Period 8 - By Chris Crutcher Page 0,63

Oh God! Hannah would have called his number and Rankin would have answered. Fuck! I should have called her from Ron’s phone. He slams his fist into his palm. Nobody even knows she’s involved in this. He races toward his car. She’s gotta be in trouble— on Rankin’s radar if he answered my cell. The screen display would have said simply “Murph.” Rankin wouldn’t know who that is . . . unless he’s talking with Arney. . . .

I can’t fucking think! Cops will be looking for Rankin but they won’t know to cover Hannah. He starts the Beetle, speeds toward Hannah’s house. I’m gonna make sure she’s okay and then I’m gonna find Stack. He’s gotta be going to jail for whatever the fuck he’s into, but before he does, I’m gonna kick his ass.

.18

Habit forces him to park a block away from Hannah’s house even though her parents are probably asleep. He can get to her by throwing rocks at the window.

He closes the car door gently, leaves the Beetle unlocked to avoid the short horn beep, and walks down the block. The living room light glows dimly through the pulled curtain and he tries to guess whether it’s Hannah or her parents who are up this late.

Then he spots Arney’s car parked directly across the street. He crouches, rushes into the bushes of a neighbor’s yard, waits. Seeing no movement inside the car he steals up on the driver’s side from behind. Empty. Arney is either lurking outside, or he’s gotten in. The light in the living room this late makes the latter more likely. Please, God! If you’re there . . . Please!

He slips back across the street and moves into the flower bed below the living room window, raises his head, hoping for a slight part in the curtains.

No such luck.

He circles to the back of the house. If Arney’s in there, he had to get in, which means an unlocked window or back door somewhere. One by one he tests them.

A low window at the back of the house swings loosely on its hinges. Paulie props it open with a stick and drops into the unfinished basement, standing still as death.

He hears voices. Stealing up the stairs, carefully placing his weight at the outer edge of each step, he pictures the layout; this staircase opens into the kitchen, across the room is a swinging door leading to the living room.

He steps into the kitchen.

“. . . shouldn’t have done that.” Arney’s voice. “You made me hurt you.”

He hears a man groan, a woman sob. The groan has to be Hannah’s dad. The sobs are her mother’s.

“Your daughter and I are going to take a ride,” Arney says. “If you call the cops, or if the cops just happen to show, I’ll kill her. You know I’ll do it. Soon as I think I’m far enough gone, and if you folks haven’t been stupid enough to send for help, I’ll let her go. Understand?”

“Arney . . .” Hannah’s voice is low.

“Shut the fuck up! You did this! If you hadn’t been calling Baum like the two-timing bitch you are, I’d have just disappeared.”

“I told you—”

“I said shut up. It’s not you I’ll hurt. But you’ll watch.” He nods toward Hannah’s sobbing mother.

Hannah is quiet.

“Better,” Arney says. “Now let’s go.”

“Oh, God, please! Arney, no!” pleads Hannah’s mom.

Arney laughs. “Sorry, you just don’t sound sincere.”

Jesus! Paulie pushes the door open a crack, sees Mr. Murphy on the floor, a pool of blood under his leg, Mrs. Murphy kneeling beside him. A shadow fractured by light from the chandelier tells him Arney and Hannah are moving toward the front door. Like a cat he’s back across the kitchen, down the stairs, and pulling himself up through the basement window. Arney has Hannah and Arney has a weapon, and Paulie can’t think of a way to call for help without getting Hannah hurt. This is off-the-charts crazy. Psycho crazy.

He dashes across two backyards to get far enough up the street to cross undetected, then sprints through two more back lawns toward the Audi, emerging only yards away. He crouches next to a lilac bush and waits.

“. . . better kill me, you son-of-a-bitch, because I’ll find a way to get back at you.”

Shut up Hannah! Just shut the fuck up!

Hannah’s hands are bound behind her, but she’s still Hannah. Arney presses the barrel of a pistol against her head and says, in the coldest tone Paulie can imagine, “Oh,