“I didn’t mean to hurt Charlie,” she said, her tone suddenly pleading. “It was an accident.”
“You were careless,” the old man said. “You weren’t watching where you were going. I didn’t see everything you did, but I can add two and two. At first I thought that you packed him up and took him to the hospital. You should have done that. A decent human being would have.”
“I was scared,” she said.
Dr. Miller gave her a very hard stare. “You were concerned about something other than that little boy.”
“I thought he was dead,” she said. “I thought I’d killed him. I was sure he was dead.”
“Soon you’ll be dead, Lizzie.” He thrust the scalpel at her, and she twisted her body just enough to avoid a slice to her heart. Instead, the blade cut into her shoulder. Red poured from the wound, and Liz let out a scream.
“You shouldn’t have moved,” he said. “I’m a doctor. I can make this painless and quick. You’re going to die, Lizzie. And Charlie and I are going to leave here.”
Liz felt a little woozy, but not so much that she couldn’t fight for her life. She threw herself at the old man, and the two of them crashed to the polished cement floor. The scalpel flew from Dr. Miller’s hand and skittered over by the door from which the crying had come.
The door opened a crack, and Charlie emerged. The sight of the boy took Liz’s breath away. He was wearing pajamas. His head was a mess of blond, a little longer than the most recent photos taken by his mom. Otherwise he looked just as he had the day he went missing. He was healthy. Clean.
And alive.
At the boy’s feet was the scalpel.
“You’re going to die,” Dr. Miller said, as he wrestled away from her and started to crawl after the scalpel.
Liz somehow found the strength to go after him. She jumped onto his back and grabbed his neck, but she was too weak to choke him. She could feel her strength ebb. Dr. Miller rolled her roughly off him and scanned for the scalpel.
She looked over at Charlie.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
MISSING: TWENTY-NINE DAYS
“Don’t let him get it, Charlie!”
The little boy, wide-eyed with fear, bent down and picked up the blade just before Dr. Miller’s fingertips brushed the stainless steel handle. Charlie took a step back and slumped against the front of the TV, his small body silhouetted against its bluish radiance. He held the blade before him in both hands and stared at them.
For Liz, it was do or die. She launched herself once again upon the old man’s back and drove him to the floor. She took the doctor’s head in her hands and slammed it forward against the concrete as hard as she could. She imagined that his skull was a hard-boiled egg and that she’d crack it against a hard countertop, shattering the shell. Dan Miller let out a scream and blood poured from his head, forming a dark, viscous pool and mixing with his thick white hair.
“I didn’t mean to,” she said, pushing herself up and away from him.
He tried to raise himself, but succeeded only in rolling over. His eyes looked upward at her with a kind of fuzziness that suggested he couldn’t see.
“Remember what you did,” he said, and then his jaw fell open. His glassy eyes remained fixed on the ceiling.
What was happening? Was everything around her a dream? Or had the drugs Owen had been giving her caused her to hallucinate? She leaned over Dr. Miller, her shirt stained with his blood, and felt for a pulse. He was dead. She’d fought him to save her life, not kill him.
Charlie, who was suddenly next to her, said, “I want my mommy.”
Was this a dream?
“I want to go home,” he said.
Liz sat up straight and held him tightly. He was wearing pajamas. He looked fine. He smelled good. He was all right. She could feel a small lump on the back of his head, hidden under his halo of gold hair. Charlie was alive! This was real! And somehow God had given her a chance to make things right. The police would try to figure out how Charlie had ended up with Dr. Miller. Charlie probably couldn’t answer that, but he would tell them what he knew.
She’d tell them.
“Honey,” she said, lifting him into her arms, “I’ll take you home. I’ll take you to your mommy now.”
Blood oozed from her shoulder, but she paid no attention to it.
“Auntie Liz,” he said, “Dan’s hurt.”
“I know,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’ll call for help when I get you home.”
Carrying Charlie, Liz opened the basement door facing the river. Adrenaline coursed through her body. Her world was about to change. Carole was on the porch, watching the river. It would be over now. Liz would go to jail for kidnapping or something along those lines, but she had not killed Charlie. She was not a murderer.
Not the killer of a little boy.
Dr. Miller? Well, that was another matter.
“Carole!” she called over the water, her voice charged with emotion. “He’s alive! Charlie’s alive!”
Carole ran down to the river’s edge. She was frantic. Even from a distance, Liz could see that Charlie’s mother understood what was happening, that her son was about to be returned to her. That everything she’d prayed for had come true.
He was Jaycee. He was Elizabeth. He was the trio of Cleveland survivors . . .
The water was high and moving swiftly. Carole was about to go in when Liz stopped her.
“No, Carole!” she called out. “Don’t go in the water. Meet me on the bridge. Call 911. Dr. Miller had him the whole time. I think I killed him, Carole. I killed Dr. Miller!”
“Mommy! Mommy!”
Liz would never forget the expression on Carole’s face as she put Charlie in his mother’s arms on the footbridge over the Deschutes. It was a look that somehow expressed disbelief and shock and fear and relief and gratitude all at the same time. Liz took several steps back, leaving them to it. Mother and son stood in the center of the span, the water of the Deschutes running beneath it a gray scarf being pulled out from under them.
Tears streamed down Carole’s face.
“Charlie,” she said over and over.
“Mommy,” he said, “I was calling for you. Why didn’t you come?”
Carole held him tight. She breathed him in.
“Honey,” she said, “I was looking for you. I was looking for you everywhere. I didn’t hear you. I didn’t hear you call me.”
“Liz hurt Dan,” he said.
Carole noticed the blood on Liz’s shirt, then the gash on her shoulder. “Liz, you’re hurt.”
“I’m okay,” Liz said.
“We need a doctor,” Carole said. She gripped her son but kept her eyes on her friend. “We need help for both of you. She saved you, Charlie. Liz saved you.”
By then Liz was reeling. She could barely stand. She’d killed someone. This time she really had. Her heart was pumping so hard that her rib cage ached. Inside, she felt as lonely as she ever had. Her secret had eaten away at her, and she imagined she was hollow inside.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she said, trying to find the words. “There’s something I need to tell you.”