Lissa and Brian hadn't arrived yet.
'I want to come with you, Trent,' Laurie said, but her face proclaimed her a liar. It was very pale, and her eyes were too large, swimming with unshed tears.
'No way,' Trent said. 'Wait here for Brian and Lissa.' At their names, Laurie turned and looked down Walnut Street. She saw two kids coming, hurrying along with lunchboxes bouncing in their hands. Although they were too far away to make out faces, she was pretty sure it was them, and she told Trent. 'Good. The three of you go behind Mrs. Redland's hedge there and wait for Lew to pass. Then you can come up the street, but don't go in the house and don't let them, either. Wait for me outside.'
'I'm afraid, Trent.' The tears had begun to spill down her cheeks now.
'Me too, Sprat,' he said, and kissed her swiftly on the forehead. 'But it'll all be over soon.' Before she could say anything else, Trent went running up the street toward the Bradburys' house on Maple Street. He glanced at his watch as he ran. It was twelve past three.
The house had a still, hot air that scared him. It was as if gunpowder had been spilled in every corner, and people he could not see were standing by to light unseen fuses. He imagined the clock in the wine-cellar ticking relentlessly away, now reading
00:19:06
What if Lew was late?
No time to worry about that now.
Trent raced up to the third floor through the still, combustible air. He imagined he could feel the house stirring now, coming alive as the countdown neared its conclusion. He tried to tell himself that imagination was all it was, but part of him knew better. He went into Lew's study, opened two or three file-cabinets and desk drawers at random, and threw the papers he found all over the floor. This took only a few moments, but he was just finishing when he heard the Porsche coming up the street. Its engine wasn't snarling today; Lew had wound it up to a scream.
Trent stepped out of the office and into the shadows of the third-floor hallway, where they had drilled the first holes what seemed like a century ago. He rammed his hand into his pocket for the key, and his pocket was empty except for an old, crumpled lunch-ticket. I must have lost it running up the street. It must have bounced right out of my pocket. He stood there, sweating and frozen, as the Porsche squealed into the driveway. Its engine cut out. The driver's door opened and slammed shut. Lew's footsteps ran for the back door. Thunder crumped like an artillery shell in the sky, a stroke of bright lightning forked through the gloom, and, somewhere deep in the house, a powerful motor turned over, uttered a low, muffled bark, and then began to hum.
Jesus, oh dear Jesus, what do I do? What CAN I do? He's bigger than me! If I try to hit him over the head, he'll - He had slipped his left hand into his other pocket, and his thoughts broke off as it touched the old-fashioned metal teeth of the key. At some point during the long afternoon in the park, he must have transferred it from one pocket to the other without even being aware of it. Gasping, heart galloping in his stomach and throat as well as in his chest, Trent faded back down the hall to the luggage-closet, stepped inside, and pulled the accordion-style doors most of the way shut in front of him.
Lew was galumphing up the stairs, bawling his wife's name over and over at the top of his voice. Trent saw him appear, hair standing up in spikes (he must have been running a hand through it as he drove), his tie askew, big drops of sweat standing out on his broad, intelligent forehead, eyes squinted down to furious little slits.
Chapter Ten
'Catherine!' he bawled, and ran down the hall into the office.
Before he could even get all the way in, Trent was out of the luggage-closet and running soundlessly back down the hall. He would have just one chance. If he missed the keyhole... if the tumblers failed to turn at the first twist of the key...
If either of those things happens, I'll fight with him, he had time to think. I can't send him alone, I'll make damn sure to take him with me.
He grabbed the door and banged it shut so hard that a little film of dust shot out of the cracks between the hinges. He caught one glimpse of Lew's startled face. Then the key was in the lock. He twisted it, and the bolt shot across an instant before Lew struck the door. 'Hey!' Lew shouted. 'Hey, you little bastard, what are you doing? Where's Catherine? Let me out of here!'
The knob twisted fruitlessly back and forth. Then it stopped, and Lew rained a fusillade of blows on the door.