“So we gently put this one back in place?” Michael suggested, sounding weaker than before.
Cecilia glanced back into the house. The fire had broken through the last wall, and smoke choked the hallway. There was no going back. A part of the attic falling through the ceiling confirmed her theory. Sparks and embers flew, spreading the fire even more.
They couldn’t go back, but neither could they go forward. She looked over at her brother. He had that look on his face—the one he got when he had a superbad idea.
“Jeremy?”
“Yaaaaaaaaa….”
“I know that you have a plan. One that I probably won’t like, but you’ve got to let us know now.”
* * *
The rain streaming down his face tickled Jeremy’s nose. He needed both hands to keep the bed frame in place, but how could anyone figure a way out of a diabolical death trap when he felt like he needed to sneeze?
“Jeremy!”
“Okay, okay,” he countered. “But just remember, you forced me to.”
“Jer!”
Um, if she were that upset now? Just wait until she heard his plan.
“Let’s all remember that Rage is dead,” Jeremy hurried on, “and I think he would be willing to take one for the team.”
Lightning struck over the island, bringing their situation into glaring detail. The light reflected off the spikes, making them seem eager to take the plunge into them. He could see Michael’s sunken eyes and Cecilia’s lips in a firm line. And Rage? Well, Rage looked ready to take the Corpse of the Year award.
As thunder rumbled, Cecilia asked, “And?”
“I say we all come over to this side, and, you know, let the spring trigger.”
“What?”
Jeremy indicated Rage. “Let him act as a buffer.”
Cecilia’s eyes dilated as she realized the full extent of his plan.
* * *
Jeremy had had a lot of bad ideas as they were growing up, Cecilia thought. Like trying to tie a rope to passing cars and skateboard behind them. That one left them both in the emergency room. Or keeping the snake they found in the their parents’ bathtub. But this was the worst.
“What else are we going to do, Sis?”
Michael sighed, sounding as if it took every bit of his energy to interject. “He is right. It’s the only way.”
Bright red blood coursed down Michael’s side again. They had to get him out of here—and out of here now.
Jeremy must have sensed her decision, because he rattled off directions. “Okay, Michael, you just need to kind of fall this way, which doesn’t look too hard for you.” Her brother looked over to her. “But Cec, you are going to have kind of toss yourself in this direction.”
“You mean, over Rage’s body, and those two whole rows of spikes?”
Like she said—the worst plan ever.
“The good news is that the weight of your landing should trigger the spikes.
Yes, that was great news. Not.
But there was no point in arguing.
“Michael, you go first,” she suggested, but Jeremy shook his head, spraying water everywhere.
“No. You two have got to go together… Otherwise…”
Otherwise, Cecilia could end up as Rage’s eternal soul mate. Again, not.
“Michael, are you ready?”
His head lolled, and then he nodded.
“On the count of three,” Jeremy suggested.
Besides Michael being horrible at actually going on three, he didn’t look like he was going to even stay conscious for one.
“Just pull him, Jeremy. NOW!”
With a heave, Cecilia shoved Michael over as she forced herself past Rage, all the while missing the sharpened spikes. As their weight shifted, the metal frame groaned, giving way. Once they hit the dirt, Cecilia felt a clank as the other bed of spikes was released. Jeremy grabbed her arm, dragging her along the points.
A spike ripped her dress, and a line of pain drew across her skin. As the jaw of the trap slammed closed, Cecilia threw herself onto her back, panting, waiting for the spikes to claim her as they had Rage.
“Hurry,” Jeremy said, tugging her. “Rage’s body is keeping them apart, but I don’t know for how long.”
Cecilia stared up at the metal spike centered on her head. She looked over at Rage. He was wedged in a spike sandwich. But hurrying was a problem. The sharp spikes were mere millimeters from her body. Slowly, she inched her way to Jeremy. One of Rage’s bones cracked. Then another.
Oh, God! His body wasn’t going to hold!
* * *
What was Cecilia doing? Taking a micro-spa moment? He grabbed her by the arm and threw himself backward. Luckily, the grass was rain soaked, and she slid out from under the spike bed like a greased pig—just as Rage’s body crumpled.
The loud twang of the bed frames hitting one another drowned out the pouring rain.
Cecilia just lay there.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“No … I’m just shocked. … Your plan actually worked.”
Yeah, well, they could give him a medal later. “Help me get Michael up.”
Even with Cecilia’s help, her boyfriend was heavy.
“Next time, pick a vegan,” Jeremy suggested, as they half-walked and half-slid down the hill toward the waterfront.
Bright lights greeted them. The yacht was at the dock, its cheerful decorations bobbing on the horizon.
“Hurry!” Cecilia yelled, but what did she think he was doing? Practicing for a Jackass episode to show how awkwardly you could fall down a hill?
“I am!”
Then she stopped. Wasn’t that the opposite of hurrying?
“Look! The yacht is leaving! You’ve got to run ahead.”
Sure enough, the horn tooted.
This could not be happening. Did they not think it was a good idea to wait for the people who actually stopped the serial killer? Did that not buy them a few extra minutes?
Jeremy dashed down the rain-slick slope, barely keeping his feet under him. Finally, his shoes hit the wooden planking of the dock, but even that was treacherous.
“Wait!” he screamed, but the storm sucked the words from his mouth and scattered them on the wind. “Stop!”
But the gaily lit vessel pulled farther away from shore.
