Page 143 of I Will Find You

“Come on!” I shout.

Rachel does. We hurry toward the front door. I worry that it may be locked, but it’s not. Who needs to lock a front door when you live in a place like this? We enter the foyer. I close the door behind me and hand her one of the guns.

“David?”

“For protection. In case anyone tries to get in.”

“Where are you going?”

But she knows. I’m already heading up the stairs where I hear running footsteps. I don’t know how many armed men they have. I have already shot two men. I don’t care how many more I’ll need to shoot. I just worry about the bullet count.

The home is pure white, sterile, almost institutional. There are very few splashes of color. Not that I see any of that. Sound echoes. I follow it.

“Theo!”

Hayden’s voice.

I tighten my grip on the gun and continue down the corridor. An old woman steps out into it and says, “Hayden? What’s going on?”

“Pixie, look out!”

When the old woman turns, our eyes meet. Hers widen in recognition. She knows who I am. I hurry down the corridor where I heard Hayden’s voice. The old woman doesn’t move. She stands and stares in defiance. I’m not ready to bowl over an old woman, though I will if I have to, but I don’t think there is a need. I rush past her on the side and keep running,

“Pixie?”

It’s Hayden again. He’s right up ahead, in the bedroom on the left. I rush into the room and raise my gun because he’s going to tell me where my son is or…

And there’s Matthew.

I freeze. The gun is in my hand. My son is staring up at me. Our eyes meet and the eyes are still my boy’s. In Times Square I felt a sensory overload. Here I experience something similar, but it is all internal, in my blood and veins, a thrum that rushes through every part of me with no outlet, no way to escape. I may be shaking. I’m not sure.

Then I notice the hands on his shoulders.

“Theo,” Hayden says, trying hard to keep his tone even, “this is my friend David. We’re playing a game with the guns, aren’t we, David?”

My first thought is a strange one: Matthew is eight years old, not four. He’s not falling for that line. I can see it in his face. Part of me just wants to end this now, to raise my gun and blow this motherfucker away and deal with the aftermath. But my son is here. Like it or not, this is the man he sees as a father. My son is not scared of him. I can see that. He is, heartbreaking as it sounds, scared of me.

I can’t shoot Hayden in front of Matthew.

“David, this is my son Theo.”

I feel my finger on the trigger. Then again, I’ve already shot two people. What is one more?

In the distance I hear a noise. The room, like the rest of the house, is modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows. I move toward them and look out. A helicopter comes into view, landing on the open lawn.

The old woman he’d called Pixie comes in and stands next to me. “Come on, Theo. It’s time to go.”

“He’s not going anywhere,” I say.

Pixie meets my eyes and there is the smallest smile on her face. “What’s your plan here, David? We’ve called the local police. Freddy—that’s the chief of police here—is on his way with probably half the force. They know you’re armed and dangerous and that you’ve already shot two men. I think Stephano is dead. Freddy loves Stephano. They play poker once a week. If you’re lucky—if you put the gun down and now stand on the lawn with your arms high in the air—you may, may not get shot.”

“I know what you both did,” I say.

“But you’ll never be able to prove it. What evidence do you have?”

I look over at Theo. He doesn’t seem particularly scared anymore. He looks more puzzled and engaged, an expression that’s a heartbreaking echo of his mother’s.

“You think, what?” Pixie continues. “They’ll run a DNA test on the boy? Not a chance. You need a court order. You need to convince a judge that there is compelling reason, and we know every judge in the land. We have the best attorneys. We work hand in hand with every politician. Theo will be back overseas by the time you’re back rotting up in Briggs.”

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