Things That Are (retail) by Andrew Clements

Author:Andrew Clements [Clements, Andrew]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Philomel
Published: 2008-09-17T22:00:00+00:00

chapter 12

felonies

Th-thank you. It’s…so…cold.”

The man whispers, teeth chattering as we stand on the landing inside the back door.

“Down here,” and I reach for the basement door.

With the door open, a big breath of warm air rises and surrounds us. The furnace in this old house is huge.

“You first.” I flip the light switch on my right. The treads creak as he walks down, and I follow with Gertie, pulling the door shut behind us, my right hand on the smooth wooden handrail. It’s six steps down to the concrete floor. “Should be socks and some other clothes on the wooden rack by the washer.”

“Yes. Wonderful. Do you think anyone will mind?”

I push my fears aside, try to sound as if it’s normal to be helping an invisible man get dressed right in front of me. “No, not at all.”

Gertie growls, then almost yips, and I know if she starts barking, Mom and Dad will hear. “Gertie, hush! Good girl.”

And I make a show of having to restrain her. I want this man to know that she’s my protector. And my family’s protector. Bobby’s too.

I put a hard edge on my voice, a take-charge tone.

“You need to stay put down here, and you have to keep quiet. Because you were right about Bobby being followed. And me too. It’s the FBI.”

And I’m pleased at how I sound, very no-nonsense, strong.

But then I can’t help asking, “Will you be all right?”

“I think so,” he says, “yes. Thanks so much. I just need to warm up.”

His words are strained, the voice of someone in pain.

Then he says, “Is Bobby here? Because I really need to talk to him…. I think he’s still in more danger than he knows.”

I want to ask what he means by that, but I don’t want the power to shift, don’t want to make William feel like he’s in charge. Because he isn’t.

That’s what I tell myself.

I put on my strong voice again. “He’s not here, but he might come back later on.” Because that’s what I hope.

“Well,” he says, “tell him I must speak with him, all right? Please?”

I nod, and say, “I will.” But only because he said “please.”

And our conversation is over.

Gertie and I are up the stairs with the door open, and now on the landing, and I step aside and close the basement door.

And I turn the dead bolt. I’m locking him down there. And I wish this door had another lock. Or two.

I stand still for almost a minute, my back against the locked door, until my breathing is almost back to normal.

As I start up the stairs, I can tell Gertie wants to stay on the landing and be a watchdog. I’m halfway through the kitchen before she scrambles up the steps and comes with me toward the family room.

And as I turn left out of the kitchen doorway, I’m already framing an announcement to my parents, imagining how to break this news story.

Maybe, “Guess who I’ve got locked in the basement?”

Or, “I know for a fact that the police are not going to find anyone at the library.

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