Free Thr3e by Ted Dekker Page A

would have called her. He almost called Milton but couldn’t get past the thought of the cops turning this house into a crime scene. It was inevitable, though—he had to report the bomb. Not telling Milton about Slater’s true demand had been one thing; covering up a second bomb was in a whole different league. He considered returning to explain the dog’s death to Balinda, but he didn’t have the stomach to face her, much less form an explanation that would make any sense.
    The explosion had been muffled by the doghouse—none of the neighbors seemed to have heard. If they had, they weren’t running around saying so.
    Kevin sat in his car, running his fingers through his hair. A sudden fury spread through his bones. The phone in his pocket buzzed loudly against his leg and he jumped.
    Slater!
    It buzzed again. He fumbled for the cell phone, pulled it out, flipped it open.
    “Hello?”
    “Hello.”
    “You . . . you didn’t have to do that,” Kevin said, voice wavering. He hesitated and then continued quickly. “Are you the boy? You’re the boy, aren’t you? Look, I’m here. Just tell me what—”
    “Shut up! What boy? Did I tell you to lecture me? Did I say, ‘I feel badly in need of a lecture at this time, college Kevin?’ Don’t ever do that again. You’ve broken the don’t-speak-to-me-unless-engaged rule several times now, college boy. The next time, I kill something that walks on two legs. Consider it negative reinforcement. Understand?”
    “Yes.”
    “That’s better. And I think it’s best not to tell the cops about this one. I know I said you could after the fact, but this little bonus was just something I planned in the event you weren’t a good listener, which you were so quick to confirm. Mum’s the word on this one. Okay?”
    Don’t tell the cops? How could he—
    “Answer me!”
    “O . . . okay.”
    “Tell Balinda to keep her trap shut too. I’m sure she’ll agree. She won’t want the cops searching through the house, now, will she?”
    “No.” So Slater knew about Balinda.
    “The games are on. I’m the bat; you’re the ball. I keep slugging until you confess. Lock and load.”
    Kevin desperately wanted to ask him what he meant by that word: confess. But he couldn’t. He could hear Slater breathing on the other end.
    “Samantha’s coming down,” Slater said in a soft voice. “That’s good. I can’t decide whom I despise more, you or her.” The line clicked and Slater was gone. Kevin sat in silent shock. Whoever Slater was, he seemed to know everything. Balinda, the dog, the house. Samantha. He exhaled and closed his fingers to a fist to steady their trembling.
    This is really happening, Kevin. Someone who knows is going to blow the lid off. What falls but never breaks? What breaks but never falls? Night and day. In life he’s your friend, but death is the end . In life the dog was a friend, but death was the end of him. But there was more. Something Slater wanted him to confess was night and day, and life and death. What?
    Kevin slammed the steering wheel with his fist. What, what?
    “What boy?” Slater had said. What boy? So then he wasn’t the boy?
    Dear God . . . Dear God . . . Dear God what? He couldn’t even think straight to pray. He put his head back and took several long, calming breaths. “Samantha. Samantha.” She would know what to do. Kevin closed his eyes.

    Kevin was eleven years old when he first saw the boy who wanted to kill him.
    He and Samantha had become the very best of friends. What made their friendship most special was that their trips into the night remained a secret. He saw other kids now and then, but he never talked to them. Mother didn’t like that. But as far as he knew, she never did discover his little secret about the window. Every few nights, whenever they’d planned, or sometimes when Sam would tap on his window, or even sometimes when he went out and tapped on Sam’s window, he would sneak out and meet her.
    He didn’t