He smiled. His lips split, moist teeth behind the wiry black mustache.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You weren’t supposed to find out about us. Not now. Eventually, yes, but...”
“Lucy,” called Maddy. “Is someone there?”
“It’s Mr. Pederson.”
Quiet. Then Maddy yelled, “Get the fuck away from my sister! You hear me! Get away from her! If you touch her, I will kill you!”
Mr. Pederson shook his head. Pinched his brow.
“She’s not well.” He stepped down the hall. His jacket brushed the wall. “We have to get her into the right environment. Get her well.”
I meant to stand my ground. Mr. Pederson so big, so intimidating, my natural instinct was to flee. I took a step back. Another. If I took another I’d be up against the wall. There was a white spot about head high on the wall, where a frame had come down recently, revealing a small brass hook. I could see Mr. Pederson hefting me up, slamming my head against the hook, hanging me there in the hall.
In the back of my mind I realized Mojo was outside. Waiting like a good dog would. I thought about calling her. And then I flashed on the mental math. Mojo and the broken window in the door. Mr. Pederson and Mojo. Semi-giant versus cow dog. It didn’t seem out the realm of possibility that he could pick her up and snap her in two.
I made fists. I hunched down, ready to strike low, fight dirty.
“Lucy…”
The sound in his voice like he’d obtained access to the most sensible solution to this situation, and was willing to share it.
“You’ll have to kill me,” I said.
His brow crimped. His eyes wet. He nodded.
“If need be, child. If need be.”
He reached back and dropped his briefcase. Freeing up his hands.
Maddy swore. Her feet beat up and down on the bed, the mattress and spring squeaking, like it might somehow wither her restraints. She screamed. Her voice so dried out it seemed like the organ of flesh would tear and blood might start to boil through.
And the next moment, Mr. Pederson joined her, shrieking, his back arching, his hands reaching behind him to try and pluck out the pain.
Chapter 54
Taking a whiz, Sherman left the basement bathroom door open.
Daylight slipped through the basements ground level windows and provided enough light he didn’t need to tug on the dangling pull chain and turn on the bulb screwed into the ceiling.
Doing the deed he wondered how much trouble he might get into, ditching the last couple periods of the day. But if they found Maddy, saved her even, it didn’t matter. He’d be a hero, or, at least he could say he was there while Lucy was being a hero.
He wanted to be her hero. He wasn’t sure how. Friday, getting Tasered, peeing his pants, had been weak. He hadn’t told her he’d pissed himself. Had no intention of doing so.
Zipped up, he reached for the toilet’s flushing mechanism, and held up. He hadn’t heard anything, but sensed something was different.
His Sherman sense was tingling.
Realizing flushing might clue someone into his being downstairs Sherman left the whiz in the bowl. What you were supposed to do, wasn’t it? If it’s yellow, let it mellow.
Outside the bathroom he looked around one last time. He’d looked all the possible places Maddy might be down here. He wasn’t about to start opening packing boxes looking for her.
Marched to the top of the stairs he heard voices. His skin prickled.
He had Mr. Pederson five days a week.
He knew what the man sounded like.
Someone started screaming. Maddy?
Sherman rocketed the last two steps, pushed the door back, and stepped into the kitchen and moved left, looked around the corner and through the doorway towards the living room.
Mr. Pederson’s impressive bulk. Right there.
He remembered attending one of Perry Pederson’s birthday parties. Perry two years younger than Sherman. Sherman had been in 6th grade, almost, but not quite in middle school, when there would have been not a chance in hell he’d attend a little kids birthday party.
At one point the kids had swarmed Mr. Pederson. It’d just started as a goofy thing, a couple little kids clasping his legs and he walked easily even with the additional burden.
Then kids grabbed the back of his feet. A kid climbed up on a picnic table and climbed onto the music teacher’s back. Everyone laughing. Mr. Pederson pretending like the kids were impeding his march to get a slice of birthday cake.
