The Road To Deliverance

by James, Harper

  Two sounds made everything go south. Fast.

  A piercing woman’s shriek echoed down from upstairs before he swung, made him hesitate.

  And in the disorientating dark, the adrenalin coursing through his veins amplifying his actions, he clunked the stairs behind him with the bat.

  It was all the guy on the floor needed. He grabbed a fallen paint tin by the handle, let it fly at the spot he’d heard the clunk come from. Evan was directly between the two.

  The guy had the luck of the devil, his blind aim guided by a malevolent spirit. And he’d unwittingly picked up the fullest tin of paint. It caught Evan solidly on the side of his head. Knocked him sideways, off-balance, staggering towards the nail spikes, all still perfectly upright and waiting.

  That’s when Taser made a mistake.

  His training kicked in instinctively. Follow through without hesitation. Capitalize on the temporary advantage. If he’d known the nail spikes were there, he’d have let Evan impale himself.

  He didn’t.

  He came up off the floor as if his hand were still attached to the paint tin hurtling through the darkness. The dull thud as it caught Evan on the side of head located his target. He launched himself at the sound. He was fast. So fast, Evan had barely staggered a half-step sideways. For once it was a good thing. Taser slammed into Evan’s chest like a freight train, arms clamped around his body. Drove him backwards into the staircase, pinned him against it as in the background the Newton’s Cradle beat out its metronomic tap-tap, tap-tap.

  Evan still had the bat, no room to swing. He brought the knob of the handle down, pounded the top of Taser’s head like a badly-behaved child banging its fist on the table. Short, sharp blows. Over and over, stunning him, doing nothing to loosen his vise-like grip. He raked his heel down his shin, skin and flesh rupturing over recently-fractured bone.

  Taser convulsed with the pain, jerked his head up, away from Evan’s chest. Evan head-butted him. Hard. Thick frontal bone mashed cartilage and delicate nasal bones. Taser’s hands flew to his face to protect himself, left his mid-section wide open. Evan jabbed him in the solar plexus with the ball bat like he was trying to poke a hole in a brick wall.

  Taser retched, diaphragm in spasm, immobilized by the pain radiating through his body from his central core. When his breath came it sounded like the screech of a train wheel. Evan grabbed his chin and the back of his head to get a good grip, mashed his face into the side of the stairs. He went to throw him on the floor, hesitated a split second, gave him another big bite of the staircase instead.

  He told himself he needed the guy unconscious to have any chance of binding his wrists in the darkness of the basement. Or perhaps it was simply more payback. And the echoes of a woman’s scream still reverberating in his head.

  Taser crumpled as soon as Evan let go of his head. Evan knelt on him, pinned him to the floor. Pulled the duct tape from his pocket and trussed him up like a goose ready for the oven. Patted him down, took his wallet and car keys. He retrieved his flashlight from the chamber at the end, scooped up Taser’s gun that had come to rest there.

  Then, with bile and dread inching up his throat, he climbed the basement stairs, slowly crept into the oppressive silence of the house, praying that a sudden bullet from nowhere was the worst thing that waited for him.

  Chapter 58

  SHE LOOKED DEAD.

  Fear raced down through his intestines and up into his throat. In the gray half-light of the hallway he made out a crumpled shape lying in an untidy sprawl at the foot of the main staircase. Legs pointing up the stairs, a shoe missing, her upper body twisted on the floor at the bottom, her neck at an unnatural angle.

  She wasn’t moving.

  He was.

  And then some. A strangled gasp slipped through his teeth, his heart in his mouth. He covered the distance between the top of the basement stairs and the bottom of the main staircase in a blur, from standing frozen in the basement doorway to kneeling at her side in the blink of an eye.

  Had she fallen or was she pushed?

  His mind went blank. Go after the guy upstairs? Or stay with Kate, do what he could?

  A loud shout snapped him out of it.

  He’s got my gun.

