"Nice to be off."

"You weigh a ton."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

She slid her arm across the grass, found Shannon's hand and squeezed it. "I didn't think we'd make it out of this one."

"Ah, I always knew we'd be fine."

"Do you call this fine?" Laura asked.

"Could be worse."

"Oh, yeah. A lot worse."

"Just goes to show," Shannon said, "we can get along without our guardian spooks."

"Guardian spooks?" Betsy asked.

Laura grimaced, and saw Shannon do the same. Apparently, they'd both forgotten that the girl was standing nearby.

"What's a guardian spook?" Betsy asked.

Shannon shrugged her shoulders, then groaned as if it hurt.

"Sort of like a guardian angel," Laura explained. "But with attitude."

"Do you have guardian spooks?"

"Nah," Shannon said. "We were just kidding around about that."

"Bret's our guardian," Laura said. Thrusting at the ground with hands and knees, she pushed herself up. But when she tried to stand, a fiery streak of pain reminded her of the knife cut on the bottom of her right foot. She jerked that foot off the ground. Standing on her left leg, she hopped to keep her balance and saw a group of kids standing around Bret and a robed woman beside the van. Bret, whose head wasn't quite as high as the woman's chest, was aiming the pistol at her face.

When he noticed Laura, he used his free hand to wave.

Most of the kids turned their heads to look at her.

Giving them a spectacle.

She stopped bouncing, put an arm across her breasts, pressed her other hand between her legs, and would've fallen over except that Betsy hurried over and held her up.

"Thanks," she said. Then she raised her voice. "Shannon, would you please get up here and help me? I've got a slashed foot."

"Oh. Sorry."

Shannon struggled to her feet and hobbled over. Betsy got out of the way. Shannon put an arm around Laura's low back and planted a hand against her hip. Laura leaned against her.

Facing the kids and making no attempt to hide her own nudity, Shannon said, "So, kids, trick or treat." To Bret, she said, "You did a great job, buddy."

"Thanks." Keeping the pistol aimed at his prisoner, he glanced toward Laura and Shannon and said, "But there's people missing, Mandy and my dad. And Rhonda. I don't know where they are. And I think Hunter needs an ambulance."

"Any of you kids have a cell phone?" Shannon asked.

"I had one," said a boy in a Freddy Krueger costume, "but they took it away from me."

"Me, too," said a girl who seemed to be dressed as a ballerina.

"What did they do with 'em?" Shannon asked.

"I think they're in the van," Krueger said.

"Somebody go look, okay?" Shannon said.

"Not okay."

Off to the right, a fair distance from the kids but closer to where Laura and Shannon were standing, a girl in a sweater and pleated skirt suddenly stumbled out from behind the Kneeling Girl statue. Arms windmilling, hair flying, she tried to stay up but lost her balance and flew headlong.

"Rhonda!" Bret yelled.

She slammed against the ground and skidded toward the concrete bench.

Then a smaller girl was shoved around the side of the statue by a woman walking behind her.

A woman with a hairless head.

Fain?

The bitch who whipped me with her belt.

The girl looked no older than twelve or thirteen. She wore a torn sweater, a scarf around her neck and a poodle skirt. Her left arm was pressed close against her side. Something seemed to be wrong with it.

Fain, behind her, was clutching the girl's pony tail with one hand. Her other hand held a hatchet over the girl's head, ready to strike.

"Mandy?" Bret said.

Fain said, "Kid, put down the gun."

Though Bret was looking over his shoulder at Fain and Mandy, he kept the pistol pointed at his prisoner. "You put down the hatchet," he said.

"I'll put it in this girl's head."

"You'd better not."

"I will."

"You better not." He suddenly sounded close to tears.

"Fain," Shannon said.

The woman turned her head.

Shannon let go of Laura, stepped away from her, and began walking slowly toward Fain. "You're pretty tough when it comes to picking on little kids or people who are tied up. How would you like to deal with me?"

"One more step, and I'll split this kid's head open."

Shannon halted.

Laura nearly fell over, so she spread her arms and began to hop on her left foot.

"Kid," Fain called. "Hand that pistol over to your prisoner."

"You'll kill Mandy anyhow," he said.

"No, I won't. I promise."

"Put your hatchet down, and then I'll give over the pistol."

"Afraid it doesn't work that way, kid. You go first."

"No, you go first."

"Give her the pistol before I count to three, or I'll chop this girl's head open. One."

"Leave the girl alone," Shannon warned.

"Two."

"You touch her, I'll kill you."

BLAM!.

Laura jerked her head sideways in time to see Bret's prisoner take a step backward and fall.

Then he swung around and aimed at Fain and but didn't fire. He let out a whine of surprise.

Laura saw that the slide was back, the pistol out of ammo.

"Oh, kid," Fain said.

"No!" Bret yelled.

Shannon sprang forward, but Laura knew she would never be in time.

Fain started to swing the hatchet down.

POK!.

Fain's head flew back as if she'd been kicked in the forehead and for just an instant Laura thought Bret must've nailed her with his slingshot. But she glimpsed a darkness splash up from behind her head and vanish into the night. And down she went, still clutching the hatchet in one hand, the girl's pony tail in the other, and the girl fell on top of her.

"EVERYBODY DROP YOUR WEAPONS!" came a tinny, amplified voice.

Bret dropped his pistol.

They came running from a long way off, dodging gravemarkers and trees, hustling through the Halloween night, men and women in dark, baggy trousers, flak jackets and helmets, carrying assault rifles.

After they'd swarmed in, Laura noticed the lettering on the backs of their jackets.

BEAUMONT P.D. SWAT.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO.

Jeff stood in front of the dead-end barricade and looked up the street. He saw nobody.

They weren't supposed to go away, he thought.

Maybe around the corner.

The way his head ached, the corner looked awfully far away. So he cupped his hands to the sides of his mouth and shouted, "KIDS!"

Listening, he heard only the wind.

"MANDY? BRET? RHONDA?".

He watched and listened. Along the road, nothing moved except the tree branches and the patterns of light and shadow they cast on the pavement. And leaves falling sideways, tumbling, some scooting along just above the road as if in a hurry to be somewhere else.

He heard only the sounds of what the wind did. Whistles, howls, whispers of leaves brushing against this or that, bumps and clatters, the tingle and clink of wind chimes somewhere.

But he heard no voices.

Nobody called out, "Dad!" or "Over here!"

Damn it, they weren't supposed to go wandering off!

Where are they?

Oh, God, what if something happened to them?

He began walking up the middle of the road, leaning into the warm wind, moving slowly to avoid jostling his head.