Sherman imagined leaping on the man’s back. He’d be like a backpack in Converse sneakers. That’s about it. He could try and claw at Mr. Pederson’s throat or eyes. All the gentle giant had to do was get hold of Sherman and squeeze. His bones would snap like a winter night’s fire biting into sap coated kindling.
Sherman’s eyes darted. Then settled on the kitchen floor. The base of the door. The work Lucy and the stone gnome had done on the glass.
He didn’t think about the amount of noise he might be making. He just moved. Knelt and grabbed the biggest nastiest glass shard. Then back up on his feet.
Mr. Pederson had vanished. For a moment he imagined the man would suddenly appear in the kitchen doorway. Then he focused on all the noise coming from the other end of the house.
He crossed the length of the living room in a moment’s time and started down the hallway just as Mr. Pederson flung the briefcase to the floor behind him.
He knew Lucy was at the end of the hall. He just couldn’t see her for the bulk immediately in front of him.
The music teacher raised his arms. In a moment he’d be at the end of the hall, Lucy in his grasp.
Sherman took a step forward. Closer than close. Stopped and swiveled back and clenching his teeth, swung his fist and the hunk of glass towards the small of the large man’s back.
Chapter 55
Mr. Pederson convulsed and simultaneously swatted at his back. It almost seemed a dance step.
He leapt forward at the same time he tried to turn and look at whatever was tormenting him. I jumped back. Still, Mr. Pederson was too big. Too much up front. He brushed into me, pressing me against the wall.
Over his shoulder I could see Sherman. A hunk of glass in his hand.
Maddy kept yelling.
Part of my brain reached out into the universe and prayed and hoped Deputy Llewellyn lived very close to Mrs. Pederson’s.
Mr. Pederson roared and reached for Sherman. Sherman ducked and swung. He must’ve hit soft tissue. Mr. Pederson screeched. He wasn’t only screeching, he was telling Sherman he’d die. He’d be dead. It was difficult to make out all the words. The ones staring with ‘d’ seemed to pop out with more significance than the rest.
One of Sherman’s slashes went wide. Nothing but air. Mr. Pederson took the opportunity to close the gap. He grabbed for Sherman’s scalp. His fingers went through the hair. He grabbed Sherman’s glasses and threw them to the floor disinterested like prey in the wild attacking and retrieving something indigestible.
Sherman backpedaled into the living room. He tripped over the dropped briefcase and nearly fell. Mr. Pederson followed, kicking the briefcase aside.
Sherman found himself backed against the living room door.
He held the glass out. There was blood all over. Part of me processed that he was handling the glass barehanded. It was cutting him to shreds to handle it.
I knelt and grabbed the briefcase. I came up right behind Mr. Pederson. He only had eyes for Sherman.
“Get away from him,” I yelled. “Mr. Pederson. Get away from Sherman!”
Mr. Pederson didn’t answer. His shoulders rose and fell. His left hand formed a claw. Ready to clutch or palm something. Sherman’s head his desired target, holding it steady while the right hand thumped into the skull un
til it was tenderized, an awful blood and brain leaking mess.
When Mr. Pederson stepped forward I dipped down on my right leg and then sprung forward, swinging the briefcase into the back of his head.
The latches popped and papers flew all over. They were giant snowflakes, holding in the air, and then falling, falling, some hitting the living room floor the same moment as the briefcase hit the floor.
Mr. Pederson had stopped locking in on Sherman.
Instead he took in the crop of papers sprouted all over the floor.
For a moment the only sound in the house was Maddy back in the bedroom, yelling.
Then loud knocks sounded from the living room door. From outside.
I locked eyes with Sherman.
He looked too stunned to join me in a duet. I started to yell. I yelled for both of us. And Maddy. I yelled as loud as I possibly could.
Sherman didn’t even check to see who was out there.
He pivoted and grabbed the door handle with his left hand and tried and tried and kept at it and finally pulled it open.
The light thrown into the dim room woke Mr. Pederson from his paper reverie.
Deputy Llewellyn looked inside. At Sherman. Sherman’s bloodied glass knife holding hand, Mr. Pederson, and me.
