by Ted Dekker
Sam withdrew her gun and tiptoed down the shaft.
“Shut up.” Slater’s voice sounded muffled behind the door. Sam stopped. Verified. She could never mistake that voice. Slater was behind that door. And Kevin?
The door was well insulated; they would never hear her. Sam walked to the door, nine millimeter up by her ear. She reached for the doorknob and slowly applied pressure. She didn’t plan on bursting in, or entering at all, for that matter, but she needed to know a few things. Whether the door was locked, for starters. The knob refused to turn.
She backed up a foot and considered her options. What did Slater expect her to do, knock? She would if she had to, wouldn’t she? There was only one way to save this man, and it was on the other side of that door.
Sam eased down to her belly and pressed her left eye to the crack beneath the door. On the right, white tennis shoes walked slowly toward her. She stilled her breathing.
“Time is most definitely winding down,” Slater said. The feet were his, white tennis shoes she didn’t recognize. “I don’t hear your lover breaking down the door.”
“Sam’s smarter than you,” Kevin said.
The tennis shoes stopped.
Sam jerked her eye to the left, where the voice had come from. She saw his feet, Kevin’s shoes, the tan Reeboks she’d seen by his bed a few hours ago. Two voices, two men.
Sam pulled back. Kevin and Slater weren’t the same person. She’d been wrong!
Sam flattened herself again and peered, breathing too loudly but not caring now. There they were, two sets of feet. One to her right, white, and one to her left, tan. Kevin tapped one foot nervously. Slater was walking away.
She had to tell Jennifer! In case something happened to her, she had to let Jennifer know who stood behind that door.
Sam slid back and stood. She hurried to the end of the hall. Going up the stairs might be prudent, but at this distance, there was no way Slater could hear. She lifted her phone and hit redial.
“Jennifer?”
“Sam! What’s going on?”
“Shh, shh, shh. I can’t talk,” Sam whispered. “I found them.”
A barely audible ring pierced the silence, as if a gunshot had discharged too close to her ear within the last half-hour.
Jennifer seemed incredulous. “You . . . you found Kevin? You actually located them? Where?”
“Listen to me, Jennifer. Kevin’s not Slater. Do you hear me? I was wrong. It has to be a frame!”
“Where are you?” Jennifer demanded.
“I’m here, outside.”
“You’re absolutely positive that Kevin isn’t Slater? How—”
“Listen to me!” Sam whispered harshly. She glanced back at the door. “I just saw them both; that’s how I know.”
“You have to tell me where you are!”
“No. Not yet. I have to think this through. He said no cops. I’ll call you.” She hung up before she lost her nerve and dropped the phone into her pocket.
Why didn’t she just call Jennifer in? What could she possibly do that Jennifer couldn’t? Only Slater knew the answer to that. The boy she’d never seen. Until today. Kevin, dear Kevin, I’m so sorry.
A shaft of light suddenly cut through the tunnel. She whirled around. The door was open. Slater stood in the doorframe, bare-chested, grinning, gun in hand.
“Hello, Samantha. I was getting worried. So nice of you to find us.”
27
Monday
8:21 P.M.
SAM’S FIRST INSTINCT WAS TO RUN. Up the stairs, duck, to the left, into the open. Come back with a flamethrower and burn him out. Her second instinct was to rush him. The rage that flooded her mind seeing him backlit by the light surprised her. She could feel her gun at her waist and she grabbed for it.
“Don’t be so predictable, Sam. Kevin thinks you’re smarter than me. Did you hear him say that? Prove it, darling.” He brought the gun up and aimed it inside to his right. “Come on in here and prove it to me, or I’ll cap the kid where he stands.”
Sam hesitated. Slater stood with a cocky grin. She walked down the hall. You were born for this, Sam. You were born for this.
Slater backed up, keeping his gun aimed to his right. She stepped past the steel door. A single bulb cast dim light over the basement. Shades of black and gray. Stark. Kevin stood in front of a wall of pictures, face ashen. Pictures of her. He took a step toward her.
