Mr. 8

Chapter 13: The Three Boys

It was dark by the time the van pulled away with the two boys in it. When it passed through the intersection at Walcott Avenue, Denton started his engine and followed, giving them a three block lead.

About forty-five minutes earlier, the old Chevy lurched to a halt in the driveway. A boy, roughly the same age as Agatha Radcliff's son, got out and went into the house. Through the reflection in the rear-view mirror, all Denton could make out was that he wore a gray winter jacket and that his hair was light brown or possibly even blond.

As soon as the road ahead of him was clear, Denton spun the steering wheel sharply and made a hasty U-turn. He parked the Mercedes in front of a house a few doors down and waited.

A light went on in one of the downstairs rooms, almost certainly the living room, where Edward had been playing videogames. That's all they're doing, Denton thought. They're sitting in there killing zombies, while I sit out here like an idiot. But every fiber of his being was screaming that this was the van that had abducted Maggie Biscamp. A small chrome insignia on the driver's door identified it as a Chevrolet Savana. It was at least twenty years old and looked like a precursor to a modern minivan. Where it wasn't rusted, it was a dark midnight blue. In poor light, it would easily look black. Perhaps that

was why the police had been unable to identify it.

Denton took out his cell phone and snapped a picture of it, before the rapidly fading light was gone. He zoomed in and took another of the license plate. His finger hovered over the email app, while he considered sending the photos to Bill, but he decided to wait and see what happened. It would be better to have something suspicious to report than to have Bill thinking he was now just sending him photos of random vehicles.

But so far they had done nothing that he could consider suspicious. The driver didn't keep exactly to the speed limit, and the van slid through a couple of stop signs, but there was nothing out of the ordinary with that.

He did not have an easy time staying with it, as it wound its way out of the neighborhood. Red lights and other cars blocked him, and his target slipped away more than once. If its roof hadn't been visible above the rest of the traffic, he would have lost them.

When they started heading out of town, he had the opposite problem to deal with. On the deserted back roads, Denton was certain they'd spot him. He dropped back, giving them more room, until the van was swallowed by the darkness. Only the glow of the taillights gave any indication it was still in front of him.

Out past the Bloodgood Berry Farm, the Savana climbed a hill and passed over it, disappearing from sight. He accelerated to keep his speed constant on the incline but had to will his foot not to press down too hard on the gas, in response to his anxiousness. He was impatient to get those taillights back into view. Each second of empty road filled his mind with the image of the van turning off and disappearing into the night. Logically, he knew there were no other roads for miles. They would be there, waiting for him, when he reached the top of the hill.

Except, they weren't. The road was empty. They had gotten away.

They must have spotted his car and used the brief interval to speed up and lose him.

A cold, sour knot twisted in Denton's gut, and there was a tender, strained sensation in the center of his chest. He hit the accelerator and felt the engine rev. Perhaps he could still catch up to them. The speedometer was just reaching seventy, when he spotted the van parked in front of an old ranch house, off on the right-hand side of the road. He lifted his foot off of the gas and was about to slam on the brakes, but he managed to stop himself. Squealing to a halt would draw too much attention. Instead, he left both pedals alone and let the car slow down gently.