Levi closed his eyes. He’d only wanted answers. Only wanted to find out what happened to the Doyles, to that little girl. It was the right thing to go after Brock Cutter, wasn’t it? He was only doing his job.
38
“Keep back,” her mother said. She was standing on a chair beneath the window, holding the porcelain lid that covered the toilet tank. She closed her eyes and rammed it into the window, raining glass to the floor. She tossed the lid to the ground, and the girl flinched as it cracked against the concrete. “Hand me the towel,” she ordered.
The girl handed her mother the towel, she wrapped it around her hand and began clearing the window of the remaining broken glass. A wall of hard-packed snow stared back at them. She tried to dig the snow out with her fingers, and when that didn’t work, she told the girl to hand her the space heater.
The girl did as she was told and her mother held the small space heater just in front of the snow. “Pull another chair over and grab a spoon,” her mother said. The girl found a spoon and dragged the other folding chair next to where her mother stood and climbed up. “Now hold the heater, and I’ll dig,” she said.
They made fast work of it, and within ten minutes, her mother’s arms were wet from the melted snow. A bitter wind blew through the window and took the girl’s breath away.
“Okay,” her mother said. “It’s going to be cold and we have to hurry. Hand me the plastic bag and get your blanket.” The girl hopped off the chair, the glass crunching beneath her feet, ran to the table and retrieved the items, then returned to her mother’s side.
“I’m going to help you through first, and then I’ll climb out,” her mother said. “Don’t cut yourself.” She hoisted the girl up, and she easily slid through the window. Next came her blanket and the plastic bag. The girl stood back and waited for her mother. It was sleeting. Icy rain slid down her neck and the sharp wind cut through her sweatshirt and jeans.
It took several attempts before her mother was able to pull herself up far enough to get her shoulders over the threshold of the broken window. The little girl grabbed onto her outstretched arms and pulled. With a groan, her mother heaved her body the rest of the way through and collapsed atop the snow.
She quickly got to her feet and looked around, trying to get her bearings. “This way,” she said, squinting as icy pellets struck their faces. Holding hands, mother and daughter picked their way across the slippery yard until they came to the front of the house and stood on the front porch to get out of the rain.
“What now?” the girl asked. She shivered and pressed herself close to her mother. The night was dark and wet and cold and looked bigger than she imagined it would.
Her mother opened the plastic bag and pulled out the set of keys she had placed there days before. “I know one of these keys is to a truck,” she said. “I hope one of them opens the front door, or we’ll have to walk.”
She tried the first key in the front door. It didn’t fit. Then the second and third. Finally, the fourth key slid in easily, and the door swung open. Once inside, they crossed the darkened room into the kitchen. Her mother paused at the basement door. “That’s why it didn’t open,” she said softly and pulled the slide lock at the top of the door to the left. “He used both locks.” She slid the lock back into place.
“Come on,” her mother said and guided her to another door. This one opened to a dark, windowless space. She felt along the wall and light flooded the room. It was a garage. One stall was empty. In the other sat another vehicle covered with a tarp.
The woman pulled the tarp away to reveal an old black truck that was rusty and scratched. This was the truck that he said he didn’t drive often, but he had no intention of ever getting rid of it. He liked to sit in it sometimes, he told her, and remember.
Her mother ran her hand across the cold metal. Bits of black paint stuck to her fingers. “Get in,” her mother said, opening the door for her, “and buckle up.”
The girl didn’t know what that meant.
Her mother climbed up behind her, shut the door, and fumbled with the keys until she found the one that fit the ignition. She then reached over and pulled a strap that fit over the girl’s lap and chest and clicked it into place.
“How do we get out?” the girl asked, staring at the lowered garage door.
“Like this,” her mother said and then reached above her head and pushed a black button. With a loud rumble, the garage door began to slowly rise. Her mother put her hands on the steering wheel and studied what was in front of her. She turned the key and the truck’s engine came to life. “Here we go,” her mother said, giving her a frightened smile.