by Erik Carter
Then she said, “You’re a stubborn man. If I can’t take that slut’s life for you, there’s only one way for you and me to be together.”
She breathed in. Sighed.
And when she spoke again, there was deep reluctance in her voice.
“I’m going to have to kill you, Dale.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
“There!” Ventress shouted and smacked Fulton on the shoulder. “There they are! Straight ahead.”
“I see them, dammit,” Fulton said. “You don’t need to hit me.”
The visibility was so damn bad in the rain, Ventress had started to think that they weren’t going to find Harbick and Taft. But finally she’d spotted them. Up ahead on the trail. Two dark shapes navigating the treacherous path in the pouring rain.
And it was a good thing too that she’d spotted them when she did because right after she found them, they did something very unexpected.
They stepped off the trail and disappeared into the trees.
She scowled.
What the hell are they doing?
She paused. For only a moment. Then took out her gun. A Smith & Wesson Model 29, 6.5-inch barrel. Just like “Dirty Harry” Callahan.
She turned to Fulton. “Weapon out, Fulton. It’s time to do some real work.”
Fulton reached into his suit jacket and brought out a Walther PPK.
How fitting. How perfect. An itty-bitty foreign gun. A 3.3-in barrel, looking tiny next to her 6.5. The loser of the pissing match.
Expensive suits… 007’s gun…
Did this guy really think he was James Bond?
Pathetic.
“Come on,” she said and led Fulton off the trail. “They’re gonna lead us right to Conley.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Mira traced her finger tenderly, slowly, carelessly over his chest.
“First I’ll kill you,” she said. “Then I’ll kill me. It’s been a dark life anyway, hasn’t it? A dark world. A twisted, ugly existence. Why not die here where Clyde and Bill played their games? Bring a little love to this place.”
Dale didn't respond. He was back in the present, aware of everything that was happening and everything that had happened. But he was numbed. His body was in so much pain that he could feel nothing. His mind was reeling but blank. The blood was warm and sticky and wet down the right side of his body, and he could feel it congealing, cracking in spots. His eyes were half closed.
Mira climbed off him.
“Time for your water.”
She went to the water jug.
“I thought you were going to kill me? Do I really need to hydrate first?”
There was still enough strength in him to be a smartass. It wasn’t his best work. But under the circumstances, he’d cut himself some slack.
She came back with a tin cup.
“Oh, I am gonna kill ya.”
She pointed at the cup. Smiled.
“The water …” Dale said.
He wouldn’t have believed that in his current state he’d have the ability to come to another realization, to put together the pieces of another bit of historical intrigue. But he now understood Mira’s fascination with her water…
“I actually found those serial killer books really interesting,” she said. “The ones I planted at Clyde’s. People think of serial killers as being men, but there are plenty of females too. Except lots of the females skip the knives and the choking and all the perversion. They go a more subtle route.”
He finished her thought for her. “Poisoning. Let me guess. Arsenic?”
“That’s right. You really do know your history. Lots of the ladies use arsenic.”
Dale thought back to all the times she’d offered him water in the cave, insistently, from the moment they arrived.
“You’ve been poisoning me since we got here.”
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Dale. Like I said, I knew you were going to be tenacious. I really wasn’t trying to hurt you. I had to subdue you. Tame you, ya big stud. Arsenic makes a person drowsy, causes confusion.”
“Confusion. Of course. All the crazy memories I’ve had. And dreams. The hallucinations.” He paused and gave her a cold stare. “And my poor decision-making. A cloudy mind being led astray, coerced.”
“I hope you’re not implying that our love-making was a mistake.”
“Lady, being in the same room as you is a mistake.”
“You don’t mean that, Dale. You have blood-loss. Arsenic-poisoning. You’re not yourself.”
She stepped closer.
“Come now. It’s time to drink your water.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
The thrilling adrenaline rush of adventure and purpose was starting to diminish for Nash. Aside from the fact that his whole body was complaining of exhaustion and wondering what the hell he was doing to it, he was also starting to get concerned.
Because they hadn’t found the cave.
Sadler’s directions had been vague, and they would have been difficult to follow on a bright, sunny day. But today was anything but bright and sunny. Nash could hardly orient himself at all. The rain was relentless. The forest was dark. And both he and Taft were stumbling every few feet.
Nash had spent a lot of time in the last few years plunging into desperation, and though this assignment had shown him that perseverance was stronger and so much more important than hopelessness, he felt himself getting desperate again.
And he imagined the worst for Dale.
What if Ventress caught up with him before they did?
Ahead of him, he saw Taft pull slightly to the right. It seemed to Nash that this would bring them farther away from the slope of the hill, and he cupped his hand over to yell something out to Taft.
It was then that he saw it.
A rock face, up the side of the hill to his left.
He kept the hand over his mouth, yelled out.