  Instinctively he looked up. Half expected to see the second man looming over him at the top of the stairs, gun pointing directly at his head. There was nobody there. The shout had come from the basement. He cocked his head, alert for the smallest sound, the careful footstep of a man now on his guard.

  The sound when it came wasn’t what he was expecting. And it was a lot closer.

  A noise full of pain.

  Then it came again, almost drowned out by the violent thump of hope in his chest, the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. Guillory groaning, the start of an irritated complaint on her perfect lips. Her eyes opened. Blinked uncomprehendingly at him a couple of times. Relief burst from him like air from a punctured tire. She lifted her head, let out a sharp gasp. He cupped his hand behind her head, a sticky wetness in his palm.

  ‘Ow! Careful.’

  There was as much irritation in her voice as pain, if not more. A good sign.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘I think so. I don’t think anything’s broken.’

  ‘I thought you were dead. I’ve never seen anyone’s head at that angle. You looked like a chicken that’s had its neck twisted.’

  The expression on her face, the one that said she’d be twisting his neck if he didn’t stop talking and help her up, told him the only thing damaged was her pride. He eased her the rest of the way down the stairs. Got her straightened out and sitting leaning against the wall, out of the firing line of anybody upstairs. She’d been lying on top of her missing shoe. He retrieved it, slipped her foot gently into it, sorry they didn’t have time for This little piggy went to market.

  ‘You looked concerned when I opened my eyes,’ she said. ‘That’s not like you.’

  ‘I hope you weren’t just pretending. To see what I’d do, see if I’d cry.’

  You have no idea the shit you’re in.

  The shout came from the basement, took them both by surprise. It reminded them they weren’t the only two people in the house.

  ‘What happened?’ he said.

  ‘It was a rat—’

  ‘No. What about the other guy?’

  She gave an irritated head shake this time, don’t worry about him, let me tell you about the real excitement.

  ‘You should’ve seen the size of it.’ She saw the disbelief on his face. ‘No, really.’

  He held his finger and thumb an inch apart. She slapped his hand away.

  ‘You don’t believe me? It almost killed me.’

  ‘Shush now. Tell me about the other guy.’

  She looked down. Just not fast enough. Even in the semi-darkness he caught the look that flashed across her features, the one that made him feel as if he’d just woken up in a hospital bed after surgery and she was a doctor with some bad news about his legs.

  ‘It was his aftershave.’

  He didn’t know what the hell she was talking about.

  She couldn’t get it out of her nose.

  ‘It was the jerk from the Jerusalem Tavern. I recognized his aftershave. I was hiding in a built-in closet on the landing. I was going to let him go past, surprise him from behind. I heard him creeping up the stairs. I couldn’t see a thing. Then suddenly I could smell him. He was standing right in front of the closet, wasn’t going anywhere.’

  The darkness of the hallway seemed to intensify around her, the room receding. Evan’s breathing, loud in her ears, the only sound, the angry shouts from the basement fading away.

  She crouched down in the closet. It had been a mistake. Just as Sarah had suffered from claustrophobia as a result of what happened in this very house, she wasn’t good with small spaces either. Not now, not after she’d been abducted. They’d kept her hooded, in the dark. Dark every bit as all-encompassing as she was in now. Blows had
come at her out of that darkness. Without warning, leaving her terrified of the pauses in-between, never knowing what was coming next.

  Now she was in a similar black space, unable to see the hand in front of her face. On the other side of an inch of closet door, the mix of his aftershave and body odor strong in her nose, a man who’d taunted her about her brother’s grave and then slapped her on the ass. Two insults, one verbal, one physical, united by a common theme—we can do what we like and there’s not a thing you can do about it.

  Is that so?

  She came up and out of the closet like a bomb had been detonated under her. The door exploded outwards, hit the guy in the face, split it to the bone. She was on him in an instant, savage as a rabid dog. He stumbled blindly backwards across the room, eyes filled with his own blood. She cut him off at the knees with a low roundhouse kick, right arm pumping out in a palm heel strike to the jaw. His head snapped backwards into the sharp edge of the door frame and it was over before it started.

