by Scott Blade
“Kid, you have to trust someone, sometime.”
“Approach slowly. I will hear you out,” Evan lowered his gun.
As he lowered his gun, Kobnhavn drew a silenced pistol. Before he could fire it, Evan fired two rounds in his direction. One hit him square in the shoulder.
The man in the turtleneck rushed him, knocking over a sculpture. Evan fired once, missing him. The man tackled Evan, sending his gun sliding across the floor.
Barbara froze. She didn’t know what to do.
The man with the turtleneck slammed his fist into Evan’s gut. Then he raised another fist, but Evan shifted slightly, and the man punched the hard floor.
Evan kneed him directly in the crotch. Then he planted both feet into the man’s inner thighs and kicked him as hard as he could. The force launched Evan’s attacker off of him.
Quickly, Evan jumped to his feet. He looked past his attacker to see Kobnhavn crouched and aiming his gun. Evan rolled into the turtleneck man and pulled him up to absorb the bullets.
Kobnhavn fired two rounds in his friend’s back before he realized what he was doing.
“Shit!” he said.
Evan followed the dying man’s hand to a gun that stuck out over his belt. The man was hard-pressed to relinquish it, but Evan squeezed the trigger once, firing the gun into the man’s thigh.
Quickly, he jerked the gun up and fired continuously in Kobnhavn’s direction. Bullets ignited and launched out of the sound suppressor. After the smoke cleared, and with only one bullet left, Evan peered over to Kobnhavn. He was now slumped over.
Evan looked back at Barbara, who hid behind a small, stone platform. Evan was not sure if it was supposed to be art or just a piece of furniture.
“Are you okay?” he asked her.
“Yes,” she answered. She was shaken up but otherwise fine.
Evan rose to his feet and approached Kobnhavn’s body.
Kobnhavn slowly turned over to face Evan. His gun lay on the floor next to him, but he did not try for it. Instead, he used both hands to hold tightly to his chest. He had several bullet holes. Desperately, he clung to them, trying to plug them with his fingers.
“Kobnhavn. Where is he?” Evan asked.
“Who?” he asked, gurgling blood out of his lips.
“Beowulf? Where?”
“Beowulf is…Beowulf is dead,” he said.
“You’re lying,” Evan said. He pressed his shoe heel against Kobnhavn’s hands. He pushed down, forcing Kobnhavn to experience tremendous pain.
“Beowulf is…”
“He is what?” Evan asked. But it was too late—Kobnhavn was dead.
Evan sighed. He turned to Barbara. He looked at the gun in his hands and dropped it.
“It’s okay,” he said.
“I'm sorry, Willem. I’m so sorry,” she said. She ran toward him and hugged him tightly.
“Come on; we have to leave,” he said.
“We’ll need help. I know who we can ask,” Barbara said.
92
Outside Dr. Blake’s classroom, they waited on the steps to the art building. Barbara peered in through one of the windows to the building and then returned to Evan.
“Okay, he’s still in there,” she said, taking Willem’s hand and snuggling next to him on the steps.
“Listen. Someone is going to find those bodies soon. We need to leave now,” he said.
“Okay, you go and get whatever you need and meet me and Blake back at my dorm,” she said.
“That sounds risky. Beowulf could be here. You know how dangerous he is,” Evan said.
“I know, but Blake’s class is going to be another hour. Go ahead. I’ll be fine. I’ll go and sit in it or something,” she said. “I’ll be safe in a crowd of students. Beowulf won’t get me there. I have some sorority sisters in the class anyway.”
Willem scratched his head. Her plan sounded good. He desperately needed to call the safe number Bosworth had given him. It was only to be used in an emergency. And this was definitely the right scenario.
Evan nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “That sounds good. But don’t leave Blake’s side. I’ll meet you both here.”
“Okay,” she said.
Evan kissed her and quietly ran off into the darkness toward his flat.
93
Charles Blake was nearing the end of a lecture on destroyed artwork from the Nazi regime in Europe.