“Taft! Look!”
In the rock face was a small cave opening. And the tiniest bit of light came out of it.
“Let’s go!”
Neither one of them wasted a second. They both started up the hill. Taft pulled out his gun, and Nash did the same, grabbing Sadler’s gun from where he’d tucked it in his pocket.
But then there was a sound from behind them, and both of them instinctively stopped. Because the sound was undeniable. Instantly recognizable.
It was the cocking of a gun.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
“Come on now, sweetheart.”
She held the tin cup over Dale’s mouth. His face was soaking wet from her attempts. This was the third cup, and he’d been fighting her off as doggedly as he could in his current state, using just enough energy to survive. He had very little strengh left.
And he knew he might need it at any moment.
For one last burst of resistance.
A final stand.
“Open up,” she said and tried to pry his mouth open with her fingers. “Open… I’ve mixed this stronger than before. It’s not going to taste great, but I promise you, if you don’t drink this, you’re not going to like the alternative. Come on now. Open up.”
Finally she got a finger into the corner of Dale’s mouth and pulled it open. He stopped squirming. He was burning up too much of his energy in the depleted reserves he’d been carefully monitoring.
He left his mouth open.
“There you go.”
She poured the water into his mouth, smiling.
It collected, filling up like a coffee mug. The last drop plopped into the pool, and she put the cup beside the bed.
It tasted horrible. Metallic.
She smiled warmly, maternally. Rubbed his shoulder.
Then he spit the water on her face.
She jumped back. Looked at him. Wiped a hand across her face. Pulled back to slap him. And stopped. Another warm smile.
“All right, then. No water. That’s fine. We’ll go with the alternative.”
She started to get
up…
…and Dale suddenly swung his legs at her, wrapping them around her torso.
It was time to use that last bit of energy.
It was time for his final stand.
“Dale!” she screamed in shock.
She struggled, clawing at his thighs, while he worked them up her torso.
He got her neck between his thighs, crossed his ankles, and squeezed as tight as he possibly could.
She grabbed at his legs, trying desperately to pull them apart.
“Dale! Stop!”
She’d done her best to work him over. She’d gotten him mentally. She’d gotten him physically. She’d escalated to the point where she’d punctured him all the way up and down his right side.
But Dale was far from beaten.
There was still some life in him.
And he was going to defend it.
Dale wasn't an assassin. He wasn't that type of agent. But when situations arose, he did what he needed to.
And in this case, he needed to snap Mira Lyndon’s neck.
How he was going to escape the cave afterward—he was chained to the wall, after all—was another story.
But he’d figure that out later.
First things first.
He yanked viciously. Over and over. Waiting for the crack.
With each twist of his legs, he gave himself a small pep talk. Each time, he just knew that her neck would break.
But it never did.
And with each thrust, Dale could feel that depleted energy slipping away. Each attempt was a little weaker than the last, even if he convinced himself otherwise.
He twisted his hips, readying for the thrust he was certain would kill her, and she slithered out between his legs. She rolled off the mattress onto the cave floor and kept rolling until she was a few feet away, safely out of the reach of his legs.
She lay there, breathing deeply.
Then she stood up. She looked down at him for just a moment then went to the crack in the wall.
There was some rattling, and when she returned, she had a towel in her hand.
“You didn’t want to drink it. Let’s see if you’ll breathe it.”
She stepped toward him.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Nash raised his hands into the air, and he saw Taft do the same thing beside him.
Approaching out of the darkness, rain pouring down their bodies, were two armed figures. At first Nash assumed they were HSPD who had followed them from town, but as they drew closer he could see that they were Ventress and Fulton. Each of them had guns drawn, two-handed grips. And those guns were leveled at Nash and Taft.
A sinking feeling came to Nash. Only moments earlier, he’d been worried about Dale’s safety, about whether Nash and Taft would beat Ventress and her team to Dale, whether they could stop her from eliminating him.
Now it was clear: she’d been following them.
Nash had led Ventress right to Dale.
And now she was ready to take the next step.
“That’s far enough, Taft,” Ventress said. She motioned with her head toward the cave, not taking her eyes off Taft. “Conley’s in there. With the girl. Isn’t he?”
“Yes. But it’s not what you think.” Taft spoked loudly enough that he could be heard over the thunderous rain, but his tone was mediating and measured. Nash imagined this had come from years of field experience. “Let me show you something. I’m going to reach into my jacket pocket. Slowly.”
Taft carefully put his hand into his jacket, keeping his eyes on Ventress. He pulled out the letter—which was instantly drenched in the rain—and handed it toward her.
She and Fulton were a few feet away. She took a couple careful steps forward—gun still leveled on Taft—and took the note.
“Just read that,” Taft said.
Chapter Sixty
Mira stepped toward the bed, approaching from the top, wisely avoiding Dale’s legs this time.
