As Sheridan drove slowly through the parking lot outside the mall, he saw a child running out of the toy department door. He was a boy, no older than five. From the look on his face, it looked like he was about to cry, and he was sure he was about to burst into tears.
Sheridan hesitated, feeling a familiar wave of self-loathing rising up again… though it lessened with each kidnapping. After his first kidnapping, he hadn't slept well for a week, thinking about the fat Turk named Mr. Wissard and what he would do with the kids.
"Sheridan, they've gone on the boat," the Turk said to him in a thick Turkish accent, smiling as he said this, as if to say, "If you know what's good for you, don't ask." To Sheridan, the words hidden beneath the smile were not only loud and clear, but also completely without an accent.
Sheridan didn't ask again, but that didn't mean he couldn't be suspicious. Especially after kidnapping the children. He tried to keep himself busy, hoping to use things to distract himself and keep away from the temptation of curiosity. However, the situation after the second kidnapping was similar to the first time…but the third time was much better, and by the fourth time, he was almost used to it, and didn't think about what "taking a boat" meant, nor did he think about what happened to the children later.
Sheridan parked in the handicapped parking spot to the right of the mall's main entrance. He had a special license plate issued by the state for the disabled, which was attached to the back of his van. The plate was worth its weight in gold because it prevented the mall's security guards from checking him. Even better, the handicapped parking spots were not only in the best locations, but were also usually empty.
He got out of the car and walked towards the boy. The boy looked even more panicked than before. "Great," Sheridan thought. The boy was about five, maybe six, but still very weak. The boy was very pale, and the reason for his paleness was not just because of shock, but because he might be sick. However, Sheridan still believed that his pale face was caused by shock. When Sheridan saw a frightened face, he would definitely recognize it, because in the past year and a half, he had already become accustomed to seeing frightened faces.
The boy helplessly looked at the people passing by him. Some of the passers-by were in a hurry to go into the mall to shop, while others were walking out of the mall with large bags. Their faces were blank, even dull, with an expression of satisfaction from something.
The boy in jeans and a T-shirt was hoping someone would lend a helping hand, hoping someone would take a closer look at him, notice that he was in trouble and come forward to ask him, "Kid, are you and your dad lost?" He was hoping that a kind person would appear.
"Here I come," Sheridan thought to himself, "Here I come, kid, I'm the good Samaritan."
When he was almost in front of the boy, he saw the mall security guard slowly walking from the center of the parking lot to the mall gate. He quickly reached into his pocket, pretending to look for a cigarette. Sheridan believed that the guard would come over soon and then see the boy.
"Damn it!" he thought, but he didn't want to go up and talk to the boy until the guard left. Doing so would mess things up.
Sheridan stepped back and continued to search his pockets, pretending to look for a key or something, his eyes flickering between the guard and the child. The boy began to cry. Not loudly, just at the beginning, but the big tears were rolling down his smooth cheeks. Under the neon lights of the toy department, the tears were reflected pink.
The lady at the information desk at the mall entrance called the guard over and whispered something to him. She was a pretty girl with black hair, about 25 years old; the guard had brown hair and a short mustache. When the guard put his elbows on the information desk and leaned over to talk to the girl with a smile, Sheridan couldn't help but think of the cigarette ads he often saw on the back covers of magazines. He stood there, while they chatted, talking about what to do after get off work, where to go for a drink, and laughing from time to time. The girl's big eyes teased him. How cute.
Sheridan decided to take advantage of this opportunity. The boy's chest began to rise and fall violently, and he would soon burst into tears, which would surely attract attention. Sheridan did not want to get too close to the guards, but if he did not redeem Mr. Raccini's IOU within 24 hours, he thought that two more burly men would come to him, one on each side of him, and maybe even beat him up.
He walked toward the boy. He was a heavyset man in a short shirt and khakis, with a broad, plain face that smiled kindly at the boy. He was bent over, his hands on his knees, and the boy raised his pale, frightened face and looked at Sheridan. His eyes were emerald green, and the emerald green emphasized the pink tears in the neon light.
"Kid, are you and your dad lost?" Sheridan asked.
"My baby," the boy sobbed, "I… I can't find my baby!"
The boy stopped crying, and a woman in the distance was looking over here curiously.
