kids are cheery, babbling, singing on family outings, especially ones involving fast food. It strikes me how all three kids are exceptionally still.
She drives to a Target next, parks the SUV, says something to the kids, gets out, closes the door, and walks off. She keeps on walking, right past Target, right past a string of restaurants, hangs a left on a side road, and disappears from sight.
I stay in my Wrangler a few aisles over, watching the Montero, waiting, waiting, waiting for I don’t know what—the mom to come back— something to happen.
I want to go to the kids. I want to tell them it’s going to be okay. I want to drive off and find the mom. I want to call someone but don’t want my cell traced.
As inconspicuously as possible I glance around at all the security cameras. Target is not my ideal place. I glance at my watch. At this point I’ve been sitting here thirty-two minutes. Anybody reviewing this footage will wonder why I haven’t gotten out.
And they’ll probably wonder why I’m here at nine thirty at night.
Fortunately for me Target is still hopping on a Saturday evening, so me and my Wrangler don’t stick out too much.
The door to the Montero suddenly opens and out crawls the third grader. He unbuckles his baby sister from the car seat, props her on his hip, grabs the hand of the kindergartner, and starts right toward me.
I sit as still as possible, watching them silently, expressionlessly cross the Target parking lot.
If their mom was here right now, I’d taser her just for putting them through this.
It becomes so clear to me. She set that house on fire. She wanted these beautiful kids dead. She gave up on them. And she better be glad she walked away. I would’ve killed her if I’d caught her trying to hurt them again.
The three children draw closer, and I roll my window down in expectation. There’s no way I can avoid getting involved.
“Hi, babies, where are your parents?”
I look to the right, where an elderly lady is pushing a cart with a toddler in the seat.
The third grader breaks eye contact with me and turns to the elderly lady. “I think our mom left us,” he bravely tells her.
I roll my window up and hang out a bit while the lady calls for help, police eventually show up, and the three children are taken into custody.
As I pull from the parking lot, I catch sight of Dr. Issa’s silver Nissan Juke. I do a double take and see the Hopkins sticker on the back that verifies it’s his. That’s odd. I wonder how long he’s been here and . . . if he saw me.
I briefly consider waiting, just to see, but then decide that’s not a good idea. I need to get out of here. I drive from the parking lot and head in the direction the mom walked. I drive around for a while, looking, not expecting to find her, but I don’t know, maybe hoping I’ll see her.
Hopefully, by tomorrow the kids will be reunited with their father. And by tomorrow there’s no telling where the mom will be.
A thought slams into me then, and I nearly brake to a stop. Has the Decapitator been watching me tonight as I watched them?
Chapter Fifteen
“WHAT ARE YOU UP TO TODAY?” Victor asks me over Sunday breakfast.
“Catching a hockey game with Zach,” I answer, not even glancing at Daisy.
“Zach?” Mom looks between me and my sister.
“I like Zach,” Justin chimes in.
Daisy shoves a huge bite of pancake into her mouth.
“Thought I’d go to the driving range.” Victor wisely changes the subject. “Justin, you in?”
“Sure!”
Mom motions to the corner where two huge Target bags sit. “I bought some things for that family at Justin’s school. Lane, mind dropping them on your way to hockey?”
My mom really is the greatest. “When’d you go to Target?”
“Last night. Why?”
Because I was there too, rescuing children from a runaway mother. “No reason. I swung in too, that’s all.” That statement will explain my presence in case parking-lot footage makes the news.
“I
She drives to a Target next, parks the SUV, says something to the kids, gets out, closes the door, and walks off. She keeps on walking, right past Target, right past a string of restaurants, hangs a left on a side road, and disappears from sight.
I stay in my Wrangler a few aisles over, watching the Montero, waiting, waiting, waiting for I don’t know what—the mom to come back— something to happen.
I want to go to the kids. I want to tell them it’s going to be okay. I want to drive off and find the mom. I want to call someone but don’t want my cell traced.
As inconspicuously as possible I glance around at all the security cameras. Target is not my ideal place. I glance at my watch. At this point I’ve been sitting here thirty-two minutes. Anybody reviewing this footage will wonder why I haven’t gotten out.
And they’ll probably wonder why I’m here at nine thirty at night.
Fortunately for me Target is still hopping on a Saturday evening, so me and my Wrangler don’t stick out too much.
The door to the Montero suddenly opens and out crawls the third grader. He unbuckles his baby sister from the car seat, props her on his hip, grabs the hand of the kindergartner, and starts right toward me.
I sit as still as possible, watching them silently, expressionlessly cross the Target parking lot.
If their mom was here right now, I’d taser her just for putting them through this.
It becomes so clear to me. She set that house on fire. She wanted these beautiful kids dead. She gave up on them. And she better be glad she walked away. I would’ve killed her if I’d caught her trying to hurt them again.
The three children draw closer, and I roll my window down in expectation. There’s no way I can avoid getting involved.
“Hi, babies, where are your parents?”
I look to the right, where an elderly lady is pushing a cart with a toddler in the seat.
The third grader breaks eye contact with me and turns to the elderly lady. “I think our mom left us,” he bravely tells her.
I roll my window up and hang out a bit while the lady calls for help, police eventually show up, and the three children are taken into custody.
As I pull from the parking lot, I catch sight of Dr. Issa’s silver Nissan Juke. I do a double take and see the Hopkins sticker on the back that verifies it’s his. That’s odd. I wonder how long he’s been here and . . . if he saw me.
I briefly consider waiting, just to see, but then decide that’s not a good idea. I need to get out of here. I drive from the parking lot and head in the direction the mom walked. I drive around for a while, looking, not expecting to find her, but I don’t know, maybe hoping I’ll see her.
Hopefully, by tomorrow the kids will be reunited with their father. And by tomorrow there’s no telling where the mom will be.
A thought slams into me then, and I nearly brake to a stop. Has the Decapitator been watching me tonight as I watched them?
Chapter Fifteen
“WHAT ARE YOU UP TO TODAY?” Victor asks me over Sunday breakfast.
“Catching a hockey game with Zach,” I answer, not even glancing at Daisy.
“Zach?” Mom looks between me and my sister.
“I like Zach,” Justin chimes in.
Daisy shoves a huge bite of pancake into her mouth.
“Thought I’d go to the driving range.” Victor wisely changes the subject. “Justin, you in?”
“Sure!”
Mom motions to the corner where two huge Target bags sit. “I bought some things for that family at Justin’s school. Lane, mind dropping them on your way to hockey?”
My mom really is the greatest. “When’d you go to Target?”
“Last night. Why?”
Because I was there too, rescuing children from a runaway mother. “No reason. I swung in too, that’s all.” That statement will explain my presence in case parking-lot footage makes the news.
“I
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