He was in a square wooden box on stilts, somewhere in the woods. The guy had thrown him over his shoulder and climbed up the ladder to get in as if he weighed nothing. Then the guy threw him in the corner and told him to keep his fucking mouth shut if he knew what was good for him.
Kyle watched him with a mixture of fear and fascination as he fixed the end of the rope to a metal hook in the roof. He closed his eyes, concentrated hard on not being a big baby. In the end he had to open them again, see what he was doing next. There was some kind of trapdoor in the floor. The guy spent forever playing with it until he was happy with it, making it open and then closing it again. Over and over. Each time the trapdoor opened Kyle got a glimpse of the guy’s dog on the ground below them.
It was one mean dog. When Max went to the big kennel in the sky, he’d like a dog like that. Wouldn’t give it a sissy name like Marlene though. Killer or Fang. That’s the sort of name you gave a dog like that. A name the dog would be proud of when you yelled for him across the park. The guy didn’t know shit.
Then things got a whole lot scarier once the guy got the trapdoor the way he wanted it. That’s when the hood went on. He let out a whimper, didn’t think the guy heard. He was too busy talking to himself.
When the guy made him stand up and he put the noose around his head he felt a surge of pee in his bladder. He held it, mouthed fuck you to the guy from behind the hood, felt better afterwards. Until the guy made him stand in the middle of the trapdoor.
The guy squeezed his cheeks hard between his fingers through the hood and put his face right the other side of the thick cloth. Kyle smelled cigarettes on his breath, something on his fingers he couldn’t identify. Might have been wet dog. Or maybe raw meat.
‘You stand still, boy, you understand?’
Kyle couldn’t talk, couldn’t even nod with the guy holding his face. He just squeaked, a big baby noise, and hated himself for it.
‘You move an inch and that there trapdoor’s gonna open. You know what happens then?’
I’m not stupid, shit for brains.
He managed an uh-huh.
‘Uncle Evan’s gonna be along real soon,’ the guy said and sniggered.
Kyle thought it was a funny noise for a scary guy like him. And he was scary, with those tattoos—he reckoned they were prison tattoos—and his dog and his bow.
Kyle tried what he hoped was a grim smile behind the hood, the one he practised in the bathroom mirror.
Won’t do you no good. Uncle Evan’s gonna kick your sorry ass.
***
EVAN SMILED TO HIMSELF as his phone rang, surprised it had taken this long for her to notice he was missing. Maybe now would be a good time to sit tight and wait for reinforcements. He was one hundred percent sure Kyle was inside the blind, one hundred and ten percent sure Floyd was waiting to shoot him when he was halfway up the ladder.
‘Where the hell are you?’ Guillory hissed.
He filled her in quickly on where he was, how to get to him, told her about the deer blind.
‘Kyle’s in there, I know it.’
She laughed, a short sharp cough.
‘Yeah, at least he wasn’t where you thought he was.’
‘What was the smell?’
He scanned the trees constantly as they talked. If Floyd was hiding somewhere in them he’d have heard the phone ring, could hear what he was saying.
‘It was an old well. There was a rope hanging down it, something heavy on the end.’
He wanted to shout down the phone, scream at her to just spit it out. She was too engrossed, reliving every dreadful moment.
‘I shone the flashlight down, still couldn’t see a thing, just the rope twisting, disappearing into the blackness. Then suddenly I saw a head—’
‘What?’
‘I’m thinking Jesus Christ, Evan was right, it’s his nephew. Then this monster rat jumps off.’
He heard her swallow, imagined her shuddering at the memory. He was sure Kyle was in the blind. His heart was thundering away in his chest, his throat tight, just the same. He needed her to confirm it.
Just tell me.
‘It was a dead deer.’
His shoulders relaxed, every muscle in his body suddenly weak.
‘The sick bastard put a rubber mask on its head, the sort of thing you get at a fancy dress store. And he’d fixed a toupée on top of that. He wanted us to see the head first, see the hair, think it was ...’
She didn’t need to finish. He tried to imagine what she must have felt. Relief quickly turning to anger at being toyed with. Did Floyd have something similar planned for him? It was a useful lesson to learn—things are not necessarily what they seem.