"It's okay," Sheridan told her, and the woman left. Sheridan put his hand on the boy's shoulder, comforting him, and pulled him slightly to the right…towards the van. Then he glanced toward the mall door.
The guard's face was almost buried in the information desk. The two of them were even more intimate than the couple in the cigarette advertisement. Sheridan breathed a sigh of relief. Judging from the current situation at the information desk, the guard would not pay attention to what was happening outside.
"I want my baby!" the boy sobbed.
"No problem, no problem," Sheridan said. "I'll take you to him, don't worry." He pulled him a little further to the right.
The boy looked up at him hopefully.
"Can you? Can you help me find him?"
Of course!" Sheridan said, smiling. "Finding lost treasures… that's kind of my specialty."
"Really?" Although there were still tears in the boy's eyes, he smiled.
"Of course," Sheridan said, glancing back toward the information desk. The guard was still there, almost invisible, but if he suddenly looked up, he would still see Sheridan and the child. "What's your baby wearing?" he asked.
"He's wearing the same clothes he's wearing," the boy said. "He always wears that same clothes.
I've only seen him wear jeans once." As if Sheridan knew everything.
"I guess he was wearing black," Sheridan said.
The boy's eyes widened. "You saw him! Where is he?"
The boy suddenly wanted to walk back, forgetting his tears. Sheridan thought, he must not hold him too tightly, he must not draw attention to himself. If he was too rough, it would be easy for others to remember this incident later. He had to pull him into the van. Except for the windshield, the windows of the van were covered with insulation paper; unless you put your face close to the window, it would be difficult to see what was going on inside from the outside.
We have to get him into the van first.
He grabbed the boy's arm and said, "He's not in there, son. I saw him run that way."
He pointed in the direction of the parking lot. The parking lot was full of various vehicles. At the end he pointed was a road, and on the side of the road stood a yellow McDonald's sign.
"Will my baby go there?" the boy asked, as if either his baby was crazy or Sheridan was crazy, or both.
"I don't know." Sheridan said. His mind was working fast, like an express train, thinking about the current situation from station to station, guessing what the baby the child was talking about. Baby, the child just said it, not his father, nor his mother, but baby. Sheridan thought, maybe it was his grandfather. "But I'm sure it's him, an old guy in black clothes. White hair… green bow tie…"
"Baby's bow tie is blue," the boy said. "He knows I like blue best."
"Yes, it could be blue," Sheridan said. "It's dark now. Who can see the color clearly? Come on, I'll take you to him."
"Are you sure it's babe? I don't know why he'd go there, he…."
Sheridan shrugged and said, "Kid, if you don't think it's him, go look for him yourself. Maybe you can find him." Then he turned and walked away toward his van.
The child didn't respond. He wanted to go back and try again, but he had already walked too far. If he couldn't succeed in the shortest possible time, he might end up in jail for twenty years. He thought it would be best to try his luck in another shopping mall…
"Wait a minute!" the little boy shouted in panic from behind, "Wait a minute, I'll tell him I'm thirsty, maybe he'll go there and buy me a drink. Wait a minute!"
Sheridan turned around and smiled, "I scared you on purpose. I won't not help you."
He led the little boy into the four-year-old blue van, opened the door, and smiled at the boy, who was looking at him suspiciously, his green eyes rolling in his pale face.
"Come on up, kid," Sheridan said, trying to put on a natural smile. This smile was indeed extremely successful, the result of his long practice.
The boy listened to him and got into the car obediently. However, he didn't know that from the moment the door closed, he belonged to Sheridan.
Sheridan has only one problem in his life. Although he is a womanizer and occasionally drinks too much, these are not real problems. Sheridan's biggest problem, which can be said to be his lifelong fate, is cards. He loves to play any card game that has to do with gambling. Because of this, he lost his job, credit cards, and family. Even his mother left him. Although he has not yet reached the point of prison, since he offended Mr. Rechini, he feels that prison is a more reassuring place.
He had gone a little crazy that night. But when he lost everything, he thought, well, that's fine. If you lose everything, you won't have the courage to gamble anymore. You go home, check the mailbox before going upstairs, and go to bed. But once you start winning, you'll chase it. That night, Sheridan chased it and lost seventeen thousand dollars. He couldn't believe it. On the way home, he kept telling himself in the car that he owed Mr. Rechini not seven hundred, not seven thousand, but seventeen thousand dollars! He chuckled at the thought and turned up the volume on the radio to force himself not to think about it.
