head, thinking the boy had so little in his life he was glad to make him smile. Arturo reminded him of himself as a boy, wanting and needing someone to notice him and care about him. "Hasta domingo," he told him with a brief stroke of the boy's cheek.
"Sí, padre."
The boy was still smiling when he ran off down the path, quickly disappearing into the black mist.
He picked up the box, finding himself a bit anxious. Perhaps it was another special package from his Internet friend in the States. More teas and cookies. Arturo said it had been an old man who had given him the package, but it could have been a substitute postman, someone Arturo didn't know. To young boys, anyone over thirty was old. But there was no mailing label this time. No postage stamp, nothing at all.
He brought the package in, noting, again, that it was light __ too light to cause much harm. Yet he set it on his small wooden table and began to examine it from all sides. There were no marks, no markings anywhere on the box. It didn't even look as if a label had perhaps been removed. Sometimes packages were a bit battered by the time they reached him. After all, this was the rain forest.
Finally he gave in and reached for the fillet knife. He sliced through the packing tape and hesitated before slowly pushing back the flaps. He was still pulling out tissue paper when he saw it. And he snatched back his hand as if he had gotten burned.
What kind of a joke was this? It had to be a joke. Who would know? And how had they found him?
His hands were already shaking when he took the plastic Richard Nixon Halloween mask out of the box.
CHAPTER 9
Omaha, Nebraska
G ibson wondered where the noise was coming from. It was too dark to see, but it sounded like running water. Maybe it was the toilet bowl in the bathroom between his bedroom and his little brother's. All it took was a jiggle of the handle but Tyler always forgot.
He tossed and turned onto his side. He pulled the blanket up over his ears and tried to ignore the noise, burying his head in the pillow. It didn't work. The water kept gurgling. Louder now.
Damn it, how hard was it to jiggle the frickin' handle?
He crawled out of bed, feeling his way to the door like he usually did when he got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. If he turned on a light his mom got hysterical and wanted to know what was wrong. Besides, she kept a night-light in the hallway, one of those light-sensored gizmos that turned on automatically in the dark. Only tonight there was no light. The frickin' thing must have burned out. Piece of crap.
He felt along the wall. The gurgling hadn't stopped. And he was right. It did seem to be coming from the bathroom between his and Tyler's rooms. He had a notion to go wake up Tyler and show him how to fix it. But wait, wasn't Tyler supposed to be sleeping over at his friend's? The big baby must have changed his mind.
Gibson noticed the light under the closed bathroom door. Not only did Tyler leave the toilet running, he left the light on. Geez, what a pain in the ass. He pushed open the door and froze. There on the bathroom floor was Monsignor O'Sullivan, lying on his side. The gurgling noise was blood streaming from his nose and mouth and chest. And his eyes were staring, unblinking, directly at him.
Gibson started backing away and slammed into the wall. He shook his head and looked around the small bathroom. Everything else was in place. Even the wadded-up towel he had left on the floor. He closed his eyes and opened them again.
That's when the priest's eyes blinked.
Jesus! Gibson turned to run, but the door had closed behind him. He couldn't find the doorknob. What the hell happened to the doorknob?
He glanced back over his shoulder. The monsignor jerked and turned, then started to get to his feet. Now Gibson pressed himself against the wall, too stunned to move. Paralyzed, with his heart pounding in his ears and a cold sweat sliding down his back. The last time
"Sí, padre."
The boy was still smiling when he ran off down the path, quickly disappearing into the black mist.
He picked up the box, finding himself a bit anxious. Perhaps it was another special package from his Internet friend in the States. More teas and cookies. Arturo said it had been an old man who had given him the package, but it could have been a substitute postman, someone Arturo didn't know. To young boys, anyone over thirty was old. But there was no mailing label this time. No postage stamp, nothing at all.
He brought the package in, noting, again, that it was light __ too light to cause much harm. Yet he set it on his small wooden table and began to examine it from all sides. There were no marks, no markings anywhere on the box. It didn't even look as if a label had perhaps been removed. Sometimes packages were a bit battered by the time they reached him. After all, this was the rain forest.
Finally he gave in and reached for the fillet knife. He sliced through the packing tape and hesitated before slowly pushing back the flaps. He was still pulling out tissue paper when he saw it. And he snatched back his hand as if he had gotten burned.
What kind of a joke was this? It had to be a joke. Who would know? And how had they found him?
His hands were already shaking when he took the plastic Richard Nixon Halloween mask out of the box.
CHAPTER 9
Omaha, Nebraska
G ibson wondered where the noise was coming from. It was too dark to see, but it sounded like running water. Maybe it was the toilet bowl in the bathroom between his bedroom and his little brother's. All it took was a jiggle of the handle but Tyler always forgot.
He tossed and turned onto his side. He pulled the blanket up over his ears and tried to ignore the noise, burying his head in the pillow. It didn't work. The water kept gurgling. Louder now.
Damn it, how hard was it to jiggle the frickin' handle?
He crawled out of bed, feeling his way to the door like he usually did when he got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. If he turned on a light his mom got hysterical and wanted to know what was wrong. Besides, she kept a night-light in the hallway, one of those light-sensored gizmos that turned on automatically in the dark. Only tonight there was no light. The frickin' thing must have burned out. Piece of crap.
He felt along the wall. The gurgling hadn't stopped. And he was right. It did seem to be coming from the bathroom between his and Tyler's rooms. He had a notion to go wake up Tyler and show him how to fix it. But wait, wasn't Tyler supposed to be sleeping over at his friend's? The big baby must have changed his mind.
Gibson noticed the light under the closed bathroom door. Not only did Tyler leave the toilet running, he left the light on. Geez, what a pain in the ass. He pushed open the door and froze. There on the bathroom floor was Monsignor O'Sullivan, lying on his side. The gurgling noise was blood streaming from his nose and mouth and chest. And his eyes were staring, unblinking, directly at him.
Gibson started backing away and slammed into the wall. He shook his head and looked around the small bathroom. Everything else was in place. Even the wadded-up towel he had left on the floor. He closed his eyes and opened them again.
That's when the priest's eyes blinked.
Jesus! Gibson turned to run, but the door had closed behind him. He couldn't find the doorknob. What the hell happened to the doorknob?
He glanced back over his shoulder. The monsignor jerked and turned, then started to get to his feet. Now Gibson pressed himself against the wall, too stunned to move. Paralyzed, with his heart pounding in his ears and a cold sweat sliding down his back. The last time
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