‘Has Kyle got a blue and white varsity jacket?’ she said.
‘Yeah. He never goes anywhere without it.’
‘He dressed the deer in it. Can you believe this sick bastard?’
He wouldn’t put anything past Floyd now. It made him doubt what he thought he knew. He looked at the deer blind again. Was Kyle really in there? That would be too easy, nothing to stop him sitting tight and waiting for backup. Or did Floyd have another message for him?
‘Was there a note?’
‘You’re getting to know this guy, eh?’
He laughed, the sort of laugh makes you want to spit.
‘I feel like we’re joined at the hip. What did it say?’
‘There were two. Both pinned to Kyle’s jacket.’
‘Two?’
‘Okay, one and a half—the other half of the one he left in your car.’
‘Protect what you love ...’
‘Or lose it.’
‘Predictable. What about the other one?’
She hesitated. Hesitation’s never good.
‘Kate?’
‘Is there a trapdoor in the deer blind?’
‘I can’t see from here. What does the note say?’
‘It says the trapdoor is on a timer.’
‘Is that it?’
‘No. It says Deer aren’t the only thing you can hang.’
Neither of them said a word for a long moment, then she spoke again.
‘The consensus here is your nephew has a noose around his neck and he’s standing on a trapdoor—a trapdoor on a timer.’
‘How long?’
‘It doesn’t say.’
‘What? What’s the point of that?’
And then it hit him. He knew exactly what the point was. Floyd didn’t want him to know. He wanted Evan to make a decision—a decision based on nothing but thin air and gut instinct that would determine whose life was forfeit.
If he decided it was a bluff, he should sit tight and wait for Guillory and the backup to arrive. Slip back into the safety of the trees, not expose himself to Floyd. But if he was wrong, Kyle would pay the price for his bad call.
If the timer was real—one with who knows how long, or short, a time to go—he had to make a move, right now, step out into the open, expose himself as he climbed the ladder to the blind. Floyd would pick him off as if he were shooting fish in a barrel, the trapdoor would open anyway ...
There was only one way for Kyle to come out of this alive.
Carl Hendricks had done his research well. He’d chosen the means of his revenge with care. The rope wasn’t a coincidence. With the intuition of a man with too many scars on his own conscience, he knew Kevin Stanton visited Evan in his dreams, swinging from the end of a rope in his garage. He knew Evan would never dare risk another innocent death on his conscience, would gladly sacrifice himself for a chance to save the boy.
If there was no timer, if the note was just a trick to lure Evan out, Kyle was safe. And Evan, unable to live with even the smallest risk, would walk willingly into Floyd’s arrows—for nothing.
That’s the beauty of choices like that. You don’t have to waste time thinking about them.
‘Evan, say something.’
‘I’ve got to go.’
‘We can be there in under five minutes.’
&
nbsp; ‘No, you can’t.’
He told her about his car blocking the road, the slashed tires, the locked five-bar gate behind it.
‘It’ll take too long. We’ve wasted enough time already.’
‘We’re coming on foot—’
He cut the call, dropped the phone in his pocket and stepped out into the clearing.
***
HE STOOD UP STRAIGHT and walked towards the blind. There was no point crouching, trying to hide. Floyd had him where he wanted him and would act accordingly. Besides, he was safe out here in the open. Everything he knew about Floyd told him he’d drag it out as long as possible. He’d let Evan get close. Let him think he had a chance. If Evan was a betting man, he’d put money on being shot with his foot on the top rung of the ladder, his hand on the door handle.
He saw the trapdoor as he got closer, pictured Kyle standing on top of it. Too scared to move, not knowing what the hell was going on. Asking himself, was anyone even coming to rescue him? He swallowed thickly, tried to put the image out of his mind.
He’d reached the bottom of the ladder.
He put out his hand to grab the side rail and stopped, an idea forming in his mind. He smiled to himself at the simplicity of it. He’d stand under the trapdoor and wait for backup. Let Floyd shoot him standing there just the same as if he was on the ladder. On the ladder he had no chance of doing anything if the trapdoor opened. Standing underneath, he could catch Kyle—if he hadn’t already been shot. It was one slim chance against no chances at all.