However, he stopped laughing the next night when two big men broke into his house and carried him to Mr. Rechini's office.
"I will pay it back," Sheridan said helplessly, "I will definitely pay it back, absolutely no problem, just give me a few days, another week, no more than two weeks…
"Sheridan, are you annoying?" said Mr. Raccney.
"I……"
"Shut up! If I give you a week, do you think I don't know where you'll go? You'll go borrow a few hundred dollars from your friends one by one, if you still have friends. If no one is willing to lend you money, you might go rob a convenience store…
If you have the guts. Although I doubt you have the guts to do it, but who knows if a dog will jump over the wall when it is desperate? "Mr. Rechini leaned forward, propped his chin with his hand, and smiled and said: "If you really get 200 yuan, what will you do?"
"I'll give it back to you," Sheridan stammered, tears on the verge of falling.
"I'll definitely give it back to you, right now!"
"No! You won't," said Mr. Rechini. "You'll go back to the table and see if you can get your money back. You'll just make up a bunch of excuses. My friend, I tell you, this time you're really finished."
Sheridan couldn't hold it in any longer and began to sob.
"These two guys can put you in the hospital for a while," Mr. Rechini deadpanned. "You'll have both arms in casts and need help eating."
Sheridan cried even louder.
"But I can give you a chance," Mr. Rechini said, pushing a stack of documents on the table in front of Sheridan. "You go find this guy, he calls himself Mr. Wissard, but he is just as much of a scumbag as you. Go away! I'll give you a week, and then I'll put your IOU on the table. Either you pay the money to redeem it, or I'll have my men tear you to pieces. You know, once they start, they won't stop until they're satisfied."
The name of the Turk was written on the stack of papers. Sheridan went to find him, and he asked Sheridan to kidnap children and sell them to him. So Sheridan started kidnapping children in shopping malls.
He pulled out of the Consingtown Mall parking lot, watching for traffic, then crossed the street and entered the drive-thru of McDonald's. The boy sat in the front seat, his hands on his knees, staring around anxiously. Sheridan drove toward McDonald's, but avoided the drive-thru and went around the back of the restaurant.
"Why did you come around to the back?" the boy asked.
"I just saw him go out the back door, kid, keep your eyes open," Sheridan said. "We have to go around the back to see him."
"Did you really see that? Was it real?"
"Of course, I'm sure."
The child's face showed a joyful expression, and for a moment, Sheridan felt a little ashamed. He was not a monster, nor a madman, but he really owed too much money this time. The unscrupulous Mr. Rechini would not let him go if he still didn't pay the money by next Saturday. This time, he owed not only 17,000 yuan, not 20,000 yuan, nor 25,000 yuan, but 35,000 yuan in total, which was a huge sum of money.
He parked his car in front of a garbage can behind McDonald's. There were no other cars nearby.
Good. There was a pocket for maps and sundries next to his car door, and Sheridan reached in with his left hand. He pulled out a pair of handcuffs that were already unlocked.
"Why did you stop here?" the boy asked. His voice was filled with fear again, but the difference was that the fear was even greater; he suddenly realized that the fact that he and his baby were lost might not be the worst thing, but what he was going to face next was.
"I'm not stopping yet, not yet," Sheridan said briskly. He had been taught twice not to underestimate others, even if they were a child under six. The second time, the child had kicked him in the groin, nearly breaking his testicles. "I just remembered that I forgot to put on my glasses, so I can't drive. My glasses are in their case, and they may have rolled onto the floor over there. Can you help me pick them up?"
The boy bent down to pick up the glasses case, but it was empty. Sheridan approached and unexpectedly handcuffed the boy's wrists. Then, the trouble began. Although he did not dare to underestimate this child who was less than six years old, the boy was as fierce as an angry little wolf. He did not know where the strength came from. Sheridan did not expect the boy to have such great strength. He resisted stubbornly and rushed to the car door, screaming and pressing down the door handle.
The car door opened, but before he could jump out, Sheridan pulled him back.
Sheridan grabbed the boy by the collar and pulled him back into the car. When he reached out to cuff the other handcuff to the special iron frame on the front seat, he not only missed the target, but was bitten by the boy twice, and blood flowed down. God! His teeth were as sharp as razors. A wave of pain emanated from the wound, along his arm, and went straight into Sheridan's heart.