“As many of you know, Hitler was against art that was not pro-German,” he said.
Barbara opened the doors to the classroom and slid in. She entered through the back, virtually undetected; that was, until Dr. Blake stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her.
“Ah...Hitler’s regime destroyed some great paintings,” he said. Blake glared at Barbara for an instant.
“Now, I had a series of slides to show you,” Charles Blake said, shuffling through his belongings resting on a desk in the middle of the classroom. “But I can’t seem to find them. So you are all spared for the moment.”
Laughter broke out over the crowd of students.
Barbara felt a sense of relief; she had already had this course. She had seen too many of his slides, enough to fill half of the semester.
“Since I can’t locate my slides, I guess class is dismissed for the evening,” he said. The students started gathering their belongings and standing up.
Blake raised his voice and said, “But consider this a reprieve. You will all have double slides next week.”
Barbara rose quickly from her seat and made her way down toward him before the crowd. Students filled the aisles and poured out of the classroom.
“Dr. Blake,” she said.
“Why, Barbara?” Blake asked, looking dazed by her presence.
“Dr. Blake. I’m glad I’ve found you,” she said.
“Oh Barbara, I’m sorry about your project,” he said.
Barbara stood only meters from him.
“What are you talking about?” she asked, confused.
“I was just saying I’m sorry you didn’t locate the real artist. I didn’t think you would,” he said. He smiled at her, but he was starting to sense her uneasiness.
“What do you mean?”
“You know. Your project. That’s why you’re here right? Kobnhavn was sure you had found the real Kessler. But he was wrong, right?” Blake asked.
A sudden wave of panic swept over Barbara.
“Kobnhavn?” she muttered. She began inching back away from Blake.
“Yeah, Kobnhavn. You met with him. He was wrong. Right?” Charles Blake asked. He smiled at her, as he grew suspicious of her behavior.
“I never told you I was meeting with him,” she said. She glanced back at the students; most of them had exited the room.
“So, he told me,” Blake said. “Barbara what’s wrong with you?”
“Kobnhavn is dead,” she said.
Charles Blake’s smile slowly evaporated into his face. His muscles locked up and he stood completely straight.
Barbara, still inching backward, retreated closer and closer toward the doors.
She looked directly into Blake’s eyes. She said, “Beowulf?”
Charles Blake leered at her. He began to charge toward her.
“Barbara! Barbara!” two of her sorority sisters said. They came prancing down the aisles. They stood directly between her and Blake.
Beowulf stopped dead in his tracks and watched closely as the sisters escorted Barbara out of the room.
They raved on about boys and some party that she had to go to, but Barbara couldn’t take in a word. She was grateful they were there to save her life.
Together the three sisters disappeared into the hallway and merged with the student body. Barbara glanced back and saw Beowulf vanish in the opposite direction.
94
Barbara walked with the sorority sisters as far as she could and then broke free from them.
“Barbara, where are you going?” they asked.
; “I’m sorry. I'll meet you girls at that party. I’ve got to go and get Lucy. She’d want to come too,” she said. She ran off toward Evan’s flat.
She crossed through the buildings, running as fast as she could. She stopped at the corner of one in order to catch her breath.
Suddenly she thought she heard something. She looked back, but there was nothing there. She continued to walk quickly to his flat. A few moments later she heard it again. It sounded like footsteps. She turned around. “Is there anyone there? Evan?” She shouted into the darkness.
Barbara saw a shadow on the building across from her. There was someone standing just beyond a streetlight. She focused her eyes on the figure. She saw him: Beowulf. He wore a shroud. It was black with eyeholes cut out. It was a balaclava.
“Shit,” Barbara said and then started to run toward Evan’s flat, but as she turned another corner, she saw him exit from an alley. Now he stood between her and Evan’s place. Without any other options, she retreated and ran toward her dorm. She could hear his footsteps gaining on her. She ran through the courtyard and up to the building’s entrance. She stopped and turned to look back.