“Not so fast,” Slater snapped. “I know how badly you want to be the hero again, boy, but not this time. Take the gun out slowly, Samantha. Slide it toward me.” There wasn’t a trace of doubt on Slater’s face. He had them precisely where he’d intended.
Sam slid the gun across the concrete, and Slater scooped it up. He walked to the door, closed it, and faced them both. It struck Sam, staring at the man’s smirk, that she’d committed a kind of suicide. She’d stepped into the lair willfully, and she’d just given the dragon her gun.
You were born for this, Sam. Born for what? Born to die.
She turned from him purposefully. No, I was born for Kevin. She looked at him, ignoring Slater, who stood behind her now.
“You okay?”
Kevin’s eyes darted over her shoulder and then settled on hers. Trails of sweat glistened on his face. The poor man was terrified.
“Not really.”
“It’s okay, Kevin.” She smiled. “I promise you, it’ll be okay.”
“Actually, it won’t be okay, Kevin,” Slater said, walking briskly to her right. He wasn’t the monster she’d imagined. No horns, no yellow teeth, no scarred face. He looked like a jock with short blond hair, tight tan slacks, a torso cut like a gymnast’s. A large, red tattoo of a heart branded over his breast. She could have met this man a dozen times over the years and not taken notice. Only his eyes gave him away. They were far away, light gray eyes, like a wolf’s. If Kevin’s eyes swallowed her, Slater’s were the kind she might bounce off of. He even smiled like a wolf.
“I’m not sure you’re aware of what we have here, but the way I see it, you’re both in a bit of a pickle,” Slater said. “And Kevin is fit to be tied. He’s made three phone calls to his FBI girlfriend, and I just sat back and let him do it. Why? Because I know how hopeless his situation is, even if he doesn’t. No one can help him. Or you, dear Samantha.”
“If you wanted to kill Kevin, you could have done it a dozen times,” Sam said. “So what is your game? What do you hope to accomplish with all of this nonsense?”
“I could have killed you too, my dear. A hundred times. But this way it’s just so much more fun. We’re all together like a happy little family. Mommy’s in the closet, Kevin’s finally come back home, and now his little girlfriend has come to save him from the terrible boy down the street. It’s almost like old times. We’re even going to let Kevin kill again.”
Slater’s lips fell flat. “Only this time he’s not going after me. This time he’s going to put a bullet in your head.”
Sam took this in and faced Kevin. He looked so frail in the yellow light. Afraid. Slater was going to force his hand to kill. Her. It all made perfect sense now, although exactly what Slater had in mind, she didn’t know.
Surprisingly, Sam felt no fear. In fact, she felt somewhat buoyed, even confident. Maybe this is how you feel just before you die.
“So. He’s the boy, after all,” Sam said to Kevin. Both men were watching her. “How does a big, strong, handsome man like this become so jealous of you, Kevin? Think about it. How could such a powerful, intelligent man be driven to such insane fits over one man? Answer: Because underneath that big, bold, red tattoo and all that bulging muscle, he’s only a pathetic little weasel who’s never managed to make a friend, much less win a girl.”
Slater stared at her. “I’ll keep your predicament in mind and forgive the rest of your desperate insults, but I don’t think jealous is the right word, Samantha. I am not jealous of this piece of meat.”
She faced him slowly, wildly bold and unsure why. “The
n forgive me for such poor word choice. You’re not insanely jealous; you’re delighted with the sweet bond of love that Kevin and I have always shared. The fact that I would have shoved a toilet plunger into your face if I’d ever caught you peeping and licking at my window doesn’t bother you, does it?”
His mouth was a thin, straight line. He blinked. Again.
“The fact is, I chose Kevin,” Sam said. “And Kevin chose me, and neither of us wants anything to do with you. You can’t accept that. It drives you crazy. It makes you see red.”
Slater’s face twisted. “And Kevin doesn’t see red?”
Silence settled. Balinda was in the closet. A clock on the wall read 8:35. She should have told Jennifer where they were. Her cell phone was still in her pocket, and she didn’t think Slater knew. Could she call Jennifer? If she could slip her hand into her pocket and press the send button twice, it would automatically dial the last number. Jennifer would hear them. A tingle ran through her fingertips.