I pointed at Mr. Pederson.
“He’s a killer! He’s trying to kill us! Deputy! Help!”
In the moment that information tried to catch the deputy up on where the rest of us already were, Mr. Pederson acted.
He grabbed for Sherman. Grabbed for him and succeeded.
He yanked on Sherman’s neck and pulled him towards his torso and then just as quick released Sherman, springing him out towards the deputy and the front porch. Sherman thumped against the deputy and the deputy dropped the dog leash. His right hand was busy, pulling a service revolver from out of his holster.
On his way towards the hall, Mr. Pederson grabbed me.
I fought him. I squeezed at his wrists. I bit at the flesh of his hands and knuckles. I tried to set both feet into the floor and not budge an inch. He wrapped his hands around my wrists and yanked me from where I stood. My feet thudded dumbly like I was a reluctant little kid being dragged somewhere my older siblings knew terrified me.
Maddy was still screaming. It was down to a hoarse gasp. It was all the noise she could make, but she was making it.
I just kept screaming No. Over and over. Like that would make him stop.
I was too easy to drag on my feet. I let my legs go loose and flopped to the ground. He didn’t expect that. He nearly lost hold of me. Grunting, Mr. Pederson leaned down, swatted at my hands for an easy place to get a grip upon. His eye bulged. Didn’t blink. His hand slid over my wrist. His hand wore a ribbon of blood, a smeary dark colored channel.
“Stop right there! Freeze. Let the girl go.”
Hunched down, trying to get hold of me, Mr. Pederson’s eyes rolled up to look at the deputy, now standing at the mouth of the hall behind us.
Mr. Pederson looked down at me. There was nothing in or behind the eyes that I could say resembled our school’s performing arts teacher. This was the face of the other he’d lost a fight with, a very important fight, a fight that’d been waged quietly for a long time.
With a grunt, he grabbed my left wrist and pulled on me at the same time he swung his massive upper torso upright.
I started to yell.
A gunshot rang out. Then a second.
Mr. Pederson released my wrist. He backpedaled into the wall. Then he slid down it and slid into a seated position.
A stain grew near his right shoulder, right where the arm went into the socket.
Deputy Llewellyn talked into a walkie-talkie. Calling for an ambulance. Back up.
When he knelt down beside me and asked if I was all right all I could do was nod.
Mr. Pederson started to cry. Slid down the wall, his hair was now mooshed up above his head and into his face.
“Is there someone else here?” whispered the deputy.
“My sister,” I said. “She’s in that room.”
He told me he’d be right back. He walked past Mr. Pederson, into the back bedroom. For a moment I’d fantasized Mr. Pederson grabbing the deputy, some fight left in him like the bad guy always does in a movie, but Llewellyn knew the giant wasn’t going to pose any more trouble.
I remained on the floor, staring at the wounded giant when Maddy stumbled out of the bedroom, stumbled towards me.
She knelt in the hallway and covered me. Wrapped me up, her wrists still coiled in rope, kissing my head, and crying, and brushing my hair like she was soothing me, letting me know all of it was going to be all right now. The rope itched and felt like it rubbed my cheek face raw each stroke of her hand, but I didn’t mention it. I didn’t tell her to stop.
Gun holstered, but his hand resting on the grip, Deputy Llewellyn stood between us, and Mr. Pederson, staring at the shot man.
“I can’t,” he said, “I can’t render assistance until I’ve got back up.”
He said it like this sort of situation happened everyday and it was wearing him down.
Sirens sounded in the distance.
More people and more people entered the little house and some stepped around us, and when they tried to move me at first I resisted. Maddy left my side, and when strange hands met my body I think I screamed. Maddy reappeared at my side.
“They need to get to Mr. Pederson,” Maddy whispered.
“Why?”
“To take him to the hospital.”
“No.”
“Lucy.”
“No.”
When she promised - whispering with the rough remnants of her voice - we would move together and come to rest the same, I finally got up, and let her guide me to the couches.
