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“We got him!” A woman’s voice from the other side too. I wiggled out of Dale’s arms, grabbing his flashlight and crouching down.
“Hi Pixie.”
“We got him.” She flashed me a smile. “Bear told him he should pick on someone his own size.”
It was incredible, but that made me laugh.
“Bear?” I looked up at Dale as we started to walk around the tour busses to the entrance.
“I called the cops first and had Carl tell security you were missing, I told everybody we needed to come look for you,” Dale explained. “Bear didn’t feel like walking so he, uh… borrowed a vehicle.”
“Why didn’t you ‘borrow’ one?” I asked.
“I don’t know how to hotwire a car,” he snapped, adding glumly, “And they’d already left.”
Bear ended up being my bumbling knight in shining armor, much to Dale’s chagrin. When I asked where the handcuffs came from, Pixie just grinned and dropped me a wink. Seeing the stepbeast belly down on the asphalt, hands bound behind him, made me feel a little better, but I still kept my distance.
The cops had a lot of questions but once they ran the record on Pete Holmes, they stopped asking so many and put him in the back of their police cruiser before they did. Chelsea showed up in formal eveningwear, her hair piled up. She’d had a date for the theater and when Carl called to tell her—she wouldn’t go anywhere without her mobile phone wedged into her purse—she rushed back. She couldn’t stop apologizing and I kept telling her it wasn’t her fault.
We couldn’t trace exactly where the communication had all broken down, but the stepbeast knew my full name, he had pictures of me in his wallet, and with that, he somehow had said the right things to the right people and had been taken back to the square to wait for me. It must have seemed easy to him at the time—and it was. It made me realize how close we are, all the time, to our world turning completely upside down.
By the time it was all over and Dale had tucked me into bed beside him, I was so exhausted I could barely move.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “This should have been your night. Double platinum!”
“Shh.” He spooned up against me. “You’re safe, that’s all that matters.”
I was drifting off. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. Then I remembered.
“What did Greg say?”
“Don’t worry about it.” He squeezed his arm around my waist. “Go to sleep.”
“I won’t be able to sleep if you don’t tell me.”
“You won’t be able to sleep if I do tell you.”
“Oh no.” I rolled toward him in the dark. “What? Tell me.”
He siged. “Greg got a call from the New York Daily News asking if he had any opinion on the rumor that Tyler Vincent is Dale Diamond’s father.”
“No,” I breathed.
“They’re running it in the morning.”
“What’s… who’s their source?”
way. Bite you. I don’t know…
So what if give this mouse a choice? Let’s say we have a very smart mouse—a circus mouse. He can understand me and I can understand him. So I say to this mouse, Mouse, you have a choice. You can either sit and be quiet and calm while I cut off your tail, or you can struggle and fight me and perhaps hurt yourself or someone else in the process, while I cut off your tail. Which will you choose, Mouse?
…
Do you see, Sara?
I’m the mouse.
Is that all you see? What was your stepfather’s aim?
