I chopped at his wrist, but his grip on the gun was firm. He wasn’t going to give up that weapon!
He began to raise his gun hand again, and I knew I only had seconds to incapacitate him. When I had been a student in California I’d taken several classes in Taekwondo and, in this moment, all those lessons came rushing back.
Focusing all my energy, I attacked using the Ap Chagi, or front kick. Mentally putting myself back in class, I assumed my fighting stance with my front foot facing forward and my back foot turned out at ninety degrees. I positioned my body accordingly and brought up my arms into a blocking position should I miss and give him a chance to fight back. I then raised my knee, pointing it at Vlad.
Without hesitation, I snapped my leg out toward his face.
CRUNCH!
The stiletto heel of my shoe penetrated the spot where the scar tissue stopped on the upper edge of his cheekbone. As my heel punctured the fragile tissue, I could feel the bone crunch and, with continued force, I tried to push the fragments of it farther upward, into his eye socket.
All this took a millisecond and it was music to my ears when I heard him scream out a curse, “Shluha vokzal’naja!” in his native language.
But my exhilaration was short-lived. Vlad, partially blinded, was waving the gun around aimlessly. I crouched down low, fearing he would begin to spray the tunnel with bullets.
CRACK! CRACK!
He shot off two rounds, one of which just missed my head. The bullets ricocheted off the stone walls and I held my breath until they finally dropped to the floor, spent.
Vlad was now holding his free hand up to his eye, which was bleeding profusely. I wanted to get the gun away from him, but I could see he was still gripping it tightly. Knowing I was never going to get that weapon from him, I unstrapped my shoes, abandoning them, and began to run it down the tunnel – away from him – back toward the passageway that led to the Morrison house.
I kept to the middle of the tunnel this time, having discovered that the pockets of black ice would most likely be by the walls, formed from the constant drip, drip, drip of water. I knew that Vlad, even in severe pain and blind in one eye, could still be incredibly dangerous. I hoped, however, that he would assume I would continue down the main tunnel, eventually returning to my home, the Carriage House. This false assumption would serve to buy me the time I needed.
I kept on jogging slowly down the path until, finally, I came to the place where the tunnels intersected. Stopping for a moment to catch my breath, I turned to the right and began to jog to what I hoped would be my final destination.
64
Kate
The Morrison Mansion
I FINALLY REACHED the end of the tunnel. Frantically, I searched for the trap door led to the interior of the Morrison mansion. Finally locating it, I had no idea when it had last been opened and I prayed that it wasn’t stuck shut from years of disuse.
Grasping it firmly, I pulled on the rope that hung from a metal ring in the middle of the door.
There was no movement.
Wishing I had a flashlight or headlamp, I ran my hands around the edges of the door, trying to remove any debris that could be causing it to stick.
I pulled again.
This time there was some movement but the door didn’t open.
Breathing heavily, I crouched down, trying to marshal my strength. When I was ready, I stood, and, taking a deep breath, grabbed the rope and pulled with all my might.
The door slowly creaked opened and I fell backward in surprise. Saying a quick thank you prayer to the powers that be, I wasted no time shimming my body up into the dark space beyond.
I found myself in a small, cramped room. It was pitch black and I flailed about with my hands until my fingers finally landed on a string dangling from the ceiling. I pulled it and, voila, there was light. I gazed around the space. I was in a closet or pantry. I found the door to the outside and, praying that it wasn’t locked, turned the knob and pushed it open.
The Morrison kitchen appeared before me, sparkling with cleanliness – shiny stainless-steel appliances and state-of-the-art gadgets.
But I was not alone.
In the middle of the country kitchen, sitting at a dining table, was Mary Morrison, her head in her hands. In front of her was an almost empty bottle of vodka and a half-full glass.
“Where’s Jeremy?” I screamed, stepping toward her.
She started and looked up. It seemed to take her a moment to focus, then her mouth fell open.
“Kate! What the hell happened to you?”
“I don’t have time for chit-chat, Mary. Where the fuck is my fiancé!”
She bit her bottom lip before replying. “I’m sorry, Kate. I tried to stop it. But I couldn’t…”
“Just shut the hell up about your sorries and tell me where Jeremy is right now or I’m going to tear this place apart!”
Mary seemed to sober up quickly. “In the Great Room. Over that way.”
She gestured with her hand toward the rear door to the kitchen. Without hesitation or a word of thanks, I left the room.
I walked down the corridor, trying to calm myself. Panic would do no one, especially Jeremy, any good. At the end of the hall was an open doorway. This was the Great Room.
The first thing I saw as I entered was the large stone hearth, which sat at the far end. Carefully, I stepped inside.
Everything was silent as the grave, except for an occasional pop from the fire blazing in the fireplace.
Where was everybody?
I took a few steps into the room and caught sight of Terrance standing in the shadows near the far corner. His back was toward me and he seemed strangely intent on something in front of him. He was oblivious to my presence.
I took a few more steps inside, trying to be as quiet as possible. I moved sideways so I could see what it was Terrance was staring at.
It was Jeremy – seated in a wing chair.