“You really think Kevin is any different than me?” Slater waved the guns around absently. “You really think this little puke here doesn’t want exactly what I want? He’ll kill and he’ll lie and he’ll spend the rest of his life pretending he won’t, just like the rest. That’s better than me? At least I’m honest about who I am!”
“And who are you, Slater? You’re the devil. You’re the sickness of this world. You’re vile and you’re vomit. Go on, tell us. Be honest—”
“Shut up!” Slater screamed. “Shut your disgusting pie hole! This little piece of trash sits in the pew every Sunday, swearing to God that he won’t keep doing his secret little sins when he knows as well as I that he will. We know he will because he’s made this promise a thousand times and breaks it every time. He’s the liar.” Spittle flew from his lips. “That’s the truth!”
“He’s nothing like you,” Sam said. “See him? He’s a terrorized victim whom you’ve tried desperately to pound to a pulp. See you? You’re a revolting monster pounding whoever threatens you into a pulp. See me? I’m neither terrorized nor frightened, because I see you and I see him and I see nothing in common. Please, don’t be such a snail.”
Slater stared at her, lips parted, stunned. She had pushed him beyond himself with the simple truth, and he was writhing inside already. She shoved her fingers into her pockets and confidently hooked her thumbs.
“Where do they breed your kind, Slater? Is that a mask you’re wearing? You look so normal, but I have this unshakable suspicion that if I pulled your ear, the whole mask would come off and—”
Gunfire crashed through the room and Samantha jerked. Slater had fired the gun. A muffled wail cried through the door. Balinda. Sam’s pulse quickened. Slater stood without flinching, gun ex-tended to the ground where his bullet had chipped a divot from the concrete. “That hole below your nose is starting to bother me,” he said. “Maybe you should think about closing it.”
“Or maybe you should consider putting a hole in your head,” Sam said.
Slowly a smile formed on his lips. “You have more spunk than I would have guessed. I really should have broken your window that first night.”
“You’re demented.”
“How much I loved to hurt little girls like you.”
“You make me very, very sick.”
“Take your hands out where I can see them.”
He’d noticed. She pulled her hands out of her pockets and returned his glare. Neither backed down.
“Enough!” Kevin yelled.
Sam faced him. Kevin scowled at Slater, whose face was red and quivering. “I’ve always loved her! Why can’t you just accept that? Why have you hidden away all these years? Why can’t you find some other poor sucker and leave us alone?”
“Because none of them interests me like you do, Kevin. I hate you more than I hate myself, and that, puke face, is quite interesting.”
Slater sounds confident, but he’s never felt so much unease in all of his life. He has underestimated the strength of the girl. If his plan depends on bending her will, he will have significant challenges ahead. Fortunately, Kevin is more pliable. He’ll be the one pulling the trigger.
What is it about her? Her nerve. Her unyielding conviction. Her arrogance! She really does love the fool and she flaunts that love. In fact, she is all about love and Slater hates her for it. He’d seen her smiling, combing her hair, bouncing around her bedroom as a child twenty years ago; he’d seen her run around, locking up criminals in New York, like some kind of superhero on steroids. Happy, happy and snappy. It makes him sick. The look of disdain in her eyes now brings small comfort—it’s born out of her love for the worm to his right. So then, all the more reason for Kevin to put a bullet through her pretty white forehead.
He glances at the clock. Nineteen minutes. He should forget the timing and just do it now. A bitter taste pulls at the back of his tongue. The sweet taste of death. He should do it!
But Slater is a patient man, most excellent in all of the disciplines. He will wait, because it is his power to wait.
The game is down to the last test. The last little surprise.
Slater feels a surge of confidence sweep through his bones. He chuckles. But he doesn’t feel like chuckling. He feels like shooting his gun again.
Say what you want now, little girl. We’ll see who Kevin chooses.
Kevin watched Slater, heard him chuckle, knew with awful certainty that things were going to get worse.
He couldn’t believe that Sam had actually come in and given up her gun like that. Didn’t she know that Slater would kill her? That was his whole point. Slater wanted Sam dead, and he wanted him to kill her. Kevin would refuse, of course, and then Slater would just kill her himself and find a way to frame Kevin. Either way, their lives would never be the same.