Beowulf was gone. She hoped she had lost him. She panted; her chest heaved up and down. She could feel it expanding. She gazed out over the courtyard, looking for any sign of Blake.
It appeared to be safe. There was no sign of him. She thought about Evan. She had to protect him. She wanted to pack her things as quickly as she could and find him.
She went upstairs to her dorm. She double-checked the halls and the stairwell, but she was alone. The building appeared deserted.
Everyone must be at that party, she thought.
She double-checked that the door to her room was locked.
Time passed by and she felt relaxed. She felt silly for being so paranoid, but after the story that Evan had told her, it was a natural reaction.
Barbara found herself wanting to take a shower. She looked over at Lucy’s bed. She was fast asleep. She snored loudly.
Barbara took off her clothes and entered the shower. She stepped out fifteen minutes later. She leaned against the sink and brushed her wet hair. It kept curling up.
Steam from the shower condensed on the ceiling. She dropped the brush into the sink and wrapped a towel around her body. She opened the bathroom door. The steam followed her out into the bedroom. The room was quiet and still. She went to her dresser and pulled out an old, blue dress.
The towel fell to the floor around her feet. She slipped into the blue dress. She liked to sleep in it from time to time.
After she got comfortable, she began the process of trying to pack.
Barbara sat on her bed and stared at her dresser. She needed her knapsack. She glanced around the room and then realized it was probably in the spot where Lucy always hid it.
She stood up and walked to her roommate’s bed and looked underneath it. She saw her knapsack there. Her roommate was always borrowing stuff from it––pencils and other supplies.
Barbara reached under the bed and grabbed the bag. She felt something drip on her hand. She sat back up and studied her wrist. The room was still dark and it was hard to tell what it was. Another drop fell on the floor in front of her. She looked at the side of Lucy's bed. There was something covering it. In the dark, it resembled wet paint. As Barbara got up on her knees, she could see there was a large puddle of liquid on the covers next to Lucy’s head.
Suddenly, Barbara realized the snoring had stopped.
She stared at the covers in complete shock. She reached out and pulled the blankets back, revealing her roommate’s head. A small portion of Lucy’s skull was exposed. Smoke still rose from a black bullet hole in her forehead. The smoke emerged and filled Barbara’s nostrils. Some of it floated up into the air and merged with the steam from the bathroom.
“Oh, God,” Barbara said, leaping back. She stared quivering. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run. All she could make her body do was stand there, frozen. Then she felt him standing behind her. She felt him breathing. She saw his shadow in front of her on the wall. More smoke rose from behind her.
“Evan?” she asked.
“No,” a dark voice replied.
Barbara’s shoulders started to shake violently. She could feel her wet hair starting to dry. Each strand began to tingle. Her calf muscles throbbed. She thought of the day her mother had died.
“Charles?” she asked.
“Yes,” the voice said.
“Beowulf?” she asked, swallowing hard.
“Yes,” the voice replied.
Barbara heard his gun’s hammer click back. It sounded like she was inside a giant clock. The sound of the hammer pulling back was the same as the sound from one of the clock’s giant cogs clicking into place.
Barbara heard a few muffled gunshots. The bedroom window shattered as the silent bullets crashed through it. Three bullets entered the room. The first bullet pierced Beowulf’s shoulder. The second hit the wall behind her, and the third cut into Beowulf’s stomach.
Barbara was still frozen.
Beowulf stumbled backward. He returned fire blindly as he fell. Four shots fired from his gun and ripped through the air. Each headed toward a figure on the scaffold outside the window. The first two bullets hit the walls around the window. The second two cut through the glass but went past the figure.
“Barbara, RUN!” A voice yelled from the scaffold. It sounded like Willem.
Barbara didn’t wait to see if it was him. She darted toward the window. She jumped out toward the scaffold. The remaining glass shattered around her. She covered her face, but she still felt some glass cut through her arms and legs. She hit the figure standing on the scaffold.