  Her handcuffs were out before his arms stopped flailing. She grabbed his right arm as he slid dazed down the wall, snapped the first cuff on. Twisted the arm, flipped him onto his front on the floor. One knee on the back of the neck, pinned his right arm to the small of his back with the other. Pulled the left across to meet it. Snapped the second cuff on, pushed herself up and stepped away.

  Start to finish, less than two seconds. If they’d been at the Police Academy, she’d have gotten a round of applause.

  As it was, all she got was a mouthful of abuse. So she kicked him lightly in the balls. Lightly-ish. He howled, made her want to do it again. She didn’t, ever the professional.

  ‘Anything you want to say about my ass now?’

  He had the sense to hold his tongue. Pushed himself into a sitting position, brought his knees up in front of him. To ease the pain or protect himself from more of the same, she had no idea. She’d never been kicked in the balls. Either way, it gave him more confidence.

  ‘Looks like you’re as stupid as Buckley is. Or didn’t he tell you what we said we’d do?’

  ‘He told me.’

  ‘So, stupid it is. He’s a dangerous man to be around. When you’re on his side. Look what happened to his wife.’ He gave her a sour smile. It slipped off again as she took a step towards him. Even so, he wasn’t finished with his taunts. ‘At least it opens it up for you.’

  It went straight over her head. It was his first remark she was thinking about.

  Look what happened to his wife.

  She stared at the smirk on his face, the one that said, you won this battle, but we’ll win the war, wanted to wipe it off with the back of her hand. At least she didn’t give him the satisfaction of getting what he wanted, didn’t ask him what did happen to her.

  ‘I can see you’re dying to know.’ He put all the emphasis on the dying.

  She was sick of the sound of him. He’d never tell her anything—if he knew anything in the first place. And if he did, she didn’t want to hear it from him anyway.

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘The same thing’s going to happen to you if you don’t let me go right now.’

  She ignored him, tuned him out as his threats became ever more abusive. She retrieved her flashlight from the closet, saw what she wanted in a small pile in the corner of the room. A mouse scurried out from underneath it as she approached. She wished she had some latex crime scene gloves as she picked it up by the tips of her finger and thumb. The smell made her want to retch.

  He saw what it was as she stalked back towards him, pushed himself further into the wall.

  ‘No. You can’t do that.’

  She nodded, just watch me.

  She kicked his legs out straight, dropped onto her knees in his lap. Grabbed a great handful of his hair, yanking his head so far back he could barely keep his teeth gritted tightly shut. His throat was exposed, stretched to its limit. She jabbed it once, quickly, not hard. His mouth opened as the choked cry popped out. A couple inches, that’s all. It was enough. And she was quick. Because she was looking forward to this. She stuffed it into his mouth, fed it in all the way as he frantically tried to turn his head from side to side, a desperate nngh, nngh, nngh sound in his heaving throat.

  A sharp bark of laughter exploded from Evan, brought her back to the present.

  ‘Seriously? You stuffed some wino or derelict’s rotting sock into his mouth?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  She sounded like a woman who’d invented a machine that turned farts into gold.

  ‘Made some poor family of mice homeless?’

  ‘Yep. Given all the shit that came out of that guy’s mouth, I reckoned it was time for some to go back in.’

  A pang of conscience ripped through her as she said it. She hadn’t told him everything. Look what happened to his wife. That part had slipped through the cracks of her memory somehow. They’d accomplished what they came here to do, found the dog tag. No need to complicate matters. There’d be plenty of time for that later.

  ‘How did you end up at the bottom of the stairs?’

  Suddenly she didn’t look so pleased with herself.

  ‘I was backing away from him, watching him try to spit the sock out. I wasn’t paying attention—’

  ‘Because you were enjoying it too much.’

  She gave a you got me shrug, was having trouble maintaining a professional demeanor.

  ‘That’s when the rat the size of a dog attacked you.’