He was leaning forward, his eyes wide open, but his expression vacant. The old man, in his ancient wheelchair, was seated in front of him. He had one hand, bony fingers splayed, on Jeremy’s forehead. From my vantage point, I could see the old man’s lips moving as he pressed his fingers against Jeremy’s skull.
Unable to restrain myself further, I forgot about being stealthy and angrily crossed the room toward them.
“Get the hell away from him!” I screamed.
Terrance, obviously startled by my outburst, turned to face me.
The old man, however, didn’t move, but I heard him say two words to his grandson.
“Subdue her.”
Terrance took a tentative step toward me. I braced myself. He tall and thin, built like a runner. I had no idea what lay under his clothing – muscle or flab.
“Kate,” he said, softly, a half-smile on his face. “Let me get you a glass of wine. You look terrible.”
“Get out of my way, Terrance,” I demanded.
Terrance didn’t move, just continued smiling at me as if I hadn’t said a word. I knew he was used to getting his way, but I was determined that wasn’t going to happen today.
He took another step toward me.
“Don’t try to stop me, Terrance,” I warned.
“Kate, don’t be difficult.”
“Get out of my way!”
I tried to push past him, but he grabbed my arms and began pulling me to the opposite side of the room. I struggled, but he was stronger than he looked and, after my encounters with Svetlana and Vlad, I was almost out of energy.
He pushed me down onto the leather couch.
“Don’t move, Kate. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.”
I could tell by the tone of his voice that he meant every word he said, so I did as he demanded, waiting for the opening I knew would eventually come. I only worried it might come too late to save Jeremy.
Terrance grabbed a wine glass from the sideboard. Keeping one eye on me, he picked up a bottle that was sitting there and f
illed the glass. Then, he pulled a packet from his pocket, tore it open, and let the powder within in mix with the wine. He stirred it with his finger.
“Drink this,” he commanded. “Then everything will be rosy for you.”
What he had put into the drink, I could only guess. But there was no way I was going to swallow it.
“Drink!” he said again, holding the glass in front of my face.
I tried to get up, but he pushed me back down. He grabbed my chin painfully, trying to force my mouth open.
I twisted my face away from him, but he was relentless.
He finally got my lips to part and began to pour the doctored wine into my mouth.
Adrenaline suddenly raging, I gagged and spit the liquid out into his face.
Angrily he wiped the wine from his eyes.
“Drink. If you don’t, the alternative will be much uglier.”
He’d balled his empty hand into a fist and I knew what he planned to do. He was going to punch me out if I didn’t drink his lousy doctored wine. Well, I wasn’t having any of that. This was one step too far. Anger fed my adrenaline and I no longer felt tired.
He tried once more to force my mouth open. This time, however, I let him do it and when his finger was partway inside, I bit down as hard as I could.
“AYEEEEEE,” he screamed as he pulled his hand away, dropping the wine glass.
I jumped to my feet, ran to the hearth, and grabbed a poker from the fireplace toolset.
“You little bitch!” Terrance yelled as he crossed the room to where I stood.
Supremely confident, he held his bleeding hand to his chest, and I could see that he wasn’t going to waste any more time trying to drug me. No, he was going to kill me.
But he underestimated my resolve.
As soon as he was within range, I swung the poker as hard as I could.
The iron caught him squarely in the midsection, knocking the wind out of him. When he doubled over, I didn’t hesitate. I hit him again on the back of his head.
He fell to the floor.
I stood over him for a moment, ready to strike again if need be. But there was no need. He was out cold.
Satisfied, I stepped over his body and approached the old man.
As I neared Ian Morrison, I could hear him whispering something in a language I wasn’t familiar with and didn’t understand. Somehow it sounded like words coming from the dawn of time – ancient and terribly evil. Every time he spoke, Jeremy, still in some sort of trance, repeated what he had said, as if committing it to memory. The old man’s hand was still pressed against Jeremy’s forehead.
I moved closer until I was standing right beside them, but they seemed unaware of my presence. For a moment, I silently watched the ritual they were undertaking, half-mesmerized by it. Everything about what that old man was doing scared the shit out of me and I knew I couldn’t let it continue. I had to take action.
Without hesitation, I once again raised the poker, bringing it down with all my might on the old man’s arm.
SNAP!
I heard bone break.
Surprisingly, Morrison didn’t say a word or scream in pain. Instead, he turned in his chair and glared at me. My blow severed the contact he’d had with Jeremy and I stared, in morbid fascination, at his fingers. They were long and misshapen, probably due to arthritis, but what held my attention was how they glowed, looking like hot embers from a late-night fire.
I now knew what had caused Jeremy’s fevers.
“Get away from him,” I commanded. “Or, I’ll…”
“Or you’ll what, witch!” the old man yelled. “You’re nothing but a puny girl. I made you and I can break you!”
I didn’t know what he was talking about, calling me a witch, or what he meant by making me and breaking me. But I didn’t have time to pursue that subject. Wanting nothing more than to be out of his presence, I grabbed his wheelchair by the handles and, with all the strength I had left, pushed him away from the wing chair where Jeremy sat.