Problem was, he underestimated Floyd.
Badly.
He took a step away from the ladder, bent to duck under the diagonal cross struts. If he expected anything, he expected the burning pain of Floyd’s arrow cutting through his flesh. Not the gentle pull of a tripwire against his ankle. There was a metallic click, the sound as loud as a gunshot in the still air—and every bit as deadly.
The trapdoor dropped silently open on well-oiled hinges.
For a fraction of a second it was as if Kyle hovered in mid-air. Halfway under the cross strut, Evan stared up at the soles of his sneakers, three feet away, two feet above him. Kyle hung, defying gravity so long Evan feared the rope was already pulled taut as he stood on the trapdoor, that he wouldn’t fall. He’d slowly choke to death as Evan tried desperately to get up the ladder, get inside.
Then Kyle dropped like a stone.
In one fluid step Evan was directly under him as he plummeted downwards, his feet kicking wildly, the scream that had been building inside him finding its voice. Evan clamped his arms around Kyle’s legs, got a thrashing bony knee in the face and a kick in the ribs for his trouble. Kyle’s legs carried on trying to kick, his screams filling the air, filling Evan’s head until he wanted to scream back twice as hard. He gripped tighter and looked up, saw the slackness in the rope, felt a wave of relief go through him that almost made him lose his grip. Another six inches and the rope would have snapped taut and he’d be hanging onto the boy’s legs as they twitched in his death throes.
‘I’ve got you. It’s okay.’
Kyle’s scream faded away, his kicks became weaker, then stopped altogether.
‘Uncle Evan?’
Evan looked up again, saw the hood over his head. He felt a hot pricking at the back of his eyes that he should be the one come to Kyle’s mind first.
‘Yeah.’ He cleared his throat. ‘It’s me.’
He felt the boy relax in his grip, the rigid muscles in his legs go slack, wished his own legs had that luxury.
‘I knew you’d kick his sorry ass.’
Evan gave an encouraging you got that right laugh. He didn’t say anything, didn’t want to scare him again. He did think it was a little premature, especially as Floyd chose that precise moment to step out of the trees, his bow in one hand, an arrow in the other.
Kyle felt Evan tense under him. And he was a bright boy.
‘Is it him?’
There was no point lying. Floyd would say something any second.
‘Yeah, don’t worry, it’s going to be okay,’ he whispered. ‘Help’s on the way.’
Whether Kyle believed him or not, his legs didn’t. They snapped rigid in Evan’s arms.
‘Nice catch,’ Floyd said as he took a couple paces closer.
He moved to the side so there was an unobstructed path between him and Evan, no stilts or cross-struts in the way.
Despite their predicament, Evan couldn’t stop his curiosity getting the better of him.
‘Was there a timer?’
Floyd grinned and shook his head slowly.
‘Nope. Worked though, didn’t it. Brought out the hero in you. Uncle Evan to the rescue.’
Fuck you, retard.
The muffled shout echoed out from behind the hood over Kyle’s head. Evan gave his legs a squeeze, couldn’t help grinning. Floyd grinned back, nodded his head appreciatively.
‘Boy’s got some balls. Trouble is, he’s as stupid as his Uncle Evan.’
‘Shush,’ Evan whispered to Kyle, cutting off the next show of bravado.
‘Needs to learn a lesson about consequences,’ Floyd said and fitted the arrow to the bow.
Evan tensed, his heart racing.
‘No!’
Floyd ignored him.
‘Hey, boy.’
Evan felt Kyle’s whole body shaking in his arms.
‘I’m talking to you, boy.’
‘What?’ Kyle said, his voice barely a whisper, all the bravado of a minute ago long gone.
‘You gotta learn a lesson about responsibility. You dis-respected me. Somebody has to pay.’
Evan watched, his muscles frozen, as Floyd drew back the string. He stopped halfway, the arrow still pointing at the ground.
‘Who’s it gonna be, boy? Who gets to pay for your mouth?’
The silence stretched out. Floyd’s bow rose.
‘Can’t hear you, boy.’
‘Me!’
Kyle’s shout echoed around the clearing.
‘Good boy,’ Floyd said and shot Evan in the leg.
