Anybody's Child by Michelle Kidd (polar express read aloud .TXT) 📕

the house, and vanished. Show over. Raven turned her attention, once more, to the window. She yawned. A grieving teen didn’t offer much in the way of excitement. Her lids grew heavy and she longed for the warmth of her bed.

Around eleven, Beth’s room fell dark. An odd sensation settled over Raven, sitting alone in the shadows. She listened to the sound of her own steady breath, wind chimes faint and soft, and the occasional bark from what she assumed was the same dog. A few dry leaves raced across the road and plastered themselves against a parked car wheel. Raven was so absorbed she jumped when her phone buzzed in her pocket.

She reached inside her jacket, checked the caller ID, and frowned when the display came up UNKNOWN. Her fingertips tingled with adrenaline. Without explanation, she sensed it was him.

“Raven,” she answered, her tone clipped.

“Raven . . . it’s Mackenzie.”

A combination of relief and irritation caused her to lash out. “Where have you been? I’ve looked everywhere for you.”

“Look, I know what it looks like.” He sounded rushed, fearful, far from his usual swagger.

“No one was supposed to get hurt. What happened?”

“It wasn’t me, okay? She was already dead when I found her.” A few beats passed before Mackenzie spoke again. “You know I didn’t do this.”

“Frankly, I’m not sure what to believe. This job . . . it messes with your head. Maybe you got in too deep.”

“I don’t blame you. Under the circumstances, I wouldn’t trust me either; but I’m telling you, I found her that way when I got there. I did not kill her—”

“So why run?”

“Come on, Raven. What was I supposed to do? You know better than anyone why. If Nicholas finds me, I’m dead—”

“No!” Raven interrupted. “Not you—we! My neck is on the line too.”

“You’re right. Sorry—really, I get it. I didn’t plan any of this. What do you want me to say? At least I got out before Beth caught me.”

“Yeah . . . well now Nicholas wants her.”

“What—why? She doesn’t know anything. How are you going to pull that off?”

“You let me worry about that.”

His breath filled the line as he released a deep sigh. “Listen, let’s meet. I’ve got the information we need, but we’ve got to be careful. We can talk, just not over the phone. I think I’m being watched.”

Raven’s antenna shot up.

A long pause. “I trust you, Raven. You’re a good kid. I’m sorry I got you mixed up in this. Let me make it up to you.” He must have taken her silence for agreement as he rushed on. “You familiar with the abandoned primary school in Massies Mill?”

“Yeah. You’re there now?”

“. . . I’m here.” He sounded nervous. She pictured him looking over his shoulder. “Meet me around back. And, Raven . . .”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t stand me up.” The phone went dead.

Raven pulled the cell from her ear and stared at it as if it were a crystal ball that could tell her the future. She didn’t like it. It sounded like a trap, but what choice did she have? Everything depended on it.

She tossed the phone onto the seat and tapped her finger on the wheel. What was Mack up to? That primary had been torn down four years ago. There was nothing there now except a dump. A quick look at the dark house assured her the family had bedded down for the evening. Beth wouldn’t be going anywhere. She could always double back. Raven started the car, apprehension churning in her gut.

 

Two hours later, Raven smacked her palm against the dash. What a fool! He hadn’t shown. It was close to one a.m., and her body needed sleep. She longed to be in bed like a normal person, but she was out gallivanting, chasing her tail as Granny would say. But that was it, wasn’t it? She wasn’t a normal person. Raven had left ordinary in the rearview mirror years ago. Why had Mack called and not shown? Something didn’t feel right. She’d waited for any signs of him, but other than a few raccoons prowling through the dumpsters, she hadn’t seen another living thing.

She cut the engine and sat outside her own darkened house. The car gave the equivalent of a sigh as the various parts cooled in the night air, clicking and settling in a companionable agreement with her situation. Her nearest neighbor lived a good mile away, and that’s the way she liked it.

She removed the key, got out, and eased her way up the aged steps. The railing had long since given way, so she was careful not to lose her balance as her boots scraped across the worn boards. The knob turned easily as she never bothered locking it. No one worried with locks in the country. Besides, even if she were inclined, a locked door wouldn’t discourage anyone she knew.

There was enough light for her to avoid stumbling over Otis when he strutted out from the darkness. Fat, lazy, and less than graceful, she had named the cat after the lovable town drunk on The Andy Griffith Show. Along with squash and green beans, the program had been a staple in her life. Every day after school and before homework, Raven sat and watched the old reruns. One of the perks of living with the elderly, she could recite just about every black-and-white sitcom by heart. Otis rubbed his head and gave her a coarse scolding for missing his dinner again. Tonight, he seemed more upset than usual.

