Angel Falls (Angel Falls Series, #1), Babette Jongh [books for 6 year olds to read themselves .TXT] 📗

the sash was pushed up high enough for two skinny boys to slip through. “Angela, I think Lizzie is showing me where they got in. Hang on a sec.”

I yelled into the dark, dank building. “Jake!” Only my voice echoed from the pitch-black void. “Ray!” Again, only the eerie echo of my voice bounced back. I took out the little pink flashlight and shone it into the room, but the beam illuminated my hand and not much more. I put the phone to my ear. “Angela, will Carl be home soon? I’m going to need some help.”

“He’s making an out-of-town delivery today.” The phone connection crackled and skipped. “Should I call Ben after all?”

“No. He has his hands full with the girls.” My heart sped into overdrive when I realized what I was about to say, and for the first time in hours, I felt that everything would be okay. “Call Ian. Tell him to come. Tell him to bring a flashlight.”

“Okay, I will.” I barely heard her voice through the static. Then the connection was lost.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I looked at the chest-high window ledge and the dark, gaping maw beyond the open window. I shoved my cell phone and the pitiful pink flashlight into my front pocket and hoisted myself up onto the rough granite ledge, shredding skin and fingernails. I got one knee up and slid a leg over the sill. With my toes reaching toward an uncertain landing spot, I fell inside.

The strong odor of mildew and dust coated the inside of my mouth with a sour taste. “Jake,” I yelled, my voice shrill with fear and anger. Mostly fear. “Ray, where are you?”

I got to my feet, took the feeble pink flashlight out of my pocket and shone it around the first-floor classroom. Boxes. Broken desks. Turned-over chairs. A rotting mattress.

A mattress? A chill crawled up my back, and my scalp tingled. Some vagrant had slept here. Or lured children here, drugged and tied and gagged them... Sinister possibilities crowded into my mind, fed by my vivid imagination’s reaction to the nightly news. What had Jake and Ray gotten themselves—and me—into?

Outside the window, Lizzie barked for all she was worth. “Wait for Ian,” I called down.

She wagged her stub tail and looked out at the road, as if she knew Ian was on his way. “Good girl. Wait for Ian.”

Reluctantly, I turned away from my good dog. With the flashlight’s uncertain beam probing the darkness in front of me, I picked my way through the humped shapes of indistinct objects and jumbled debris. If I ever got out of here, I vowed that I’d update my phone to one with a built-in flashlight.

At the door, I swung my flashlight’s inadequate beam down the wide dark hallway. Open doors lined the hall, some still on hinges, others leaning drunkenly against the walls. Trails of dusty footprints went in both directions, sometimes veering into one doorway or another. Not just one set of footprints, but several.

The trail leading to the right seemed more distinct. “Jake?” Clenching my flashlight and my teeth, I followed the trail, calling the boys’ names. “Ray?”

The flashlight’s beam flickered and dimmed. I shook the light and was rewarded by a flare of renewed brightness. At the end of the hall, I had to make a choice. One dust-covered trail of footprints led up the stairs to the second floor. Another, newer-looking trail led down, into the basement.

The windowed classroom doors on the second floor glowed from a streetlamp outside. The basement yawned before me, pitch black. “Shit.” I swallowed hard. Why couldn’t they have gone upstairs? “Shit.” With my heart galumphing like a herd of startled wildebeest, I started down the steps.

The flashlight’s beam illuminated only a couple of feet in front of me. “Jake,” I called out, my voice shrill with fear. “Ray!” I made it down the stairs and into the subterranean depths, where a constant drip, drip, drip splattered. A horrifying vision of dripping blood blossomed in my mind.

With my heart pounding a hysterical staccato in my throat, I swung the flashlight’s weak beam from one side of the cavernous space to the other. No hallways here, just monstrous piles of shadowed objects lurking in the bowels of the old building. The footprints I’d been following disappeared, the dust consumed by the damp concrete floor. The bare brick walls emanated the cloying, sweet-sour odor of decay.

“Boys?” I held my breath, but heard only the scrabbling of rats scurrying from the flickering light. I walked slowly, staying away from the tall support pillars in case someone might be hiding behind them. Something soft whispered across my face; its sticky tendrils clung to my hair. I screamed—from surprise more than fright—then my flashlight went out.

Surrounded by complete darkness, I shook the dead flashlight. “Damn.” Looking down, though I couldn’t see my feet, I felt my way through the dark room, moving, I hoped, in the direction of the stairs. The darkness seemed less complete up ahead, and I shuffled toward the hope of light coming from an unseen stairwell.

A sound made me look up. Harsh light blinded me. Hard hands closed around my upper arms. A wall of unyielding muscle blocked my escape. I screamed, this time from pure terror, and held my pink flashlight up in defense. It wasn’t much, but I fully intended to knock the vagrant’s brains out with it.

“Sweetheart, it’s me.”

Relief took the starch out of my legs. “Ian.” I sagged against him. I must have looked in danger of passing out, because he pulled me against his chest and held me tight.

“I haven’t found the boys,” I wailed. “I haven’t found them.”

Ian brushed my hair away from my forehead and ran his fingers through its length, gently sifting through the tangles. “Angela has them. They’re all right.” He pressed his lips to my temple. “Getting the scolding of their lives right about now.”

“Lizzie—”

“Angela took her home. Lizzie was standing outside the window, barking like a maniac when