It was Willem. He caught her, and they fell back on the scaffold. The impact forced it to suddenly drop one story. The scaffold swung away from the building and back toward it.
“Hold on, Barbara!” Willem said.
The scaffold slammed into the building. They felt their bones crash one into another. Barbara’s nose started to bleed. Willem held her tight. He wiped the blood away.
“Are you okay? Anything broken?” he asked.
“I’m fine, I think,” Barbara answered.
Barbara’s window was above them. Evan stared up at it from under Barbara’s body. He saw a shadow move beyond the window. He pointed his gun up toward it. He held it there for a moment.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing, just stay still,” Willem said. He fired his gun up at the window three times. He was almost sure he’d hit Beowulf, but not completely certain.
Quickly, he opened the window in front of them on the second floor. It was an empty dorm room.
“Listen to me, Barbara. I want you to go to the Unknown Soldier’s grave and wait for me there,” Willem said.
“I’m not going anywhere without you,” she said, clutching him tightly.
“Barbara, listen to me. I have to make sure he’s dead. If I don’t, he’ll just find me again. I have to stop running someday. Now go to the grave and wait for me. If I am not there by sunrise, then look under the tombstone. You will have to dig a little. There is a box. I want you to take everything in it and disappear. If I don’t show up, then I am dead, and Beowulf will try to find you. You have to get away. Do you understand me?”
Barbara could feel her eyes watering up.
“Yes,” she said. “I understand.”
“Promise me,” Willem said.
She did not reply.
“Promise me!” he yelled, jerking her once.
“I promise.”
Willem walked out into the hall. He checked it carefully before he let her leave.
She stopped at the end of the hall and looked back at him. He was already gone. She whispered, “I love you.”
Willem stopped and looked behind him. He wanted to tell her how he felt about her. He wanted to tell her he’d loved her for a year, but now he was focused on killing Beowulf. It was time to stop runni
ng.
Willem held his gun out in front of him. He crept toward the stairs. He carefully climbed them. He knew Beowulf probably wore a flak jacket and was wounded at best.
He made his way to Barbara’s room. The door was ajar. He opened it all the way and swept the room with his gun. He saw no one, only the bloodstains that covered Lucy’s bed covers. Her body lay underneath them.
Beowulf killed her roommate, Willem thought. He grinned. He started to ignore the body but then he decided to check it. He pointed his gun at the covers and began to walk toward it. As he crossed near the window, he saw a figure out of the corner of his eyes. The scaffold was back in front of Barbara’s window, and there was a figure leaning against the rope.
Willem turned and began shooting. He fired until the chamber of his gun was exposed. His gun was completely empty. He watched as the smoke in front of his barrel cleared. He saw the figure was hunched over the scaffold now.
Beowulf is dead, he thought.
After the smoke cleared, his eyes suddenly shot wide open. It was Barbara’s roommate lying on the scaffold. Her corpse rested against the ropes. Beowulf had propped it there. It was a trick.
“Shit!” Willem muttered. He quickly ejected the clip from his gun and reached for another one.
A bullet caught him in the leg first. He fell to the floor. He slipped the clip in and aimed in the direction of a dark figure that sat up in the roommate’s blood-soaked bed. Beowulf hid under the sheets. He fired another round at Willem. The bullet severed his thumb. He screamed in agony, grabbing at his hand.
Beowulf fired another silent bullet at him. This bullet blew a large hole clear through his hand. Willem’s gun dropped to the floor.
A forth bullet tore through his chest. He felt the bullet explode his right lung. Blood clogged his throat.
He gagged.
Beowulf walked over and stood above him. He stared down at him. Willem tried not to cry. He was beaten and was going to die. He knew it.
“Last words?” Beowulf asked.
“Barbara…Leave her out of this. You don’t need to hurt her. She won’t tell anyone. She doesn’t even know anything. Please, from one killer to another, I beg you to leave her out of this. She can’t identify you,” Willem’s face was covered in his own blood. His eyes flooded over with tears and blood. He just wanted to tell her that he loved her.