“I know,” she sympathized as she bent to scratch behind his ears. “If it makes you feel any better, my night hasn’t been great either.” She scooped the obese tabby into her arms and carried him to the kitchen without bothering to turn on the light. She’d been in the dark so long her eyes were accustomed to it.

Raven poured a generous portion of cat food into his bowl, her way of making amends. Any other time Otis followed behind her, but tonight he refused. Instead he slunk off to the corner, feet tucked under him, with his ears laid back.

“What’s wrong with you, you fickle thing?” She shrugged. “Sit there and pout, then.”

She unlaced her boots, deposited them beside the stove, and opened the fridge for a carton of OJ. It was surprisingly light as she turned it up to drink from the container. Only a drop hit the back of her throat.

Immediately, the tiny hairs on her neck stood to attention. She eyed her dishes in the sink from this morning. The glass was washed and flipped over the way she’d left it. The bowl she’d eaten cereal from remained tilted toward the oven. The carton had been full this morning. Something wasn’t right.

She whipped out her Glock 23 from the back of her waistband and scanned the kitchen. The empty cardboard container fell with a hush to the floor. She eased through the house, floorboards cold on her naked feet. With weapon drawn and back against the wall, she inched her way down the hall. She checked the tiny bathroom. With relief, she’d left the curtain to the shower open. Nothing but the drip, drip, drip of the faucet.

The place was small, not many places to hide. She checked the bedroom closet. Nothing. She gave a nervous laugh, relieved she had overreacted. No sooner had she dropped her guard when arms seized her—crushing the air from her lungs. A white-hot prick as something was jabbed into the side of her neck. She struggled to free herself but couldn’t budge. Liquid heat surged through her bloodstream, overwhelming her senses. The room spun. It was as if she were being sucked down a black hole, falling farther and farther until darkness swallowed her up . . .

 

•••

 

 

When she awoke groggy and disoriented some time later, she found her eyelids slow and heavy to respond. It was if they were made of lead. She struggled to pry them open and managed to force them wide enough to make out the blurry image of the clock. It was three-something-er-other. Ugh! What was wrong with her? She inched her fingers, clutching the sheet. She was on her bed.

Her tongue felt thick, her mouth as dry as one of Granny’s balls of yarn. She moaned and rolled from her right side to her left, her arm flopping to the space beside her. Her hand brushed against something large and solid, and like a buzzing hive, her brain stirred.

Alarm signals pulsed to her fogged mind. Her heart pounded. Intruder. Struggle.

On instinct, she pushed away to the edge. What was it? Somehow, she knew before she was even able to focus. Raven inhaled sharply. With a desperate shove against the massive object, she tumbled out of bed and landed with a jolt. She scrambled away until she banged against the wall. Bracing her back against it, she wrapped her arms around her knees while she tried to calm herself.

She huddled there, rocking on her heels, and staring at the covered mound. Her head throbbed. She couldn’t think. Given the size and shape, it could only be one thing.

Okay, Raven, get it together!

Raven pushed up and eased toward the bed. Her hand shook as she leaned in and reached for the blanket. She hovered, clenching and unclenching her fist as she built up her nerve. With a quick jerk, she flipped the quilt aside.

Cold, lifeless eyes stared back at her. No! It had to be a cruel joke. It couldn’t be! But the gaping bullet wound in Mackenzie’s forehead told her this was real. His body in her bed said she was next!

 

Chapter 15 - Raven

Terrified, Raven clasped her hands over her mouth to stifle her scream. She stumbled backward, getting tangled in her own feet in a frantic attempt to distance herself. Her unsteady legs gave way, and she tumbled to the rug. She remained frozen several seconds, too shocked to pick herself up.

This could not be happening—it could not!

Minutes ticked by as her unsteady limbs waited for her brain to send out directions. Then, like a surge of furious water crashing through a dam, her instincts rushed into motion. Raven propelled herself to her feet. The rhythm of her heart beat out a tempo. Move! Move! Move!

She inhaled, then exhaled, and tried to focus. Her mind rattled off questions. Why hadn’t Mack’s killer taken her out when given a chance? Were they still in the house?

Dominic, she concluded with certainty. This had his sick sense of humor all over it. He didn’t want her dead—he enjoyed tormenting her. But why? He wouldn’t act on his own. Nicholas was sending a message. But, how had they found Mack, and the more important question, did they know? No! If Nicholas even suspected, she’d have a bullet between her eyes too.

What cruel game was he playing this time? She reeled with the possibilities.

At once, it occurred to her . . . the needle, drugging her . . . they killed Mack, and they planned to frame her for the murder. Unless, of course, she outwitted them!

Had they already called the police?

A gnawing fear clawed at her stomach. Who knew her background better than Nicholas? If anyone started poking around,