  ‘It was. It shot out from nowhere and went straight through my legs, tripped me. Next thing I know I’m lying at the bottom of the stairs with your face peering down at me. That was the scariest part.’

  He ignored the remark, helped her to her feet. Hoped she didn’t notice the bloody handprint he left on her sleeve. It was her blood after all.

  ‘What about our two friends?’

  ‘Fuck ‘em.’

  It was only two words. Sometimes it’s the way you say them. She packed a lot of vitriol in.

  ‘You really don’t like that guy, do you?’

  ‘You noticed, huh?’

  He made a note to himself: keep hands well away from ass unless specifically invited to do so. And get it in writing. Then they got the hell out of there, him doing his best to keep up with her as he followed in the commandeered black SUV. After they’d slowed to a more responsible speed, he patted his pocket, made sure the dog tag hadn’t fallen out during the fight. It was still there, the cause of so much trouble. He wished he’d kept the note too, not given it to Guillory.

  In the car in front she folded it one-handed after reading it, slipped it back in her pocket.

  She wished he’d kept it too.

  Chapter 59

  ‘DID YOU READ IT?’

  She nodded, didn’t say anything.

  ‘That bad, huh?’

  They’d pulled into a gas station parking lot where he’d joined her in her car after throwing the SUV keys into the bushes. Her car was a lot colder. She had the window open, staring off into the distance. Some of the coldness crept into his heart, made its home there.

  ‘Not really. It’s not great either.’

  He should have remembered she was known for her understated way with words. Little Miss Verbose she was not.

  She pulled the note out of her pocket, handed it to him. He flicked on the dome light, started to read. It wasn’t very long. For some inexplicable reason he expected it to start Dear Evan, as if Sarah was expecting him to be the one to find it. He was suddenly aware of Guillory’s hand on his thigh, a gesture of comfort, of support. It only made him dread what was in the note all the more. She saw the gesture had made him pause, took her hand away again.

  ‘Just read it, Evan.’

  So he did. And when he’d finished, he laid it carefully on his leg, stared out the window a long time, his mind a merciful blank.

  ‘They call it survivor’s guilt,’ she said.

  He nodded, then picked up the note and re-read the passage sh
e was referring to.

  I’ve spent half of my life feeling guilty for what happened to Jack in this house. It should have been me who died, not him. Sometimes I’ve wished that it had been me. At least then the pain would have been short and sharp, over in an instant, not the lingering guilt that has gnawed away at me. I can’t do anything about what happened back then, can’t bring Jack back, make everything better. And apart from me and Jack and our stupid childish games, there is nobody to blame, nobody to be brought to account.

  I can’t bring Cole back, can’t make things better there either. But this time it’s different. There is someone to blame, someone who should be made to pay for their actions. Their crimes. That’s why I can’t stop, won’t stop, not until they stop me. People think I’m mad, obsessed, demented. Maybe I am. At least now you know why.

  ‘That’s some guilt,’ he said, his voice thick.

  She rested her hand on his thigh again, didn’t take it away this time.

  ‘You never knew?’

  ‘Never. I told you. She wouldn’t talk about it.’

  The rising tone in his voice made her squeeze his leg.

  ‘I’m not blaming you.’

  ‘I know.’

  Then she asked him the question that had been in her mind every minute since she read the note. The question she’d felt hovering in the background, building strength since she couldn’t remember when. The question she had to ask because he was who he was. Which was why she was sitting next to him in the semi-dark with her hand on his leg reading the desperate words of a woman she’d never met and who may well have been half-mad.

  ‘You’re not going to take this up for her, are you? Try to get justice for Cole?’

  He shook his head. It looked to her like he was having trouble holding the weight of it on his shoulders. He answered immediately, no obvious subterfuge.

  ‘No. It’s not my problem. I can’t fix the whole damn world.’

  He wasn’t answering the question. They both knew it. Partly because she wasn’t asking the right question. Not in words, anyway. Because what she was really asking him was a very different question.