He looked at Sam and saw that she was watching him. She winked slowly. “Courage, Kevin. Courage, my knight.”
“Shut up!” Slater said. “Nobody talk! My knight? You’re trying to make me gag? My knight? What rubbish!”
They stared at him. He was losing himself in this game.
“Shall we begin with the festivities?” Slater asked. He shoved Samantha’s gun into his waistband, took two long steps to Balinda’s door, unlocked it, and threw it open. Balinda sagged against a wall, bound and wide-eyed. Black smudges covered her white lace nightgown. Stripped of makeup, her face looked quite normal for a woman in her fifties. She whimpered and Kevin felt a pang of sorrow knife through his chest.
Slater bent down and hauled her to her feet. Balinda stumbled out of the room, lips quivering, squeaking in terror.
Slater shoved her against the desk. He pointed to the chair. “Sit!”
She collapsed to her seat. Slater waved his gun at Sam. “Hands up where I can see them.” She lifted her hands from her waist. Keeping his gun pointed in Sam’s general direction, Slater pulled a roll of duct tape from the top drawer, ripped off a six-inch slab with his teeth, and plastered it over Balinda’s mouth.
“Keep quiet,” he mumbled. She didn’t seem to hear. He shoved his face up to her. “Keep quiet!” he yelled. She jumped and he chuckled.
Slater removed the second gun from his pants and faced them. He cocked the guns, raised them to his shoulders. Sweat covered his white chest like oil. He grinned, lowered his arms, and twirled each pistol like a gunslinger.
“I’ve thought about this moment for so long,” Slater said. “The really big moments in life are never as inspiring as you imagine them—I’m sure you’ve both figured that out by now. What happens in these next few minutes has run so many laps around my mind that I swear there’s a groove an inch deep in there. I’ve taken way too much pleasure from the thoughts already; nothing can possibly compare. That’s the downside of dreaming. But it’s been worth it. Now I’m going to make it happen, and of course I’ll try to spice it up as much as possible to keep things interesting.”
He spun each gun again, the left, then the right. “I’ve practiced, can you tel
l?”
Kevin looked at Sam, who stood five feet from Slater, staring at the madman with a quiet fury. What was going through her mind? Slater had shifted his focus to her the moment she’d come in. With Kevin, the man showed no fear, but now facing Sam, Slater was trying to hide his fear with this show of his, wasn’t he? He was actually afraid. Sam just stared at him, undaunted, hands limp by her hips.
Kevin’s heart swelled. She was the true rescuer, always had been. He wasn’t the knight; she was. Dear Sam, I love you so. I’ve always loved you.
This was the end; he knew that. They couldn’t save each other this time. Had he told her how much he really did love her? Not with romantic love—with something much stronger. A desperate need. The need to survive. The way he loved his own life.
Kevin blinked. He had to tell her how precious she was to him!
“The game is simple,” Slater said. “No need confusing the common folk. One out of two people will die”—he glanced at the clock— “seventeen minutes from now. The old woman”—Slater shoved one of the guns to her temple—“who has evidently mistaken life for a Froot Loops commercial. Actually, I like that about her. If you’re going to pretend, you might as well do the whole enchilada, right?”
He smiled and slowly aimed the other gun toward Samantha. “Or the bright young maiden.” Both arms were fully extended at right angles now, one toward Balinda, the other toward Sam. “Our executioner will be Kevin. I want you to begin thinking about which wench you’ll kill, Kevin. Killing neither isn’t an option; that would ruin the fun. You must choose one.”
“I won’t,” Kevin said.
Slater tilted the gun and shot him in the foot.
He gasped. Pain throbbed through to his sole and then spiked up his shin; nausea rolled into his gut. The Reebok on his right foot had a red hole in it and was trembling. His horizon tipped.
“You will.” Slater blew imaginary smoke from the barrel. “I promise you, Kevin. You most definitely will.”
Sam ran for him and caught his sagging body. He let her support him and adjusted his weight to his left foot.
