She stopped and cocked her head as if listening to something. She stepped back, removing her hand from Gia's belly, still listening.
"Yes," Tara whispered, nodding as a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
Gia couldn't hear who Tara was listening to, but she knew it could be only one person.
Jack.
She sobbed and dropped to her knees as the ghost hands released her.
"Oh, yes!" Tara shouted.
Gia glanced up and shuddered at the pure malevolence in the hideous grin that split Tara's child face.
18
"Do you hear me, Tara?" Lyle shouted at the closed door. "A trade! Your killer for Gia and Charlie!"
Can't be too late, Jack thought, refusing to think the unthinkable as he watched and waited for a sign that Tara had accepted the deal. Can't.
He'd have been doing the shouting if his voice had been up to it.
He and Lyle stood in the garage with Bellitto propped between them. They'd backed in the Crown Vic, closed the garage doors, and hauled him from the trunk. Jack had freed his feet but left his hands and mouth taped. The creep was fully awake now, looking scared, but not yet a hundred percent alert.
Jack felt a good long way from a hundred percent himself. Weak. Sick. Head still throbbed. Throat swollen. Stomach roiled with acid from the adrenaline come-down. On the way over from Manhattan Lyle had told him to look in the mirror. He wished he hadn't. His throat was ringed with purpling bruises, the white of his left eye was mostly bright red from a ruptured vessel, and his face was speckled with countless tiny red hemorrhages. He looked like he'd botched a try at hanging himself.
"Test the door," Jack said. His voice had cleared a little but not much. "Maybe the wall is down."
Jack kept a tight grip on Bellitto's arm as Lyle stepped to the door, reached toward the knob, but stopped well short.
He turned back to Jack. "Still there. I'll try calling her again."
Lyle had laid out the deal twice already. Jack couldn't see what good a third try would do. If Tara was around to listen, she'd have heard it the first time.
A winter chill of despair began to seep through his chest.
Gia… he couldn't lose her… but what else could he do?
The door swung open.
"Yes!" Lyle said and returned to the threshold. But when he tried to step across he stopped. He turned to Jack with a baffled expression. "It's still blocked."
"Maybe for us," Jack said, hoping he was right. "But maybe someone else will slip right through and be welcomed with open arms."
Lyle nodded. "Worth a try."
Bellitto began to struggle, kicking, twisting, making terrified pleading noises behind the tape.
"How're you feeling, Eli?" Jack rasped through his teeth as Lyle took the other arm and they started dragging him forward. "Helpless? Scared out of your mind? No one to turn to for help? All hope gone? Good. It's just a little of what those kids felt when you and your pal Minkin dragged them into your car. Like it?" Bellitto's wide, panicky eyes said it all. "Didn't think so. But whether we work this deal or not isn't going to make a hell of a lot of difference to you. No matter what happens, you don't see tomorrow."
"I've got a problem with this," Lyle said as they neared the door. "What if he does go through? We don't exactly have a deal with Tara. She could stiff us or…"
Jack knew what he was getting at: It might already be too late.
"Don't like it either," Jack said. "But we have to chance it. She holds all the cards."
What if this doesn't work? he wondered. What then? He was out of options.
He glanced around. That Indian woman, the one who seemed to know everything—where was she now when he needed her? Hadn't seen her or her dog since he and Lyle had left for Manhattan.
Bellitto's legs went limp as they reached the threshold and he sagged in their grip.
"Passive resistance won't cut it here, Eli." Jack looked at Lyle. "Grab the back of his belt."
Lyle did and together they gave Eli Bellitto an old-fashioned heave-ho toward the door.
Jack half expected him to bounce back at them but he sailed through and sprawled in the short hallway.
"You were right!" Lyle cried.
Jack tried to follow but met with the same impenetrable resistance as before. He leaned there, clawing at the thick air that wouldn't let him pass.
Please, Tara, he thought. Don't welch on us. We did our part. You've got the guy who killed you. Now you've got to do your part.
On the other side of the invisible divide, Jack watched Bellitto regain his feet. Somehow, in the course of the heave-ho, the tape on his wrists had loosened. He struggled with it, frantically working his arms behind him until his hands came free. He then pulled the tape from his face and lunged toward Jack and the door. Jack cocked a fist, ready to smash him back but he never got close. He slammed against the divide and staggered back.
At that instant a little girl appeared behind him. Jack had seen her picture only once on the Internet site but recognized her immediately.
Tara Portman.
Jack saw her mouth work but heard nothing. Bellitto whirled toward her, then spun back. Jack knew from the horrified expression on his face that Bellitto recognized her. He hurled himself at the doorway but once again was halted inches from Jack. His mouth worked, screaming no doubt, as his fingers clawed the impenetrable air between then. Jack heard nothing and felt less.
"Sometimes, Eli," he whispered, "what goes around comes around. Not nearly as often as it should on its own, but sometimes we can help it along. That's why I'm here."
Behind him Tara smiled, her face a malicious mask of incandescent glee, then winked out of sight.
The next thing Jack knew, Bellitto was falling backward, arms flailing, then landing on his back and being dragged by some force Jack couldn't see. He slid kicking and screaming down the hallway and out of sight.
Jack and Lyle leaned on the barrier, waiting.
"Come on, Tara," he whispered. "We did our part. Time to do yours. Don't let us down. We—"
Then Jack saw movement in the hallway. Someone coming their way. Bellitto? How had he got away?
No. Someone else. His pain and despair vanished as he recognized Gia—but Gia as he had never seen her. Hair, clothes, and hands coated with dirt, face muddy from the tears streaming down her cheeks. Her eyes looked wild as she stumbled his way, picking up speed and rushing toward him with outstretched arms when she saw him.
Don't! he wanted to shout. She might run into the divide and hurt herself.
But she leaped at the threshold and flew into his arms and then he had her, he had her, he had her, arms locked around her, spinning her around, absorbing her quaking sobs, unable to speak past the fist-sized lump in his throat.
They held each other, Gia's feet not touching the floor, and would have stayed that way much longer if not for Lyle's question.
"Where's Charlie? Where's my brother?"
Aw no, Jack thought, looking around and seeing only the three of them. Don't tell me… not Charlie…
Gia slumped against Jack and reached out a hand to Lyle. Between sobs she told him about she and Charlie falling into a pit, how the sides began to collapse, and how Charlie had sacrificed himself to save her.
"Charlie?" Lyle whispered, his face slack, stricken. "Charlie's dead?"
His features tightened as tears began to slide down his cheeks. He stumbled toward the door but still couldn't enter. He leaned against the resisting air and pounded on silent nothing, sobbing, calling his brother's name.
FRIDAY
1
Jack let Gia sleep in as he got up early, intending to run back to Astoria to see what he could do for Lyle. But a quick listen to the news changed his plans. "The Horror in Astoria" was all over the radio. He flipped on the TV and that was all any of the local newsheads could talk about.