Evan screamed and leapt backwards, spinning around. He lost his grip on Kyle’s legs. Kyle dropped six inches, the noose snapping tight around his neck. Evan lurched forward, dipped and clamped his left arm around Kyle’s lower legs, stood up straight. The rope went slack. Kyle was making wheezy, choking sounds in the back of his throat, his legs kicking uselessly against Evan’s gut.
‘It’s okay,’ Evan said, trying hard to keep his voice soft and soothing through the blinding pain in his leg. ‘I’ve got you.’
Kyle stopped thrashing, the sounds in his throat subsiding as the panic ebbed away.
‘Okay now?’
There was a tentative uh-huh. Evan felt the wetness in the boy’s pants leg. He thanked God it wasn’t the same wetness he felt soaking his own pants, draining his strength.
‘Good boy.’
‘It’s only a field point,’ Floyd called out. ‘You should be thankful the boy didn’t call me something worse or I might have used a broadhead.’
Despite the searing pain in his leg, Evan was thankful. A field point was just an everyday sharpened point—not the lethal three-blade tip Floyd used to cut down Vasiliev’s men.
‘Think you’ll remember what you learned today, boy?’ Floyd shouted to Kyle.
A flood of relief coursed through Evan’s body as Kyle had the sense to keep his mouth shut. He only had one more leg after all.
‘You should thank me,’ Floyd carried on. ‘Maybe you won’t grow up as stupid as Uncle Evan after all, you pay attention to me.’
Evan shifted all his weight onto his good leg. Suddenly Kyle was a lot heavier. Floyd watched him like a cockroach he’d just pulled half the legs off.
‘Even’s things up a bit,’ he said. ‘Big strong guy like you and a skinny kid like him, you could’ve held him all day. Or until I shoot your other leg, of course. Or maybe your pecker.’
He thought that was funny. He started to laugh and he co
uldn’t stop, the tears running down his cheek.
Evan couldn’t see the funny side of it at the moment. What he could see was an opportunity.
Floyd was shaking his head, gulping great chunks of air down as his laughter subsided. Evan had his left arm around Kyle’s legs, his right hanging at his side. He looked up, past Kyle’s body and the rope stretched almost taut above him to the metal hook in the wooden roof of the blind.
Kyle felt the change in him, felt him leaning away. He started to struggle, maybe thought Evan was going to let go his legs. Evan squeezed the boy’s legs, hoped he understood. Kyle only struggled more.
His eyes on Floyd the whole time, Evan eased his right hand behind his back, felt the gun down the back of his pants. His fingers closed around the grip.
Floyd shook his head one last time and looked up, straight at Evan, a smile still on his lips. His mouth opened to make another mocking remark and then shut as he saw where Evan’s hand was. Their eyes locked. Evan knew Floyd didn’t think he was scratching an itch or rubbing an aching back muscle from holding Kyle up.
Floyd’s arm rose up and over his shoulder towards the arrows sticking out the quiver on his back. Evan brought the gun out from behind his own back. He leaned away from Kyle, raised his arm. Kyle was thrashing uncontrollably, shaking Evan’s whole body as he tried to balance on his one good leg.
Floyd had an arrow out, bringing it around in a smooth, well-practised arc, laying it against the arrow rest.
Evan’s gun arm was waving crazily in the air as Kyle twisted and bucked in his grip.
‘Kyle! Keep still!’
Kyle stopped fighting him, the urgency in Evan’s voice connecting on a subconscious level. Evan fired at the hook in the roof as Floyd drew back his arm, the bow rising towards them.
The bullet punched through the wooden roof, six inches to the left of the hook, the sound of the wood splintering mingling with Kyle’s screams.
Floyd’s hand was at his chin, the bowstring kissing his nose, his lips, the lethal tip of the broadhead aimed at the center of Evan’s body mass.
Evan got off two fast shots, threw Kyle away from him to the left and dived to the right.
The bullets smashed into the hook, ripping it out of the roof, as Floyd let the arrow fly. Kyle landed on his feet and tumbled to the ground, the noose and hook landing on top of him. Evan hit the deck with his shoulder and rolled with the fall as the arrow flew through the air.
Sins Of The Father Page 31