He punched the boy hard in the mouth, and the boy fell back in the chair, his eyes dazed, blood from the back of Sheridan's hand flowing from the corner of his mouth, along his chin, all the way to his neck. Sheridan handcuffed the other side of the handcuffs to the iron frame, then returned to the driver's seat and sucked the wound on the back of his right hand with his mouth.
He was badly hurt. He pulled his hand away from his mouth and put it close to the light on the dashboard to examine it. There were two holes on the back of his hand, both of which were gaping, each about two inches long, from the wrist to the knuckles. Blood flowed out like a stream with the pulse. Despite this, he didn't want to beat the child again, not just because the Turk had warned him not to hurt the child, but because he didn't want to do it at all.
In fact, he didn't blame the boy for biting him. He would have done the same thing if it were him. Although he had read an article somewhere in the past that said that wounds from being bitten by others were the worst, he still had to admire the boy's courage, except that he wanted to find a place to disinfect the wound as soon as possible.
He put the gears in drive, drove past the McDonald's takeout window, back onto the main road, and turned left. The Turk lived in a large farmhouse on the outskirts of the city, on the slopes of Taluda. Sheridan chose Route 28 and drove at thirty miles per hour. It might take forty-five minutes to get there, or an hour.
He drove past the sign that read "Thank you for visiting the beautiful Consingtown Mall" and turned left, maintaining a speed of 40 miles per hour. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket, held the steering wheel with one hand, and tied the wound with the handkerchief with the other hand, then stared at the headlights of the car and drove towards the Turk's house.
"You'll regret it," the little boy said.
Sheridan turned around and glared at him, and was pulled back to reality by these words. He was just imagining that he had a good hand and won all the money on the gambling table, and Mr. Rechini knelt on the ground, begging him to let everyone go. What should he do now? Let him go bankrupt?
The boy started crying again. Although he was far away from the neon lights of the mall, his tears were still pink. Sheridan began to worry that the child might be seriously ill. However, he thought it was too late to think about it now, so he decided not to think about it anymore.
"When my baby finds you, you will regret it." The little boy kept saying.
"Really?" Sheridan said, lighting a cigarette. He drove off State Route 28 and turned onto an unknown two-lane asphalt road. On the left side of the road was a large swamp, and on the right side was a dense forest.
The little boy pulled hard on his handcuffed hands, making a loud metallic clanging sound.
"Don't bother, you can't open it."
It was no use. The little boy still pulled. But this time, the sound was different. Sheridan turned around and was surprised to find that the iron frame of the front seat that he had welded with his own hands was a little bent. "Damn it!" He thought to himself, "Not only are his teeth as sharp as razors, but he is also as strong as a calf. If he wasn't sick now, God knows if I could catch him after he recovers."
He pulled over to the side of the road and yelled at the boy, "Stop pulling!"
"I won't!"
The boy began to pull at the cuffs again, and Sheridan saw the iron bend a little more.
Oh my god! Are all kids nowadays so strong?
"It's because of fear," he told himself. "It must be because of fear that I have such great strength."
However, none of the other children were able to do it, and they were no less afraid than the little boy.
He opened the glove box under the dashboard and took out a syringe. The Turk had given it to him, saying it should not be used unless necessary. He said in a thick accent that the drugs might harm the hostages.
"Have you seen this thing?"
The little boy glanced at the syringe with a look of fear, then nodded.
"Do you want me to use it?"
The little boy immediately shook his head vigorously, strongly expressing the message of denial. Like all children, he was afraid of syringes, which made Sheridan very happy.
"This needle is very poisonous. You will be blind after the injection." He stopped talking after blurting out this sentence. In fact, he didn't want to say this. He was not a bad person and didn't want to scare the child. But now he had to do it. "Maybe you will die after the injection!"
The little boy looked at him, his lips trembling slightly and his face as white as paper.
"If you stop pulling on the handcuffs, I'll put the needle away, okay?"
"Okay." The boy said quietly.
"you promise?"
"Yes." The boy opened his lips slightly, revealing his white teeth, one of which was stained with Sheridan's blood.
"Do you dare to swear on your mother's name?"
"I never had a mother."
