Back Before Dark (2 page)

C
RM 9147. CRM 9147. CRM 9147.
School Drive curved north, and Cooper kept pushing around the bend. It was stupid, hopeless—but he couldn’t stop.

No van in sight. It could have turned on Sigwalt. Or on Campbell. It could have turned west or east and be lost in the maze of streets.

“Cooper, stop.” Lunk raced to catch up, not more than fifty feet behind him, his legs furiously pumping on the tiny bike. “Give it up. Call 9-1-1!”

He was right. Cooper clamped on the brakes and fishtailed to a stop.
CRM 9147. CRM 9147. CRM 9147.
He dug in his pocket for his phone and punched in the numbers with a shaky hand. Lunk skidded to a halt beside him and rested a foot on the pavement. He looked like he’d just been scraped off it.

Cooper pushed SEND and glanced beyond Lunk. No sign of Hiro.

CRM-

“9-1-1”

“CRM 1917. CRM 1917.” He gulped in air. “That’s the plate on the van.”

“Have you been hit?”

“No—some guy in a van just grabbed my cousin. Gordon Digby.”

“What’s your name?” Her voice sounded way too calm.

“C-Cooper MacKinnon. Listen, you gotta help him.”

“Where did this abduction take place?”

“At the edge of Kimball Park. Behind the Jewel Osco grocery.”

“How old is your cousin?”

“Fourteen.” He pressed a fist in his side to ease the cramp.

“Can you describe the van?”

“Minivan. Silver. Illinois plates. And that number I told you. CRM 1997. I memorized it.” He struggled to catch his breath. “Please—get the police going on this. He’s going to get away.” Cooper glanced down the street, feeling a sudden urge to hop back on his bike and keep looking for Gordy. Crazy, stupid thinking.

“Police have already been dispatched. We received a call just before yours.”

Hiro.
It had to be. Still no sight of her.

“I chased him on my bike. He turned west onto School from Meadow. I lost him where School curves north toward Campbell.”

“Can you repeat that license number?”

“CRM 1997.”

“You’re sure on that one—it’s different from the first one you gave me.”

“What?” Fear gripped his stomach and twisted.

“CRM 1917 or CRM 1997?”

They both sounded right. “The first one. I’m sure of it.” He tried to concentrate. Suddenly he wasn’t so sure at all.

“Cooper, I want you to stay where you are. Do you understand?”

He
didn’t
understand. He had to do something. Help find Gordy, somehow. Call Dad.

“Cooper? I’m going to send a police car to pick you up. Where are you?”

A police car to pick
him
up? “Why? Send every car out looking for Gordy.”

“The police will need to ask you questions to help find your cousin.”

In the meantime the driver would vanish. “A silver minivan,” Cooper said. “CNR 1917. Have them stop every silver van they see.”

“The police have the vehicle description. They’re already on it. I’ve forwarded the plate numbers. Now tell me where they can find you.”

Cooper wanted to scream. How long had they been on the phone? A minute? The van could be on Route 53 by now. Every passing second gave the sick-o kidnapper a bigger lead. “I’ll bike to the station. Don’t waste a cop by sending one for me.”

He pressed “End” and disconnected before the 9-1-1 operator could lose any more time.

“Where’s Hiro?”

Lunk motioned with his head, still panting. “Gordy’s bike.”

“Let’s go.” Cooper wanted to get to her. To make sure she was okay. And maybe to hear her tell
him
everything was going to be okay. But turning his bike in the opposite direction from where he last saw Gordy seemed wrong. Like he was abandoning him,
again.

Ridiculous.
Cooper couldn’t help Gordy by chasing after him on a bike. The police were on it. They’d get him. They
had
to. Right now he needed to see Hiro. And call Dad.

The entire conversation with Dad took less than a minute, or so he thought. The alarm in Dad’s voice fueled Cooper’s panic. He felt dizzy, hot, then cold.
I’m going to be sick.
Cooper shook his head and swallowed it down. Dad and Uncle Jim were going to look for the minivan. That gave him hope. He turned to Lunk. “Let’s find Hiro.”

The rain started up again within seconds of hanging up with Dad. Like the clouds couldn’t hold back their tears. Big splotches exploded on the pavement. The earthy smell of spring rose up from the ground as plain as if someone had been digging a hole. Only it wasn’t just a hole. It was a grave—and Gordy was headed for it if
the cops didn’t find that van. Cooper picked up the pace, and the rain matched his rhythm.

He raised his chin, letting the rain hit him full in the face. He wished it was hail. He
deserved
it. Why didn’t he see the trap sooner?

“What did 9-1-1 say?”

Lunk’s voice rattled him back to the moment.

“Hiro got a call in ahead of me,” Cooper said. “They already dispatched police. They might even be pulling him over right now.”

