not them.  Not this time.  Barker will come up with something.

And what happens when Barker’s gone?  One of these days, you’re not going to have the luxury of his intuition.  One of these days, you’ll have to think for yourself.

His ringing cell phone was a welcome interruption.  “Johnson.”

“JonJon, got a call for you.”

“Davis?  What’re you still doing at the station?”

“Keeping you in a job.  You want me to patch her through or take a message?”

“Who is it?”

“Said she’s Sara Winthrop.”

She’s alive...
  “Put her through.”  He waited for the line to click over and said, “Sara?  You okay?  Find your kids?” 
Please say yes, please say yes...

“I know where they are, but I could use some help.”

“With what?  Where are you?  What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you when you get here.  Right now, I need an extra set of footsteps.  Come alone, because I think that’s the only way it’ll work.”

CHAPTER 22

SARA

Sara sat on a park bench within sight of Michael’s home.  It was in a neighborhood that she’d never been to before, full of houses in various stages of disrepair.  Missing shingles, sagging porches.  Yards that hadn’t been mowed in days, if not weeks.  Trash littered the sidewalk.  Shoes dangled from power lines. 

If he’d been telling the truth, her children were inside, bound and gagged, crying, suffering, wondering why their mother hadn’t come for them yet, wondering who this horrible stranger was who had been terrorizing them all day.

I’m coming, guys.  Mommy’s coming, but I have to be careful.  Just a little longer.

She had wrestled with the decision to get Detective Johnson involved, but as Michael had said, Sis would be expecting two sets of footsteps if she really
were
hiding in the basement with Lacey, Callie, and Jacob.

Her heartbeat hammered in her chest.  The ache to see their little faces again had grown to an overwhelming urge to
move
,
go
,
now
, but it clashed with the need to stay smart, stay focused, and play the game how Sis wanted it to be played.  One wrong move, one subtle slip, and she may never see them again, whether alive, or—God forbid—dead.

Roughly forty-five minutes had passed since their last communication, and Sis would be expecting a call or a text, or something, to let her know that it was time to start the third level. 

Misdirection
, she thought. 
That’s my only play here.  I don’t have time to come up with my own game.

She thought about all the times she’d hunkered around the large table in the LightPulse meeting room with a group of their sharpest minds brainstorming, plotting, hashing out ideas, trying to come up with a plethora of hazardous situations to throw at the laser gun-wielding heroes of
Juggernaut
.  Given that luxury and more time, with a notepad full of ideas and a corps of experts guiding her, outsmarting the villainess would’ve been simpler.  Not guaranteed, but manageable.  At least she’d have a shot.

But now, alone on the park bench, mind racing, no matter what form of trickery or deception she came up with, it all led to the ultimate consequence that she feared most.

Something terrible that she would be powerless to stop.

The only path that made any sense was playing the final level with advanced knowledge of what she was going into.  She had the information Michael had given her, but needed more.

She needed her very own cheat code.

Like back in the glory days of Nintendo games, when you could enter a set of keystrokes on the controller and gain extra lives.  Game programmers did it before then, and they were still doing it.  The LightPulse guys held contests to see who could come up with the most creative way to hide something within
Juggernaut
, and to this day, some of the winners had never been found.

That’s my advantage.  Her game becomes
my
game.

She opened the text window on Michael’s phone.

Be smart, but play dumb.

Michael says:  Stupid traffic.  Sitting at a dead stop.  Accident.

Michael says:  Mother Goose tried to convince me to turn on you.

The reply came swiftly.

Sis says:  Surprised it took her this long.

Sis says:  How far away?

Michael says:  Couple of miles.  Be there soon.  Kids okay?

Sis says:  YES, Michael.  Don’t start that shit again.

Sara stared at the keypad. 
How do I get her to tell me what’s coming?  What would he say?

Michael says:  Just want to make sure they’ll be safe. 

Michael says:  Tell me about this level again.  Did you change anything?

Michael says:  Can’t call.  She’s listening.

Sis says:  You KNOW what the plan is.

Sis says:  You disgust me.

Michael says:  Sorry.  Don’t want to disappoint you.

Sis says:  Too late for that.

Sis says:  But sometimes I worry Mother hit you too hard.

Sis says:  That hammer must have damaged your memory.

Michael says:  It did.  I remember some of it.

Michael says:  Traffic moving soon.  Please remind.

Sis says:  Jesus, you’re hopeless.  Read this, get here fast.  DO NOT text and drive.

Michael says:  Ok.

