Part 12 (1/2)
”Tell me where she went,” Sergeant Ring said.
”I don't know, I told you.”
”Bulls.h.i.+t.” Sergeant Ring leaned forward, s.h.i.+fting his belt under his gut, as if the donuts got top priority. His breath reeked of stale beer; his eyes were red and bleary. Even I recognized the hangover in him. ”I know you're dating her. That makes you bad guy number one. Maybe I should lock you up.”
”Not a chance. I watch CSI and Law & Order,” I said, ready to be out of there so I could look for Megan myself. I couldn't trust these guys. For one, Ring was a total alcoholic. He could barely raise his own kid and crashed his car into his front porch last summer. Why would I think he could find Megan? For another, the whole well-and-creature story was completely unbelievable-and at this point, I didn't even know for sure that's what was responsible.
But since she'd been gone, there had been no slime and no calling from the well-and to be honest, that was more worrisome than this cop's threats. ”You can't hold me without a good reason. And all you have is guesses about nothing.”
Sergeant Ring leaned in even closer, so close I could tell he needed a Mento as much as he needed a bigger belt. ”I'll give you nothing, punk. Tell me where she is.”
The door opened, and a young, skinny cop walked in, like a ”before” picture of Mike's dad. ”His parents are back. This time with their lawyer.”
Sergeant Ring cursed. Foiled again by the ambulance chasers. ”I'll be watching you,” he said, wagging a finger in my face, ”wherever you go, whatever you do. You forget to tie your shoelace in gym, I'll be taking pictures. You order an extra milk at lunch and forget to pay for it, I'll arrest you for stealing. I'm going to be your new best friend, Cooper.”
I had fifty smart remarks I could have sent back but didn't. This guy thought I'd killed my girlfriend or, at the very least, helped her run away. If I talked back, he'd keep me longer. All I wanted was to go look for Megan. I knew exactly where to start my search.
All these hours, the well had been silent.
Why?
Was I too far away? Or was the creature busy with Megan?
Or-and this was the option I prayed for more than anything-had I wounded the beast so badly that it was dying in some crusty corner and thus was unable to do anything but moan and shrivel away?
When I got out of the room, the lawyer kept asking me if I'd said anything. StepScrooge Sam just glared at me, as if I'd ruined his whole day. I probably had. Whatever.
My mother stood next to Sam, very quiet. Mad? Wis.h.i.+ng I was heading off to juvie? I couldn't tell. She said one word total-”Here?”-when they told her to sign some paper so I could be released. That was it.
The lawyer walked us out, said goodbye on the steps, and told us he'd be in touch later, and the three of us headed off to the car.
Like a big happy family.
Or a Photoshopped image of one, anyway.
No one said anything until the car was in gear and StepScrooge Sam had it cruising to about forty. ”Where the h.e.l.l is Megan?”
”If I knew, would I be here?” I slammed back against the rear seat and wished he'd shut the h.e.l.l up.
”Watch your tone, young man,” Sam said, his voice so low, it could have been a Doberman's growl. ”Do you know what that vampire attorney is costing me? Just to keep your a.s.s out of jail? Show your grat.i.tude.”
I bit my lip. I did a lot of that whenever I was around Sam. Lucky Faulkner-the older one, only a year away from college.
”Some cops came to the house when you were being questioned,” Sam informed me. ”They wanted to search the grounds. I told them to get the h.e.l.l off my property.”
”Why did you do that?” I asked, alarmed.
”They didn't have a warrant, Cooper,” Sam snapped. ”Don't you know better than to let the police in without a warrant?”
I did know that-of course I did. But part of me hoped that someone other than me, with the means to help Megan, would find her. And that couldn't happen if StepScrooge Sam wouldn't even let anyone search the property.
”Besides,” Sam said, ”it's not like they would find anything, right?” He seemed to be challenging me to disagree with him.
But I couldn't. After a full day of protesting my innocence, I was too tired to fight with Sam. ”Right,” I said weakly.
”When we get home, I have a list of things waiting for you to do. There are consequences to your behavior, Cooper. And your att.i.tude.”
After what I'd just been through, what did he expect me to be, all suns.h.i.+ne and smiles?
”And if you step out of line,” Sam continued, ”there will be rule enforcement.”
I knew what that meant. It was code, understood between just him and me, for privilege yanking. The last time I'd ”stepped out of line,” which to Sam was going to a party without permission, I'd spent three days in my room.
Ate my meals in my room.
Did my homework in my room.
Never left it, except to go to school and to p.i.s.s.
And when the three days were over, Sam left me a note. A detailed list of yard ch.o.r.es involving shovels and rakesc.r.a.p they'd do on a chain gang-keeping me busy for another three days.
”Are you hearing me, Cooper?” Sam asked now.
”Yeah.”
My mother sat in the pa.s.senger's seat, stiff as a mannequin, silent. What had happened to her? Not just with the whole trying-to-kill-me thing, but to her in general? She used to be the mom who would rush in and soothe the waters whenever my brother or I had a bad day or c.r.a.ppy report card. Try to make everyone happy with a joke or a silly song or a package of cookies. Now she'd become about as warm and fuzzy as one of those Easter Island stone dudes.
”When you get home, Cooper. No delays,” Sam said.
In the rearview mirror, I saw cold, hard eyes that were looking at the road and not at me. ”Dude, the cops just verbally pounded me. My girlfriend is missing. I've had a really s.h.i.+tty day. And you want me to do my ch.o.r.es?”
Sam braked so hard, my head almost popped off. ”Just because you've had a bad day does not mean you can do whatever the h.e.l.l you want. I work hard to keep this family together and the last thing I need is for you to pull this c.r.a.p.” Sam stared at the steering wheel in front of him as if he were trying to burn a hole through it. ”Do you understand?”
”Jeez, fine, whatever. Take a chill pill.” Whatever it took to keep Sam happy, that's what I was going to say. I wanted him to get the car moving again, get me back to the house. Faulkner and I had one cardinal rule-Don't p.i.s.s Sam Off. Break it, and your life sucked. Considering my life already sucked as bad as it could right now, I wasn't about to make things worse.
Besides, I was yessing Sam only to shut him up. As soon as I escaped the four-door prison of his Beamer, screw the ch.o.r.e list-I was going to go looking for Megan.
Finally, Sam swung into our driveway, still yakking about ch.o.r.es. I said yeah about sixty times, hopped out of the car, and tried to run inside, but Sam blocked my way. ”What did I say?” His eyes glittered in the porch light.
”Ch.o.r.es.”
”Priorities, Cooper. Priorities.”
My mother had already gone inside. It was just me and Sam. ”Finding my girlfriend is my only priority.”
”She'll be fine.”
Why was he so convinced? Did he know something I didn't? Suspicion mounted inside me, but I didn't dare question him. I knew what kind of punishment Sam would ex act, and I didn't need that right now. I needed freedom, and p.i.s.sing him off wouldn't give me a pa.s.s.
Sam closed in tighter. ”You are only thinking about yourself and your little world. You don't know a d.a.m.ned thing about sacrifice, do you?”