She dropped to her knees and held up the towel.
Her face was blank. Not cold. Not slightly smiling. Not reluctant. Not concealing some emotion that was fighting to get out. Blank. A perfectly clean slate. She looked unnatural.
Dale wanted to do something. Anything. But he could hardly even move his head. He’d used every bit of the energy reserves he’d been storing on his leg attack. And now he was depleted.
But he could talk. There was still enough strength for that.
Dale could always be a smartass.
Even to the bitter end.
“I hear the afterlife is lovely this time of year.”
No reaction from Mira. The blank, emotionless look on her face didn’t change. She was robotic.
And in one swift, cold, robotic movement, she brought the towel down over Dale’s face, covering him but for his eyes and the top of his head. She clamped her hand over his mouth and nose and pressed down hard.
“No! No!”
The same awful, metallic taste.
Except more concentrated.
Pure.
Dale thrashed violently.
She kept her hand planted, moving it with the twisting of his head.
“It’s okay, my love,” she said. “Calm down. Just breathe it in.”
Finally the robotic spell on her face lifted. Emotion was back. She smiled fondly at him.
“Shhhh. It’ll all be over soon.”
Chapter Sixty-One
Ventress finished reading the note. And then looked away.
Sadler.
Conley had been on to Sadler. That’s why Conley went missing, went rogue. That’s why he took Mira Lyndon.
“I told you, Ventress,” Harbick said. “He’s protecting that girl.”
Ventress hated to be wrong. And she hated to admit when someone else had bested her. But Harbick was right. Conley had been saving the girl. Everything added up in Ventress’ mind.
Sadler. Clyde Bowen. Mira Lyndon.
Why hadn’t she seen it before?
She slowly reached the note back out to Taft and gave a defeated nod that gave a clear, non-verbal message: You were right.
Ventress wasn’t so prideful that she couldn’t admit when she’d been wrong.
She just wasn’t going to say so out loud.
“The good news is, we can get them out of that cave,” she said. “And get Mira Lyndon back to the hospital. When we—”
She was cut off by a scream that came from the cave, so loud that it cut right through the pounding of the rain on the leaves all around them.
“No! Stop!”
It had been a man’s voice...
She looked at Harbick, confused.
“It’s Dale!” he shouted, and he and Taft immediately bolted toward the cave.
Chapter Sixty-Two
Dale began to cough. He could taste blood.
He swung his head left and right, trying to shake away from the towel, the grasp.
Mira rubbed her free hand over his sweaty face, through his sopping hair.
“Shhhh. Shh-shh-shh,” she said quietly, soothingly. “Be still, baby. Shhh. Be still.”
Dale looked at her then.
Allie smiled at him, shook her head.
“I can’t believe you’re making such a fuss over this.”
Dale was lying on his back on Allie’s bed. One leg was kicked up, and his 501s were rolled up to his knee. Allie was beside him with a brown plastic bottle of peroxide in one hand and a piece of gauze in the other.
She dabbed at his leg with the gauze.
“Ouch!”
“Oh, stop being such a baby,” she said smiling, almost laughing. “It’s just a little peroxide.”
She dabbed him again.
“Ow! Allie!”
He twisted his leg away from her. She reached for it. He pulled it away again.
She gave him a put-out look
“Catch me if you can,” he said with a grin.
“Hold still. I can’t believe you wiped out a rented bicycle on wh
at was supposed to be a romantic ride through the park.”
“It was a steep hill. How could I let it pass?”
“You’re such a big kid. Goofball.”
He was still moving his leg left and right, avoiding her grasp and the peroxide.
“I got a better idea,” he said. “Something that’ll fix me right up.”
He winked and motioned to the open area on the mattress next to him.
“It cures everything, don’t ya know?”
Allie rolled her eyes.
“You’re not getting out of this peroxide, mister. Now hold still.”
Mira clenched down harder, and Dale could feel her fingers digging in through the towel.
“I said hold still!” she screamed.
She pulled the towel off Dale’s head and threw it angrily across the room.
And as soon as she did, Dale felt his head roll to the side. And then back. It was floating on its own accord. He was floating. Airy. Cold. Nausea in his stomach and a burning in his throat.
Mira jumped to her feet.
“Fine!”
She stormed off across the cave, back to the crack along the floor.
She returned with a different knife from the one she’d used earlier. It was a full-sized knife. An eight-inch chef’s blade.
“This is special, Dale,” she said. “This is the one I used to kill Clyde. Not his women. Just Clyde. I loved him. So it makes sense that I should use it to finish you off too.”
She stood over him. With the big knife at her side. Looking wicked.
Allie stood over him. Looking beautiful.
There was a warm expression on her face.
He looked into her eyes.
“I forgive you, Allie.”
The radiant glow on her face turned into a smile.
And then it changed to a scowl.
She screamed.