The decrepit chair went skidding across the hardwood floor, not stopping until it slammed into the far wall.
Satisfied that the old man was out of commission for at least a few minutes, I planted myself in front of Jeremy and tried to assess his condition.
He seemed to be in a daze and I snapped my fingers in front of his face, trying to break through to his consciousness.
“Jeremy,” I cried. “Wake up!”
I clapped my hands and then lightly slapped his face. “Wake up!”
Finally, he blinked his eyes. Taking that as a good sign, I slapped him lightly again and was about to put my hands on his shoulders and shake him a bit, when I heard the old man’s ancient chair creaking.
He was coming for me.
I turned away from Jeremy to face him.
65
Kate
Another Catastrophe
THE OLD MAN stared at me, his eyes full of venom.
“You’ll not have him,” I said. “To get to him, you’ll have to go through me.”
As I spoke, I raised the poker, ready to strike.
The old man said nothing and I sensed he was trying to gather his powers together. But I saw tiny beads of sweat on his forehead, indicating that he, too, was just about at his limit.
I took a step toward him, feeling more confident than before.
“Get away from here!” I yelled. “Go back to whatever hellhole you came from! Leave us in peace.”
As I spoke, I caught sight of Mary entering the room from the kitchen. She saw her husband lying on the floor and ran to him.
I focused my attention back on the old man, who now raised his hands, fingers splayed, and began to chant something in a foreign language.
“None of that!” I cried, bringing the poker down hard on his hands.
Again, I heard bone break
This time the old man felt the blow. He screamed and pulled his hands back, cradling his broken fingers against his chest.
I raised the poker again.
The old man’s eyes followed my movement and, for the first time, I thought I saw fear in them.
Empowered, I took another step toward him, ready to strike, this time at his head, but the sound of a door slamming somewhere in the house startled me.
Who else was here?
I turned slightly to face the entryway off the kitchen.
The figure of a man now stood in the doorway, his face hidden in the shadows.
Slowly, he stepped into the room. He was holding a gun, pointed at me.
“Dr. Pomeroy,” he said softly. “We meet again.”
It was Vlad.
He stood motionless for a moment then took one step forward and smiled.
“Having a good day, Dr. Pomeroy?” he whispered as he aimed the gun at my heart. “Well, I think that’s about to change.”
I heard the old man’s wheelchair creak, but I couldn’t concentrate on him now. All I could see was the cold, hard barrel of Vlad’s gun threatening to end my life.
Quickly, I ducked down and darted to my left, trying to get out of the line of fire.
CRACK!
The gunshot was deafening and I felt a searing pain in my left shoulder. The force of the bullet spun me around, away from Jeremy and the old man. I fell to the floor in agony.
Helpless, I heard heavy footsteps coming toward me.
I looked up.
Vlad towered over me. The side of his face where I had wounded him with my heel was swollen, bruised, and caked with dried blood. The eye was closed.
“Dr. Pomeroy,” he said softly. “We could have been such good friends. But you had to go and do this.”
He gestured toward his eye, which I believed was probably damaged beyond repair.
“You have ruined my good looks and now it is time for me to ruin yours.”
He pointed the gun at my head and I closed my eyes, waiting for the inevitable. I was helpless and knew I was about to die.
I held my breath and
said a prayer.
“Katy…”
My eyes flew open when I heard that familiar voice whisper my name. Vlad heard it, too, and turned slightly around, trying to assess the threat that was behind him.
But he was too late. Jeremy, suddenly awake, leapt from the chair, tackling him around the waist and throwing him to the ground.
CRACK, CRACK!
The gun went off twice, bullets spraying around the room as the two men struggled for control of the weapon.
I wanted to help, but I couldn’t move. I was losing blood at a rapid pace and was afraid that, soon, I would lose consciousness. I watched the two men helplessly, knowing that my fate hung in the balance.
Jeremy slammed Vlad’s gun hand against the corner of the stone hearth.
The Russian cried out and I watched as the weapon sailed out of his grasp, sliding across the hardwood floor, far away where the two men were fighting.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mary crawl toward the kitchen door. Terrance still lay on the floor, his hands over his head. What the old man was doing, I didn’t know. He seemed to have disappeared.
I tried to sit up, but the effort was too much. Moaning, I lay back down.
Vlad now had Jeremy in a headlock and, while the two men seemed equally matched, I feared it was only a matter of time before Vlad vanquished my champion.
66
Kate
A Strange Turn of Events
I STRUGGLED TO maintain consciousness. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mary Morrison lying on her belly, reaching underneath the leather couch. When she got to her feet, her hand wasn’t empty.
She had Vlad’s gun.
Terrance, rubbing the back of his head, pulled himself to his knees and, seeing his wife holding the weapon, smiled. I watched Mary nod to him, then walk across the room to where I lay on the floor. She glanced down at me for a second, then turned her attention to Jeremy and Vlad, who were still in the throes of battle.
The Tao of the Viper: A Kate Pomeroy Mystery (The Kate Pomeroy Gothic Mystery Series Book 2) Page 25
