Red Rain

61

As the solemn-faced cop moved forward raising the silvery handcuffs, Mark had one of those flashing-lifetime moments he had always believed to be only a staple of fiction.

The room grew dark and Franks and the other officers appeared to fade into the wallpaper. A white light formed like a glaring spotlight in his mind, and the images began to whir past-not of his childhood, not of the history of events that led him to this maddening moment.

In the two-second flash of bright light, the events of his future swept past him, a frenzied slide show of despair and ruin. He saw a clear picture of his office, now a closet piled high with cartons. His career over. The house empty. His family scattered. Bold newspaper headlines bannering his disgrace. He saw the sad faces of Ira and Elena, two hardened, disillusioned kids.

And Lea. . Where was Lea? Gone? No picture of Lea?

And the last image of himself, handcuffed in a tiny gray prison cell, clanging the bars with the handcuffs, pounding out his anger, shouting, “But I’m innocent. I’m innocent!”

The light faded. The room came back into focus. And Mark, startled, found himself shouting, “But I’m innocent!”

“Wow. No one ever told us that before,” Franks said.

Maybe it was Franks’s sarcasm that set him off. Or maybe it was the frightening images of the future that flashed before him, almost like something in a science-fiction movie. Or maybe it was the burning outrage that was making it impossible for him to breathe.

This isn’t right. I didn’t murder anyone.

I couldn’t murder anyone. I couldn’t murder Hulenberger. I couldn’t murder Autumn.

My kids are missing. My kids are in terrible danger.

Why are they arresting me? Why aren’t they finding my kids?

Something clicked in his mind. He thought he heard the snap. It was too much. Too much. Without thinking, he started to move.

He saw Lea push her way past the cops in the doorway. And he heard her sharp cry: “It wasn’t Mark! It was the twins!”

He heard her blame the twins. Yes, he heard her shout to the officers: “It was the twins.” And he saw Lea pull some papers from her robe pocket.

But he couldn’t stop himself to hear more. He was already moving. He already had the back of the desk chair gripped in both hands.

With an animal grunt, he gave the chair a hard shove. Thrust it forward on its metal wheels. Sent it skidding into the cop with the handcuffs.

He saw the seat cushion bounce into the cop’s midsection. Heard the unsuspecting guy utter a startled groan and saw him toss his hands up, off-balance.

And then Mark dove to the open window. Both hands on the sill, he flung himself out, swung himself like some kind of circus acrobat.

Surprise, everyone!

He dropped onto his back on the hedge beneath the window. Scrambled like a turtle to right himself, arms and legs spiraling at once.

And yes, the element of surprise had helped him. No one was staring out of the window yet. As he forced himself to his feet, ignoring the bramble scratches on his back, his eyes gazed around the backyard. No cops back here. The idiots thought he would submit without any trouble to them.

He heard shouts and angry cries. Heard Franks’s deep voice booming from the window. “Sutter-stop. Are you crazy? Stop or we’ll shoot!”

But he was already around the side of the guesthouse, his sneakers pounding the hard ground, into the cluster of trees that bordered the yard. The ground sloped down, leading him into woods thick with ancient oak and sassafras trees, their fat trunks tilted and tangled and hugged by fat evergreen pines.

Every sense alert, his eyes darting to find a path through the thickening underbrush, Mark heard no shots. The shouts had faded far behind.

He couldn’t think clearly. The rush of adrenaline and the blood pulsing so furiously at his temples kept his mind from focusing. He was an animal. An animal running to safety.

He leaped over a fallen trunk covered in green and yellow lichen. Pushed through two pine bushes, stumbled on the thick carpet of dead leaves under his shoes, caught his balance and kept running.

Small creatures scuttled out of his way. Chipmunks? Moles? Over the rushing in his ears, he heard the loud caw of birds high in the trees, and he imagined them calling to the police, reporting his location.

He realized he had never ventured into these woods behind his house. This was nature, the uncivilized world, and he was civilized. An author. A father. A husband.

But what was he now?

Running for his life, his freedom, what was he now?

And where was he going?