Sitting, I stared at the hallway, thinking I could erect some sort of barrier that would block the EMTs, keep them from getting Mr. Pederson out.
He needed to be left there until there wasn’t anything left they could save.
Chapter 56
Sherman and Maddy and Mr. Pederson were all admitted to the hospital.
Mr. Pederson’s gunshot wounds were not life threatening. Post-surgery, an armed guard was posted outside his room, and inside. Rumor had his big beefy arms handcuffed to the hospital bed, even his right arm and its newly operated on shoulder.
When Mrs. Pederson and their only kid, Perry, came through the hospital I saw them. The blank white faces on top their necks seemed to me an echo of what I must look like.
Right after Maddy got me up from the hallway and into the living room, Dina and Jack had arrived at Mrs. Pederson’s. We’d driven to the hospital from there. The Ashmond hospital. Not the shack of a hospital Eaton’s tax base could afford.
We had a police escort. Not Deputy Llewellyn. He’d remained at the house, trying to tell the sheriff and the FBI all that had happened.
He’d done one more nice thing before I’d loaded up into Dina’s SUV.
He told me he had Mojo. She was in his unit, in the backseat. She wasn’t happy, but she was safe. I thanked him. I hadn’t even thought of her, not after everything that’d been going on.
Sherman came out from the ER ward with a mummy hand. A young intern in scrubs walked with him and made sure he sat down safely beside me.
A dozen stitches. He was numb from the sedative they’d given him. His parents were on their way. His mom would be crying he said. He couldn’t wait for that.
Aster had flitted in and out of the waiting room, constantly shifting things around inside her shoulder bag. So out of it she even lit her cigarette inside the hospital. A nurse had looked at her do it, and seemed struck numb, dealing with someone so oblivious to a cardinal sin. Aster hadn’t even apologized, just marched out of the waiting area. When she reappeared she seemed even more out of
it and wobbly than pre-nicotine Aster.
Dina came and got me. She stopped so her back was to Aster. Looked down at me and asked me to come to Maddy’s room.
“Is she ok?”
Dina nodded. Motioned with her hand. I got up and we abandoned Sherman and Aster, both about as spaced out as I’d ever seen either one.
Two Lucentology guards stood outside Maddy’s room. One of them Rocco. He lightly dimpled at me as we entered the room.
Jack sat at Maddy’s bedside. A tube ran into her arm, boosting lost liquids. Another device was clamped to her fingertip, monitoring vitals. She was in a hospital gown and looked tired and begrimed, but a smile played around her mouth, the skin in proximity still discolored from the square of duct tape Mr. Pederson had pressed upon there.
“Squirt.” She mouthed it more than actually said it. I leaned down and smooched her forehead.
“Are you ok?”
She nodded.
“Good.” I wiped my nose.
“She’s a hero, Mads,” said Jack. Whispering. “Your sister saved your life. No doubt in my mind.” He looked at me. He looked spent. “Thank you, Lucy. Thank you so much.”
Maddy teared up and reached for me. I sat on the bed and wrapped her in a hug. I’m not sure who cried more. 60/40, Maddy, I’d say.
Exhausted by the crying, I got up off the bed finally and saw Dina pull out the last of a handful of pieces of paper from her jacket pocket.
She handed them to me. They were letters.
Addressed to H.P.
Signed Madeline.
Dina had collected them from the floor at Mrs. Pederson’s. In the tumult, the chaos, the dozens of law enforcement people trying to make sense of what was going on, Dina had been the first to actually kneel and try and see if the papers had any relevance.
At least one had some law enforcement official’s boot print darkly grimed across it.
“Maddy didn’t write these,” said Dina.
I looked at Maddy. She looked at me. Jack clasped her right hand. His thumb stroked her wrist slowly. He seemed much within himself, but a quick flick of his eyes towards me indicated he was listening to us.
I said, “They’re signed.” Pointing out the obvious.
Dina said, “About 500 autographed photos of your sister are mailed to fans every month. The number she signs herself are negligible. Someone else signs them for her.”