A few small Problems

D iane was so frightened, she felt like screaming.

Her impulse was to honk the horn, to signal Pres that he had to get out of there.

“What’s keeping him? What’s keeping him?”

Couldn’t he find Reva’s room? He claimed he had scoped it out, that he knew where it was.

He claimed this was going to be a breeze. No big deal.

So where was he?

Was Reva giving him trouble? Did he run into someone else in the house? Had they captured him? Knocked him unconscious? Tied him up? Called the police?

What? What? What?

A million questions roared through her head. But they were being drowned out by the shrill sirens.

Closer. Closer.

It’s the police, Diane knew. And they’re only a few blocks away.

Pres set off an alarm. I’ve got to get out of here. But how can I leave him?

She rolled down the window, the sound of the sirens growing even louder. She stuck her head out and stared up the driveway.

Pres—please hurry! Please!

We’re going to be caught.

Can’t you hear the sirens? We’re going to be caught!

• • •

“Good m-morning!” Pres stammered in a high, tight voice he didn’t recognize.

He stepped into Reva’s bedroom.

And stared at the bed.

The empty bed.

The pillow lay on the floor. The blankets had been tossed in a heap on the floor. White- and red-striped pajamas were balled up in a corner of the bed.

Pres took in the empty room, his mouth hanging open. Stunned, he froze, still as a statue.

He stared hard, as if staring would make her appear.

As if he were only imagining that the bedroom was empty.

“Hey—” The sound of his own voice snapped him back to reality. “Hey—”

Then he heard the sirens.

The bedroom window was open just a crack. The flimsy white curtains fluttered gently. The rise and fall of the shrill sirens floated in through the window.

Sirens?

So close?

“Oh, wow!” Pres uttered.

He realized instantly what had happened. He must have set off a silent burglar alarm when he broke the window in back. A burglar alarm hooked up to the Shadyside police.

Now they were on their way. Almost here, judging by the sirens.

And there he stood, staring at an empty, unmade bed.

“Aaaagh!” A roar of anger and frustration burst from his chest.

“Reva—where are you?” he screamed.

Then, gaining control, he turned and ran from the room.

Into the long, sunny hall, his sneakers padding over the thick white carpet, his shadow fleeing just ahead of him.

Past Dalby’s luxurious bedroom.

To the shiny-banistered stairway.

Reva—where are you? Where did you go?

How did you escape?

How did you mess up my plans?

Down the stairs, two at a time, leaning on the sleek banister, the pistol still in his hand.

The front hallway a blur of green and brown. The front door his only obstacle to escape.

Pres fumbled with the chain. The sirens sounded as if they were right outside. In the driveway?

No. Please—no.

He turned the lock. He pulled open the heavy oak door.

Outside now, he ran down the driveway. Ran past the still-unconscious dog. Ran so fast his chest felt about to burst.

“Diane!” He called her name as he pulled open the passenger door and dived into the seat. The sirens were so loud now, so loud and close. Just around the corner.

“Diane—go!”

“But—but—Reva—?” She gaped at him, her features twisted in confusion.

“Just drive!” he screamed. “Go!”

“Okay, Pres!”

Diane grabbed the wheel with both hands, leaned forward, stepped on the gas—and the car stalled out.

Дата добавления: 2015-07-20