Page 47 of The Chain

Rachel drives quickly up Revenue Street. She turns on Standore Street, and there, about a hundred yards up the road, is a kid in a parka carrying a sports bag with what looks to be a composite bow sticking out of it. The kid has his hood up and is walking in the direction of the Dunleavys’ house.

“Is that him?” Rachel asks.

“No idea, but that sure looks like the end of a bow in his bag. And there’s nobody on either side of the street. For the moment.”

“Ski masks on,” Rachel says, desperately trying to keep the blind panic out of her voice.

“Coast is clear,” Pete says. In the end they hadn’t needed the trees or the dark to hide them because the rain deterred any potential witnesses. Rachel puts the wipers on, kills the lights, drives the car up the street, and stops in front of the child.

“No one around,” Pete says, scanning both sides of the road.

“Go, then!” Rachel says.

Pete jumps out the passenger-side door with the .45. Rachel sees him talk to the kid. He turns and shakes his head at her.

Something’s wrong. Pete comes back to the car without the boy.

What the hell is happening?

“What’s the problem?” she demands.

“It’s a girl,” Pete says.

Rachel pulls her ski mask down and gets out. And sure enough, it’s a little, skinny, brown-haired girl about eight or nine years old. She’s carrying a gym bag that looks far too big for her.

“Did you just come from the archery club?” Rachel asks her.

“Yes,” the girl replies.

“Why did they get out early?” Pete asks.

“The heating was broken so we had to come home. Why are you wearing those things on your faces?”

“What’s your name?” Rachel asks.

“Amelia Dunleavy.”

“Where’s your brother, Toby?”

“He went to Liam’s house. He told me to take his bag home.”

“What are we going to do now?” Pete asks Rachel.

“We’re taking her,” Rachel says grimly.

“That wasn’t the plan.”

“It’s the plan now,” Rachel tells him. She knows she’ll never be able to go through this again. And if she can’t go through with it, Kylie’s dead.

“Come on, Amelia,” Pete says. “We’re giving you a ride home.”

He puts her in the car, clasps her seat belt, sits beside her, and locks the door. Rachel makes a U-turn and drives toward the Route 1A exit.

“Are we really doing this? What about her health issues?” Pete asks.

“We’ll deal with them. No peanuts or peanut products. We’ll get an EpiPen…shit!” Rachel exclaims and punches the dashboard.

“You shouldn’t use that word,” Amelia says.

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