J.," Pidge called out to Peggy, shaking a small turquoise box. Jablonsky looked around from his place on the floor, took in the fire poker only yards away. The only thing that mattered was to get out alive. He gagged against the thick wool of the sock, pulled against his restraints, smelled the sour odor of urine. "Then we'll decide if we're going to let you live." "We're going to open all your presents now, Mrs. Hawk reached out and stroked Peggy's baby-blond hair, then patted her damp cheek. It broke Henry's heavy heart to see how hard she tried to communicate with her eyes. Peggy pleaded with Hawk, her actual words muffled by the wad of sock in her mouth. Pidge reached for another wrapped gift, shook the box, while Hawk turned his attention to Peggy Jablonsky. Santa brought you a nine-thousand-dollar purse! I'd call that a no, Peg. Pidge opened the box, peeled back the layers of tissue. He sliced through the wrappings with a knife. "To Peggy, from Santa," Pidge read from the gift tag. Something Peggy had always wanted and had waited for, for years. It was wrapped in gold foil, tied with gold ribbon. It was a special pleasure to see things eaten, to see things blackened and changed.' "Īs Hawk read, Pidge hauled a large package out from under the tree. And then he read aloud with a clear, dramatic voice. "You can't beat Bradbury for an opening," Hawk said. Then he stooped down to where Jablonsky was hog-tied on the floor with a sock in his mouth. Hawk pulled the book from the shelf, opened it to the first page. Maybe there really was some goodness in them.Īs Jablonsky watched, the blond one, Hawk, walked over to the bookshelf, dragged his long fingers across the spines of the books, calling out titles, his voice warm, as though he were a friend of the family. Jablonsky had memorized their faces well enough to describe to a police sketch artist, which he would be doing as soon as they got the hell out of his home.īoth boys looked as though they'd stepped from the pages of a Ralph Lauren ad. They'd said they weren't going to hurt them. He heard wrapping paper tear, saw the one called Pidge dangling a bow for the new kitten. Jablonsky watched the two shapes moving around the tree, knew that the gun was in Hawk's waistband. Please, God, please let us live and I'll serve you all the days of my life. It meant that the boys didn't want to be identified, that they were planning to let them go. The one called Hawk had snatched off his glasses and put them a mile away on the fireplace mantel, a good thing, Jablonsky had reasoned at the time. Henry Jablonsky couldn't see the boys clearly. Swags of Christmas greenery and dozens of cards decked the well-appointed living room, and apple logs crackled in the fireplace, scenting the air as they burned.Ī digitized Bing Crosby crooned "The Christmas Song." TINY LIGHTS WINKED on the Douglas fir standing tall and full in front of the picture window.
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