Читать книгу Last Seen - Rick Mofina - Страница 16

6

Gage comes out of the portal with Faith and Cal, they pass the cloaked figure, move to the dungeons where hands claw at them; Gage’s eyes glow; the infrared images of the Hudsons are captured in shades of gray, black and radiant white; the Hudsons move through darkness; ahead and behind them other groups creep with trepidation: a man and woman holding hands, two teenage girls holding each other, their eyes and teeth blazing, moving beyond the phosphorescent flames of the burning witch, then the insane butcher, the fanged clown; some people are cowering, others are crouching in the cave of bats and spiders; Gage, Faith and Cal rush across the zombie graveyard pursued by the chain-saw maniac to the coffin doorway when they vanish in the sudden flash of a static snowstorm.

“Play it again,” Ripkowski said.

He was with Berg and Vaughn King in the cramped, dimly lit control room attached to the Chambers of Dread. They watched over Alma McCain’s shoulder as she operated the attraction’s console bank of infrared security cameras. A can of diet cola, a half-eaten slice of pizza and a Lord of the Flies paperback were next to her. Small TV screens displayed images for each section of the Chambers, but the system had malfunctioned for the final sets. Alma pecked at her keyboard, replayed the footage, but it was futile at the spinner.

“This is where it freezes and won’t work. It’s given us trouble since the lightning strike in Milwaukee.”

“Did you see anything unusual when you watched this live when the Hudsons went through?” Ripkowski asked Alma.

“No, but to be honest, I wasn’t looking at the spinner at that time.”

“Were you reading?”

“No, I was not reading. I take my book with me on breaks.”

“Did an emergency door alarm activate anywhere today?”

Alma exchanged a quick glance with King before saying, “No.”

“So—” Berg tapped her pen on the screen “—we’ve got four emergency exits and six exit chutes with no recorded video. Erik, what do you think?”

“We need IT’s help to recover that footage if they can—either our people, or Chicago PD, somebody with the expertise—because this is where the boy vanishes. And we’re going to need statements ASAP from everyone on duty today.”

Then Berg and Ripkowski stepped outside to update Cal and Faith amid the noise of the midway, which, with the exception of the Chambers of Dread, had resumed action at full throttle.

“Did the cameras show you what happened?” Cal asked.

“No, they’ve got technical trouble with their system,” Berg said. “But we’re going to have experts look at it.”

“Dammit.” Cal’s eyes were brimming, for it was now close to ninety minutes since Gage had vanished. “What about the RVs and trailers behind the rides where all the midway people live? Did you check there?”

“We’re on it.” Berg moved the Hudsons slightly so they could see between the rides; uniformed officers were knocking on trailer doors. “Our people, and Cook County officers, are canvassing in there right now,” Berg said. “Few people are home, most are working the midway. The chances someone was around to see anything are slim.”

“There must be something more you can do!” Faith’s voice broke, then she turned to King and Dulka, letting loose with her frustration. “Why did you start the fair again? Please shut it down so we can keep looking! Our son is missing!”

“Ma’am,” Dulka said, “we’re taking this very seriously. We’re going to keep your son’s picture up on the big screens all day. We’ve closed the Chambers. We have our staff on the grounds searching for him. We’re doing everything we can, but we’ve got thousands of paying customers.”

Faith’s head snapped to the officers.

“You’re the police! Can’t you order them to shut it all down?”

“Not at this time, as no crime’s been committed,” Ripkowski said. “Everyone’s coopera—”

“But there has to be more you can do to find Gage!” Faith shouted. “What about bringing in detectives and the FBI?”

“We’re bringing in canine units and we’re—” Ripkowski and Berg’s radios crackled. “Erik, Angie! We’ve got him at the south gate!”

* * *

Cal and Faith ran to the gate with Ripkowski and Berg. Faith’s heart was racing and she fought back tears as their small posse wove through streams of fairgoers.

Cal’s jaw was fixed in restrained relief when they came to a wooden outbuilding standing to one side of the gate where two security staff waited; both of them were in their teens.

“Where’s our son?” Faith asked.

“Inside that door, with the cops.” One of the security kids pointed. “He was so smart, ma’am—kept yelling that the man with him was not his father. That got our attention.”

When Ripkowski opened the door, Faith and Cal felt their hearts plunge. The boy in the chair, under the watch of two officers, was wearing a blue Cubs shirt but dark-colored shorts and—

“He’s not our son,” Cal said.

Faith steadied herself against the doorframe as a man behind them said, “This is huge mistake!” Two other officers had placed plastic handcuffs on his wrists. “Trevor, for God’s sake, tell them the truth!”

The boy, who appeared to Cal and Faith to be eleven or twelve, screwed his face into an icy grimace, then spat, “You’re not my father!”

At that moment a distraught, breathless woman arrived with a girl of about seven, who was clutching a big blue stuffed bear, as if to shield her from what was unfolding. The woman asked, “Don, Trevor, what’s going on?”

Ripkowski approached the woman. “Can you show me some identification? Do you know these people, ma’am?”

“I’m Marjorie Bricker.” She fished her wallet from her purse. “He’s my son, Trevor, and he’s Don Zaret, my fiancé. What is this—why’re you arresting him?”

“Marj,” Zaret started, “Trevor was trying to pass himself off as the missing kid—”

“We told you to keep quiet!” one officer said.

Zaret continued, speaking faster. “He made it look like I’d kidnapped him. I told these officers that it was because I wouldn’t let him ride the Rocket Blaster by himself.”

“I’m warning you, sir!” the officer said as Zaret got one more plea in.

“Remember, those were your instructions, Marjorie. No Rocket Blaster or Avalanche!”

The woman was showing Ripkowski photos on her phone of the family together. “See, he’s my son!”

Ripkowski turned to Trevor. “Is this all true?’

Trevor looked at his mother, then at the Hudsons. He was perceptive; he’d figured out who Cal and Faith were and knew the seriousness of what had befallen them. He’d seen the sober reality up on the big screens. Now, reading the pain in Cal’s and Faith’s faces, he turned to Marjorie Bricker and his chin crumpled.

“Why do you have to marry him, Mom? Did you stop loving Dad?”

“Oh, sweetheart, of course not. I’ll always love your father.” Marjorie hugged the boy, turning to the Hudsons and police, stifling her tears. “My husband—Trevor’s dad—was a soldier. He was killed in Afghanistan just over two years ago. Trevor’s had a hard time accepting Don in our lives.”

Zaret, still cuffed, blinked at the ceiling.

“Please.” Bricker turned to the police. “This is all a misunderstanding.”

The arresting officers were processing the explanations.

“Look,” one of them said. “It’s going to take some time for us to sort things out. We’re going to need to verify everyone’s ID.”

Marjorie Bricker turned to the Hudsons. “I’m so sorry. Please understand.”

Cal and Faith nodded but they didn’t understand.

How could they?

At this point nothing made sense to them.

Absorbing their heartbreak, they made their way back to the Chambers to face the mounting horror of Gage’s disappearance.