"Damn it!" Sheridan said. He cursed himself and continued on his way. He was going faster now, but not just because he was off the road. There was something wrong with this kid. Sheridan wanted nothing more than to hand him over to the Turks, get the money, and get out of here.
"My baby is really strong, uncle."
"Really?" Sheridan asked, thinking, "Kid, I bet he is. If this kid is that strong, his grandfather must be stronger."
"He'll find me."
"uh-huh."
"He can smell me."
Sheridan believed it. He could smell the child. He knew from the previous two experiences that people give off a smell when they are afraid, but that smell was unreal. However, this child smelled like a mixture of sweat, dirt, and battery acid. Sheridan was becoming more and more convinced that there must be something wrong with this child…but this problem would soon be thrown to Mr. Wissard and would no longer be his business.
Sheridan opened the car window a crack. To the left, the swamp seemed endless. On the water, the moonlight was broken by the waves.
"Baby can fly house."
"Yeah," Sheridan said. "After two bottles of wine, I bet he'll be flying like an eagle."
"baby……"
"That's enough! I don't want to hear any more of your baby talk, okay?"
The little boy shut his mouth.
Sheridan drove another four miles and the swamp on the left had turned into a vast pond.
He turned and walked along the northern shore of the pond. From here, five miles west, he could turn right onto Highway 41, which was a shortcut to Taludapo.
He looked toward the pond and saw a silver object like a sail in the moonlight…
Then, the moonlight disappeared, completely blocked out by the object.
Then Sheridan heard a series of snapping sounds, like clothes being blown by the wind on a clothesline.
"Baby!" the boy cried.
"Shut up. It's just a bird."
But suddenly, he was startled, really startled. He looked at the boy. The boy's lips opened and his teeth were exposed again. His teeth were very white and big.
No… not big. Big is not a good adjective. It should be "long". Especially the two canines on the left and right of the front teeth, which are even more…
His thoughts began to wander, and he quickly thought about what the child had said earlier.
"He told him I was thirsty…"
"Why did he go there…"
(Eat? Did he say eat?)
"He'll find me."
"He'll smell me."
"Baby can fly."
Suddenly, there was a loud noise from the roof of the car and something fell on it.
"Baby!" The little boy cried again, but his voice was full of joy. At this moment, Sheridan's eyes were completely dark and he could not see the road ahead… A huge membrane-like wing covered with blood vessels completely covered the windshield from left to right.
Baby can fly.
Sheridan screamed and slammed on the brakes, hoping to throw the thing on the roof forward. At this moment, on his right side, the iron frame of the front seat made a sound of bending and breaking. The little boy had actually pulled the handcuffs off the iron frame and stretched out his hand to twist his cheek.
"He kidnapped me! Baby!" the little boy shouted at the roof of the car, his voice as shrill as a bird's song. "He kidnapped me, he kidnapped me, this bad guy kidnapped me!"
"Kid, you don't understand," Sheridan thought to himself, reaching out to take out the syringe. "I'm not a bad guy. I'm just in a little trouble."
At this moment, a hand (more like a claw than a hand) broke the car window and broke the syringe and two of his fingers with a slap. Then, the door next to the driver's seat was completely peeled off, and the door turned into a twisted piece of scrap metal in an instant. Sheridan saw a black cloak fluttering in the wind, with a bright red silk lining inside the cloak, and the monster's tie… was really blue, just as the little boy said.
The boy's baby pulled Sheridan out of the car, his claws piercing through his jacket, his shirt, and into the flesh of his shoulder; the baby's green eyes suddenly turned as red as blood roses.
"We went to the mall because my grandson wanted to buy the Ninja Turtles," Baby whispered, his breath like rotting meat. "He saw it on TV. All the kids wanted the Ninja Turtles. You shouldn't have bothered him, and you shouldn't have bothered us."
Sheridan was being shaken like a rag doll. He screamed, but could not get free. He heard the baby lovingly ask the boy if he was still thirsty, and then heard the boy say yes, very thirsty, that the bad guy had frightened him and now he was thirsty and miserable.
He saw the baby's sharp, rough nail flashing near his chin. Before he could understand what was happening, his throat was cut. Finally, before his vision blurred, he saw the little boy cupping his hands to catch the blood spurting from his neck, just like when he was a child, he used his hands to catch water from the faucet in the yard on summer afternoons; and the baby was touching the little boy's head kindly, showing the love of his grandfather without reservation.