Lunk didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. By the look on his face Gordy was already buried in that grave.

They turned into the back entrance of the food store parking lot and scooted between the building and the fence. Hiro knelt by Gordy’s bike, praying. Cooper felt another twist. He’d gotten a call off to 9-1-1 but hadn’t thought to call on God. Stupid.

She heard them approaching and stood, a phone clutched in each hand. One was hers. The other, Gordy’s. It must have fallen out of his pocket when the guy grabbed him.

Hiro’s eyes held a strange combination of hope and despair.

Cooper pulled alongside her and threw down his bike. “I couldn’t keep up.” His own words sounded choked, like somebody had him in a bear hug. “I called 9-1-1.”

“Me too.” She pulled her braid in front of her and twisted it around her finger again and again. Rain glistened off her black hair under the streetlight. “This shouldn’t happen. Not to Gordy. And not here. I mean, this is Rolling Meadows.”

Cooper picked up Gordy’s bike and brushed the dirt off the frame with a corner of his shirt. Lunk held Cooper’s bike for him. The whole thing felt upside down. Totally wrong.

“Cooper got the plates,” Lunk said.

Hope flickered in Hiro’s eyes. “I prayed you got them. I tried, but when you pulled ahead of me …”

She didn’t have to finish. Cooper got the picture. He had actually blocked her from getting a clear view of the plates.

“What’s the number?” Hiro pulled a pen out of her jeans pocket.

“CNN—no, wait, CMN.”

Hiro jotted both CNN and CMN right on her hand—her pen hovering over it for more instructions.

“CMN 1997.” He repeated the number in the same cadence in his head.
CMN 1997. CMN 1997. CMN 1997. Yeah. That sounded right.

Hiro wrote it down, looked at it, and nodded. She’d memorized it.

A police cruiser took the corner and pulled down the alleyway—fast. His lights were on, but not the siren. The driver rolled his window down. “Did you make the 9-1-1 call?”

Cooper nodded. “Did you find him?”

The cop hustled out of the car. “All three of you witnesses to the abduction?”

“Yeah—did you find him?” Cooper searched his face.

“I need you to come to the station.” He dodged the question again. Not a good sign.

Cooper looked back toward Meadow Drive—as if the van might drive back around the corner and drop Gordy off. Like it had all been some kind of crazy mistake.

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Son, we need you to come to the station. We’ve got some questions for you.”

“Why aren’t you looking for him?
He
needs the help—not us.”

The cop hunkered his shoulders as if trying to duck out of the rain. “We’re on it. Every squad car on the street. And Arlington Heights, Barrington, Palatine, Schaumburg, county, and even the state police are being pulled into the search.”

It was dark now. So incredibly dark.

Cooper felt himself trembling. “We can search too. We’ll ride with you. Help you look for the van.”

“The biggest help you can be to your friend right now is to give us every detail of what you saw. C’mon. I’ll slide your bikes into my trunk and drive you to the station. Get you out of this rain.”

Cooper didn’t want a ride to the station. He wanted to find Gordy. Nothing else mattered. And if they wouldn’t let him do that, he’d rather stay right where he was. When you’re out in the rain, nobody notices you’re crying.

Five minutes earlier his only concern was getting home before dark. Now he never would. None of them would. The dark had swallowed Gordy whole.

G
ordy lay trembling on the minivan floor. Face down—his head and shoulders between the driver and passenger seats. The bag or whatever the guy used to cover his face was mostly off now. The carpet below his face felt wet from his tears or spit or snot. Probably all three. He tasted blood. He bit his tongue when he got zapped. He’d never felt pain like that before. Wicked, searing, total pain.

Gordy could see the man driving. Gloved hands gripped the wheel. Dark sunglasses. Baseball cap pulled low, but part of his face visible. Not that it would do Gordy any good. The man had a full beard that looked as bogus as the hair sticking out from under his cap.
I gotta get out of here.

He tightened and loosened the muscles in his legs. His strength was back, and he wasn’t tied—hands or feet.
Get to that side door. Roll it open and jump.
Gordy positioned his hands under him so he could push up and bolt.

The man picked the taser off his lap and aimed it at Gordy. “Stay.”

The man’s voice sounded unnaturally hoarse. Disguised in some way. And he talked to Gordy like he was a dog. And he’d be a dead one unless he did something.

The man shot glances back and forth from Gordy to the
windshield. “Hands behind your head.” A red laser dot from the taser gun quivered on Gordy’s T-shirt like it was in a frenzied search for a place to bore right through him.

Gordy eased his hands over his head—afraid any sudden move would unleash the man’s demon gun. Gordy knotted his fingers behind his head but kept his head turned just enough to eyeball the taser, watching for a chance to make his break.

