The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires - Grady Hendrix Page 0,98

they couldn’t find the plug for. She undid the rubber bands on the dog food cabinet handles and looked inside. There was a shoebox of gas station road maps in one corner. Did they really need all these?

“You can’t go around with your head in the sand, Patty,” Carter said.

She’d have to go through the junk drawer. She pulled it open. What were all these bits and pieces for? She wanted to dump them all in the trash, but what if one of them was an important part of something expensive?

“Are you even listening to me?” Carter asked. “What are you doing?”

“I’m cleaning out the kitchen cabinets,” Patricia said.

“This is not the time,” Carter said. “We need to figure out what’s going on with our son.”

“I’m leaving,” Blue said.

They turned. Blue stood in the doorway to the den with his backpack on. It wasn’t his school backpack but the other one with the broken strap that he kept in his closet.

“It’s after dark,” Carter said. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“How’re you going to stop me?” Blue asked.

“We’re having supper in an hour,” Patricia said.

“I can handle this, Patty,” Carter said. “Blue, go upstairs until your mother calls you for supper.”

“Are you going to padlock my bedroom door?” Blue asked. “Because if not, I’m leaving. I don’t want to be in this house anymore. You just want to give me a bunch of pills and make me a zombie.”

Carter sighed and stepped forward to better explain things. “No one’s making you a zombie,” he said. “We’re—”

“You can’t stop me from doing anything,” Blue snarled.

“If you step out that door I’ll call the police and report you as a runaway,” Carter said. “They’ll bring you home in handcuffs and you’ll have a criminal record. Is that what you want?”

Blue glowered at them.

“You suck!” Blue screamed, and stormed out of the den.

They heard him run up the stairs and slam his bedroom door. Korey turned her music up louder.

“I did not realize things had gotten this bad,” Carter said. “I’m going to change my flight and come back a day early. Obviously, this has to be dealt with.”

He continued talking as Patricia began organizing the old cookbooks. He was explaining the Ritalin options to her—time release, dosages, coatings—when Blue came back into the den holding his hands behind his back.

“If I leave the house you’re calling the police?” he asked.

“I don’t want to do that, Blue,” Carter said. “But you’ll be leaving me with no choice.”

“Good luck calling the police without any phone cords,” Blue said.

He pulled his hands out and for a moment Patricia thought he held spaghetti noodles, and then she realized he was holding the cords to their telephones. Before the sight had fully registered, he ran out of the den and she and Carter trotted after him, getting to the front hall just as the door slammed. By the time they were on the porch, Blue had vanished into the twilight murk.

“I’ll get the flashlight,” Patricia said, turning to go back inside.

“No,” Carter said. “He’ll come home the minute he’s cold and hungry.”

“What if he gets to Coleman Boulevard and someone offers him a ride?” Patricia asked.

“Patty,” Carter said. “I admire your imagination, but that’s not going to happen. Blue is going to wander around the Old Village and sneak back home in an hour. He didn’t even take a jacket.”

“But—” she began.

“I do this for a living, remember?” he said. “I’m going to run to Kmart and pick up some new phone cords. He’ll be back before I am.”

* * *

—

He wasn’t. After supper, Patricia kept clearing out the kitchen cabinets, watching the numbers on the microwave clock crawl from 6:45, to 7:30, to a minute after eight.

“Carter,” she said. “I really think we need to do something.”

“Discipline takes discipline,” he said.

She pulled the garbage cans around to the front porch and dropped the