Sis says:  Bring her down to the basement.  I’ll be tied up, too.

Sis says:  You and Samson take the kids and leave.  DO NOT forget to loosen my knot.

Sis says:  Samson is no longer needed, got it?  Kids, your choice.

Sis says:  The rest is up to me.  Can’t wait to see the look on her face.

Sis says:  Betrayed by her sweet little assistant.  So much fun.

Sara stared the final text, hands shaking.  The butterflies in her stomach thrashed around like they were on fire. 

It had been Shelley all along.  She had suspected, guessed, changed her mind, and then back again, but now she had confirmation.

Copying Brian’s exact wave earlier that morning, that one slip-up on the phone, coaxing Teddy out of the office.  And even earlier, back further, back to her interview, wooing Sara with all the facts she knew about her, all the research she’d done, her insistence that she only wanted to work with the best.  The now-empty compliments of Sara’s skill at her profession.  It embarrassed Sara to realize how shallow she’d been.  The flattery had worked.  She’d hired Shelley a week later.

Next came the offers to run errands for her, pick up the kids, visit her house, babysit.  Work herculean hours to impress her, to win her trust.  Every single move made over the past couple of months designed to get as close as she possibly could to Sara, to be involved with her, learn about her, get
inside
her.  To get revenge on the other woman because Brian wanted to leave. 

The betrayer had become the betrayed.

The level of duplicity was incomprehensible.

Sara blamed herself for not seeing through it, for allowing Shelley into her life, for welcoming the evil into her home with open arms. 

I couldn’t have known.  She was flawless.

The other phone rang beside her. 

Be careful, be careful, be careful.  You don’t know anything.

She answered, “Hello?”

“There you are, Sara.  I’ve been told that you misbehaved, that you had a difficult decision to make during the last level.”  The familiar, digitized, apathetic voice rolling lazily through the words.

“Can I talk to them?”

“When I’m ready.  How’d it feel?”

“How did what feel?”

“Choosing whether someone lives or dies.  You may get to make that choice again when you get here.  Welcome to Level Three.  I like to call it...
Consequences.
”

“You can call it a hot dog eating contest, for all I care.  I’m sick of this bullshit.”  She was pushing the limits, she knew, but the vitriol was expected, and she hoped she hadn’t pushed too far.  Maintaining her façade might not be possible if she heard another yelp of pain.

“Now, now, Sara.  These outbursts will not be tolerated.  Don’t forget who’s in control of the situation.”

If you only knew, Shelley.  You’ve seriously screwed with the wrong woman.

“Can we please get this over with?  Just tell me what to do.”

“Your companion will deliver you to the proper location.  Then, and only then, will the rules of the final level be revealed.  But, before I go, you do have a question left for this round.  Pity you lost your chance during the last level.  It may have been helpful, but you’ll never know now, will you?  For this round, the same rules apply.  You may ask at the beginning or at the end.  However, asking at the end may only be possible if you’re still...
alive
.”

She pretended to stammer, to think it over.  “I’ll—I think I should ask—no, I’ll save it.”

I don’t know what it’ll be, but you better believe you won’t see it coming.

“What a shame, Sara.  Such a...such a waste.  I was prepared to tell you the truth about whatever you might ask.  But now that you’ve chosen, we must proceed.”

She knew it wouldn’t be allowed, but she asked anyway, to keep the ruse going.  “Can I talk to them now?”

“I’m afraid not, Sara.  Not part of the rules, but it does remind me that I haven’t heard a scream in a while.  I must admit, my ears do miss that beautiful sound.  We’ll see you soon enough.  Maybe I’ll let you listen along with me, and I hope you’re ready for this,” the voice said, then hung up.

Sara stood, walked to the nearest trashcan, and slung the phone in with the rest of the garbage.

I hope you’re ready for
me
, Shelley
.

***

While she waited for DJ, a young couple pushed a stroller past Sara on the sidewalk.  Early thirties, probably their first child, one happy family on their way to years of laughter and smiles and more babies.  Soccer games, gold stars, high school graduation, college diploma, and then bundles of grandchildren they could spoil rotten.

It reminded her of the early days with Brian.  The plans they’d made, all the fun they’d had picking out matching outfits for Lacey and Callie, listening to the same princess cartoon relentlessly playing on repeat until the DVD gave out and stopped working.  Brian had joked that the thing waved the white flag on its own and said something about how all DVDs go to heaven, except for that one, because it deserved its own special place in Hell for the hell it’d put them through.