Again a turn, and the man brought his gun hand to the wheel.
Now.
Gordy piked and spun, lunging for the sliding door.

The man slammed on the brakes, throwing Gordy into the back of the driver’s seat. Gordy fought inertia and clawed at the door handle.

Pain exploded in his side and Gordy dropped instantly. The demon gun pinned him to the floor and unleashed a monster inside him. Like sulfuric acid raging in his veins, the torture pulsed through his rigid, convulsing body. Fists clenched, Gordy was unable to scream or move—or stop the hurt.

And just as suddenly, the pain stopped—and the rabid taser-demon inside him skulked away. But not completely. It threw a fit in Gordy’s stomach … stirring a cauldron of fear. Slick with sweat, Gordy panted and lay completely still, afraid to even to wipe the tears from his eyes.
No more. No more. Please, no more.

The vehicle came to a hard stop, and an instant later the side door swung open. Strong hands grabbed him and pulled him out of the van. One hand clearly held the taser.

“Wrists together.”

Gordy obeyed immediately—but kept his hands if front of him rather than behind his back. Where was Cooper? Did he call the police? What was this monster gonna do with him?

The man slipped a nylon zip-tie around Gordy’s wrists and ratcheted it tight. Now he’d really done it. There was no chance for escape. Gordy looked around. They were indoors. A garage with sheets of plywood covering the windows.
Not good. Not good.

Taser-man pulled a length from a roll of duct tape and covered
Gordy’s right eye. He did the same with the left, then patted the edges on all sides as if to be sure Gordy couldn’t see. Which was total overkill, because now even his eyelids were stuck to the tape.

“Phone?”

“Right front pocket,” Gordy answered immediately. If the man didn’t think he was cooperating, he might sic the taser on him again. And he wouldn’t see it coming.

The man patted down Gordy’s pocket, then checked the others. There was no phone to be found. Maybe it had fallen out in the minivan. Wherever it was, it wouldn’t do him any good now.

A door opened, and Taser-man guided Gordy through it, steering him by his shoulders.

“Move.” The man stood behind him, prodding him along.

The room smelled stale. Lacked the scent of life. If he was in a home, nothing was cooking for dinner.

Gordy held his bound hands in front of him to keep from bumping into anything. “Please mister, let me go.” He hit one wall and the sound echoed, like the room was empty. “This is a mistake. My parents don’t have any money.”

Taser-man tightened his grip on Gordy’s shoulders and forced him to make a hard right turn as if that was all the answer he intended to give.

“Steps,” he said.

Up or down, Gordy wasn’t sure. He slowed and shuffled, feeling his way forward. He felt the edge with one foot.
Down.
He inched ahead, and stepped down the first step. Then a second and a third. Wood steps. Hollow sounding. Damp, musty air wrapping around his legs, his body … with every step he descended. What was this guy going to do to him? He wanted to turn and bulldoze the guy over. Rip the duct tape from his eyes and run for his life.

“Two more.”

Gordy took the final steps with the sickening feeling he was descending into his own tomb.

The man prodded Gordy deeper into the room. “Don’t pick the
tape off your eyes until I leave.” He forced something metal into Gordy’s hands. “Flashlight. No extra batteries. Water in the corner. Food too. Make it last.”

Make it last
? How long was this guy intending to keep him here?

“Hold still.”

Something cold wrapped around his ankle. He heard a metallic click. A shackle of some sort. He moved his foot and heard the sound of a chain dragging.

Gordy’s mouth felt dry. “Please, I want to go home.”

“For now,” Taser-man said, “this is your home.”

Gordy heard the man back away … the sound of fine pieces of gravel, or maybe sand, crunching under his feet.

“Now,” the man said, still using that hoarse whisper. “I’ve got babysitter cams hidden. Outside too. I’ll be watching you. And read the note.”

The man’s footsteps echoed up the stairway. A heavy-sounding door slammed and a latch or some kind of lock was being secured on the other side. Gordy strained to hear anything, but the moment the door slammed, the place went silent. Was the man still here?

Gordy picked at the duct tape to pull it free. His skin seemed to have bonded with it like super glue. He didn’t dare rip the tape off fast and hard for fear the eyelid would go with it. He worked it off slowly, doing the best he could with his wrists tied together. It felt like half his eyebrows stayed with the duct tape. He opened his eyes to darkness. The room was blacker than the kidnapper’s heart. He balled the duct tape and threw it to the side.

I have to find a way out of this place.
He fumbled with the flashlight, trembling fingers searching for the switch. The absolute blackness of the basement wrapped around him as tightly as the nylon cords binding his wrists. He needed light. Something to push back the darkness.

After flicking on the flashlight, he started a slow sweep of the room. He caught his breath and felt his legs go weak.