Alex Read Online Free PDF Page B

channels, the local news had latched on to her case at once.   The police had thrown a net twice as large as the one for Alex.   Ian hadn't heard anything else about his son until Alex's body was found the next week.
    "God dammit, Jarrid," Ian said to the empty room.   The voiceover ended, and for a moment Silvia's face hung on the screen in awkward silence, smiling sweetly, 888-55-KALEN quivering just above her eyes and $100,000 beneath her chin.   "There are other kids who need help, you fucker.   Get off the fucking airwaves and let the other kids have a chance."
    Silvia's face started to fade, but her dramatic departure was abruptly replaced by Vince Shlomi hawking the ShamWow.
    "You can't just pusheveryone out of your way because you're rich," Ian said.   "Alex was still alive, you fucker, he was still alive when you decided - !
    "Or maybe you can.   I don't know.   Obviously you can.   You did.   You decided fuck the Colmes kid, right?   Fuck him, he ain't rich."
    Shlomi was soaking up spilled pop with an incredible towel that sold itself.
    " Fuck you! " Ian roared.   His throat burned as if he'd vomited fire.   " Fuck you!   You fucking son of a bitch! "
    He lurched to his feet, cast about for something to break, and grabbed a throw pillow.   It glanced dully off the wall when he threw it.
    "Why don't you tell him to get over it?" he demanded, picturing Alina.   "Why aren't you calling fucking Jarrid Kalen everyday and telling him to get the fuck over it?   Why is it okay for him to look for his kid?"
    Okay, some part of Ian's mind said.   That's enough.   You're acting like a child.
    "I bet his wife is still living at home.   I bet he can talk to her without her hanging up on him and slamming her door and looking at him like he's fucking... going crazy. "
    He can afford to run ads, and they haven't found his daughter dead in a ravine.   If you were him, you'd run the ads too.   You wouldn't care about anyone else's kid but your own.
    But that didn't matter.   All that mattered was that they had been looking for Alex, they had been looking for Ian's son until that son of a bitch had come along and -
    "You'll find her, you shithead.   It's gonna kill you like it killed me.   I hope they find her in a ditch like they found Alex, with her face..."
    But he couldn't finish that sentence.   When he realized that, the anger drained away.   It left him wasted and empty.
    When had this happened to him?  
    Who the hell was he?
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    His cell phone buzzed an alarm at 6:30 the next morning.   He slapped it quiet and fell back against the couch, his head throbbing.  
    Alex said, "Daddy, I'm dressed."
    "Good," Ian murmured, his eyes shut.   "Did you brush your teeth and go potty?"
    "Yes."   He sounded proud.
    "Did you flush the toilet?"
    "Yes.   Can I go play now?"
    "For a little bit."
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    The sun streamed through a crack in the curtains.     The clock on the wall said 8:17.
    "Shit!"   He leapt up, pounded into the bedroom.   "Shit, shit, shit!"
    He fumbled his shirt buttons closed, pulled on boxers and socks.   His pants drawer was empty.   "Fuck."  
    Nothing in the dryer.   It was all towels.   He dug out a worn pair from the hamper, pulled them on, and grabbed his coat.
    As he pulled out he looked in the rearview mirror and saw Alex in the house's front window, waving goodbye in a red turtleneck and jeans.   It was the same thing he'd done on the day he disappeared.
    Ian's hands started shaking so badly he could barely keep a grip on the wheel.   He kept driving.   He wanted to get the house out of view.
    When he rounded the corner, he pulled over.   His heart hammered like it was gasping for air.   Palpitations.   He'd never had them before, never read the definition, but he'd heard the word.   It described perfectly what was happening in his chest.  
    Jesus, he thought like a whimper.   He closed his eyes, tried to breathe deeply, tried to calm down.   Jesus Christ.