the Last Child (2010) by Hart John

Author:Hart, John [John, Hart,]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2011-01-14T19:14:16.250000+00:00

T

he parking lot was slammed, which reminded Johnny that it was Saturday. Steve parked near the employee entrance at the back. When he opened the door, his mirror splashed sun into Johnny's eyes. "Come on," he said.

"Can I wait in the van?"

"Too dangerous back here. Homeless. Drug abusers. God knows what else." Johnny watched as Steve touched the objects on his belt: Mace, radio, cuffs. "Come on. I'll show you something cool."

Inside, a key card granted access to a narrow door, metal stairs, and a third-story hallway that led to an office marked SECURITY. Steve swiped his card and leaned a shoulder against the office door. "Kids never get to see this."

The security office was large and complex, with a bank of video monitors that covered an entire wall. Two guards sat in black swivel chairs, hands on keyboards and joysticks, changing images on the screens, zooming in and out, observing. They turned as Johnny stepped in, then did a double take.

One of them was twenty-something and fat, with hair mowed short and a razor-burned face. His smile was at once awe filled and dismissive. "This the kid?"

Steve put a hand on Johnny's back, propelled him farther into the room "My nephew. Sort of."

The fat guard offered a meaty hand, and Johnny studied it warily before shaking it. "Good job, kid. Wish I could have been there."

Johnny looked at his uncle, who offered two words. "Tiffany Shore."

The guard made a shooting motion. "Pow."

"I don't want to talk about it," Johnny said.

But the guard was eager. "You see this?" He whipped a newspaper from the counter. "Front page. Check it out."

The picture was of Johnny, taken through the window as he sat in the front seat of his mother's car. His hands still gripped the wheel. His mouth hung open, face shocked and empty. Blood sheeted everything, dark where it had dried, bright where it wept red on Johnny's chest. Feathers and rattles shone black on his skin, the skull as yellow-wet as a stone soaked in honey. Tiffany angled across the seat beside him, sun so fierce on her face that it shattered in her eyes. Men with clean clothes and long arms reached through the door to pull her out, but she was fighting, mouth tight, fingers desperate on Johnny's arm.

The caption ran below the photograph: "Stolen Child Found, Pedophile Killed."

Johnny's voice came in a choked whisper. "Where did they get this picture?"

"The security guard at the hospital took it with his cell phone. They're using the same picture on CNN." The fat guard shook his head. "Probably paid him a fortune."

Steve stepped in front of Johnny and pushed the paper away. "He doesn't need to see that."

The guard shifted as he took in Johnny's face, saw how shadows multiplied in the hollow places. "I didn't mean nothing."

"Is the boss in?" Steve interrupted.

The guard hooked a thumb at an office door but kept his eyes on Johnny. Johnny followed Steve's gaze and saw a window and white blinds sheathed in dust.

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