Read Online The Abduction by James Grippando - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Grippando
Ads: Link
bench at the corner was the perfect place to stop and undo the awful pigtails her mother had weaved for her. The left one unfurled quickly. She was tugging on the other when she noticed the Wharton Middle School van drawing closer.
“Darn it, Reggie,” she muttered. She shook her hair out, styling it the cool way she liked it, then picked up her book bag and started toward the corner.
The van was just twenty feet behind her.
Kristen ignored him, refusing to look back. Her eyes were fixed straight ahead until she stopped atthe corner to check traffic. Not a car in sight. The van rolled through the intersection, right past her. It stopped on the other side of the street, as if positioned to lead her straight to the high school.
She was mad now. What the heck is Reggie up to?
She crossed the street and stopped even with the van. The colored leaves from the canopy overhead reflected off the windshield, making it difficult for her to see inside. But she could make out Reggie’s familiar old driving cap. From the sidewalk, she glared and shouted, “Reggie, we had a deal!”
The engine was running, but the van stayed put.
With angry steps she approached the van and yanked the passenger door open.
She started, then smiled. He was wearing a rubberized Lincoln Howe mask, the most popular mask for Halloween 2000. “Very cute, Reggie. Happy Halloween to you, too.”
The driver grabbed her wrist.
“Reggie, come on—”
She froze in mid-sentence. The hand was white. It wasn’t Reggie.
The grip tightened—the powerful grip of a man much younger than Reggie. A quick yank nearly ripped her arm from its socket. In a split second she was off her feet, flying through the open door. She landed upside down on the passenger seat. Another man grabbed her legs, threw a sack over her head, and pulled her to the rear of the van.
“Go!” he shouted.
The door slammed, the locks clicked. Kristen tried to kick and punch, but her wrists and ankles were bound with plastic cuffs. The heavy sack muted her screams. Her thigh burned with the jabof a needle, like the vaccinations at school.
The driver pulled off his mask and drove away slowly—just like Reggie Miles, the most careful old driver at Wharton Middle School.
A sharp bell rang through the high school halls. Lockers slammed. Cigarette smoke poured from the boys’ and girls’ bathrooms. A fight beneath the stairwell finally broke up, leaving one kid crying. A steady stream of latecomers trickled into Mrs. Roberta Hood’s tenth-grade English class, though a few students just seemed to come and go as they pleased, unwilling to commit to in or out. The raucous Halloween spirit had invaded Martin Luther King, Jr., High School.
Mrs. Hood was middle-aged, but she looked much older. Her hair was completely gray, and her glasses were so thick they distorted her eyeballs. She’d taught high school English for over twenty years, searching for the next Ralph Ellison or Maya Angelou. She was quite certain her protégé wasn’t among the delinquents in the back flicking lighted matches into a waste can.
“Boys, stop it!”
The class laughed as she stomped out the flames. She brushed the ashes from her elaborate costume—authentic black and leopard-spotted robes of African tribal royalty—then returned to her desk and checked the seating chart. Some of the students were too cool for costumes, but many came dressed. Werewolves and vampires were especially popular. She noted the usual no-shows—and one who was not so usual. Her favorite student was missing. She scanned the room to see if she’d taken a different seat, or if she’d just missed her in her costume. She didn’tsee her. She rose from her desk and checked the hallway. Not there, either.
A look of concern came over her face. She felt particularly protective of Kristen, given her age and her family’s stature. Kristen had missed class only once before. That time, the assistant principal had called from the middle
“Darn it, Reggie,” she muttered. She shook her hair out, styling it the cool way she liked it, then picked up her book bag and started toward the corner.
The van was just twenty feet behind her.
Kristen ignored him, refusing to look back. Her eyes were fixed straight ahead until she stopped atthe corner to check traffic. Not a car in sight. The van rolled through the intersection, right past her. It stopped on the other side of the street, as if positioned to lead her straight to the high school.
She was mad now. What the heck is Reggie up to?
She crossed the street and stopped even with the van. The colored leaves from the canopy overhead reflected off the windshield, making it difficult for her to see inside. But she could make out Reggie’s familiar old driving cap. From the sidewalk, she glared and shouted, “Reggie, we had a deal!”
The engine was running, but the van stayed put.
With angry steps she approached the van and yanked the passenger door open.
She started, then smiled. He was wearing a rubberized Lincoln Howe mask, the most popular mask for Halloween 2000. “Very cute, Reggie. Happy Halloween to you, too.”
The driver grabbed her wrist.
“Reggie, come on—”
She froze in mid-sentence. The hand was white. It wasn’t Reggie.
The grip tightened—the powerful grip of a man much younger than Reggie. A quick yank nearly ripped her arm from its socket. In a split second she was off her feet, flying through the open door. She landed upside down on the passenger seat. Another man grabbed her legs, threw a sack over her head, and pulled her to the rear of the van.
“Go!” he shouted.
The door slammed, the locks clicked. Kristen tried to kick and punch, but her wrists and ankles were bound with plastic cuffs. The heavy sack muted her screams. Her thigh burned with the jabof a needle, like the vaccinations at school.
The driver pulled off his mask and drove away slowly—just like Reggie Miles, the most careful old driver at Wharton Middle School.
A sharp bell rang through the high school halls. Lockers slammed. Cigarette smoke poured from the boys’ and girls’ bathrooms. A fight beneath the stairwell finally broke up, leaving one kid crying. A steady stream of latecomers trickled into Mrs. Roberta Hood’s tenth-grade English class, though a few students just seemed to come and go as they pleased, unwilling to commit to in or out. The raucous Halloween spirit had invaded Martin Luther King, Jr., High School.
Mrs. Hood was middle-aged, but she looked much older. Her hair was completely gray, and her glasses were so thick they distorted her eyeballs. She’d taught high school English for over twenty years, searching for the next Ralph Ellison or Maya Angelou. She was quite certain her protégé wasn’t among the delinquents in the back flicking lighted matches into a waste can.
“Boys, stop it!”
The class laughed as she stomped out the flames. She brushed the ashes from her elaborate costume—authentic black and leopard-spotted robes of African tribal royalty—then returned to her desk and checked the seating chart. Some of the students were too cool for costumes, but many came dressed. Werewolves and vampires were especially popular. She noted the usual no-shows—and one who was not so usual. Her favorite student was missing. She scanned the room to see if she’d taken a different seat, or if she’d just missed her in her costume. She didn’tsee her. She rose from her desk and checked the hallway. Not there, either.
A look of concern came over her face. She felt particularly protective of Kristen, given her age and her family’s stature. Kristen had missed class only once before. That time, the assistant principal had called from the middle
Similar Books