Jeremy waved his arms above his head, trying to get someone’s attention, but everyone seemed below deck. Exactly where he would be—if he could be.
Somewhere warm and dry.
* * *
Paxton propped open another door. This room was cleared.
“I told you,” Dahmer whined. “Everybody’s gone.”
Paxton wasn’t so sure of that. Michael had said that two of the kids left behind were injured, and so far, this side of the house had been spared the red inferno. The kids probably not even know they were in danger of being burned alive. Now, however smoke churned ahead of the approaching flames. It seemed the fire was not about to give up until it claimed every last wooden beam.
“We’ve got to leave,” Dahmer droned.
“Not until we have checked every room on this floor,” Paxton answered, although he feared he was trying to convince himself as much as Dahmer.
He opened the next door. “Anyone in here?” he asked as he shone his beat-up flashlight across the room. “Police.”
“See?” Dahmer pouted.
A voice piped up from the back of the room. “Police? Really?”
Paxton strode into the room. “Yes. Show yourselves.”
A teenage girl, her face splotchy from crying, stood up. “Detective Paxton?” the girl asked, as she launched herself at him. “Oh, my God. Cecilia told us she was going to get help.”
As he extracted the girl, Paxton surveyed the other two injured kids. The girl was unconscious, but breathing. The boy looked trashed, but alive.
“Frannie. Is that your name?”
She nodded, sobbing tears of relief. Although Paxton hated to te
ll her, he feared they were not in the clear yet as smoke billowed into the room.
“Okay, Frannie, I am going to take the girl. You and …”
Paxton turned around to find his sullen deputy gone.
“Was that Diana Dahmer?” Frannie asked.
“Was being the operative word.”
Crap. He wasn’t in the best shape himself, and he wasn’t sure he could carry the girl and the guy. “Can you walk?” Paxton asked the boy.
He pointed to the blood-soaked bandages on his feet. “A few steps. No more.”
Great. Just great.
A loud pop, then a crashing boom, followed. Paxton raced to the door. The hallway, no the entire level was coming down. Hope Dahmer had fun with that. There was no way he could move the kids out in time. Paxton slammed the door shut, trying to keep the lethal smoke out as long as he could.
He turned to Frannie. “Grab the sheets off the furniture and start tying them together.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Just do it,” Paxton answered as he cross the room to a window. With his trusty flashlight he knocked out a glass. They were a full floor lower than the attic, but that was still a hell of a drop.
Frannie came up beside him. “Climbing down there is your official rescue plan?”
“Hey,” Paxton answered. “Work with me. I am improvising.”
The girl didn’t seem too impressed. However, he didn’t need her to be. He just needed her tying sheets together. Paxton grabbed one himself and knelt by the unconscious girl. He bound her hands together.
“What are you doing?” the boy asked.
“I’m going to have to carry her down, but I can’t risk her slipping from my grip.”
Momentarily the sight of Evan releasing his hold and plummeting to his death filled Paxton’s vision. They weren’t all going to end up like that. Not if he could help it.
“Frannie, how is our linen escape ladder coming?”
“I don’t know if I’m doing this right,” she answered, showing him a very loosely tied set of sheets.
Connor hobbled over to her, though, “No, Frannie. Tight. It’s got to hold all of our weight.” Frannie looked ready to cry again, though. Connor rushed on. “Think of it as the most bitchin’ rock climbing class ever.”
Frannie smiled faintly, but at least she smiled rather than descended into waterworks again. They were going to get wet enough as it was. Paxton lifted the unconscious girl up. She was a bit heavier than he had hoped. He placed her arms around his neck and scooped her up like a baby. After securing one end of the linen rope to the heaviest dresser in the room, Connor tossed a string of sheets out the window that Rapunzel would have been proud of.
“Okay, Frannie, you’re first.”
But the girl backed away. “No, I can’t be first.”
“You are the lightest,” Paxton tried to keep the annoyance and growing concern from his voice. Bright yellow leaked from under the door. The fire had reached them.
“Fine, then I’ll go,” Connor said as he hobbled to the window.
“Wrap the sheet around your arm to help stabilize you,” Paxton instructed.
The boy rapidly obeyed and slowly made his way down the steep rooftop.
Paxton’s plan was to let each of them get down individually. However, the doorknob started to glow. The hallway was superheating, and it was looking for its next meal to consume. Plus, breaking the window brought a whole new source of oxygen to the table. He bet the fire was hungry for that as well.
“Frannie, go on.”
“I can’t. I’m afraid of heights.”
Paxton was none too fond of them either after tonight, but he was more afraid of burning alive. That would probably be a bit TMI for Frannie, though.
“You’ve got to shove that aside. Otherwise, I’m going to have to leave you here.”
The door rattled on its hinges before bursting into flame.
“Okay, okay, okay,” Frannie chanted, as she climbed out the window with a renewed sense of purpose. She looped the sheet around her arm.
“Don’t look down, Frannie,” Paxton encouraged. “Just let gravity do the work.”
As the girl slid down way too fast, Paxton called out, “Not that much of the work.”
Finally she stopped herself, clinging to the sheet.
“Now that you are stabilized, I need you to keep going, Frannie.”
But the girl just hugged the sheet.
Paxton glanced behind him as the fire roared into the room. The flames tumbled over one another in a race to see which tasted him first. He could only hope that Connor had landed safety as Paxton climbed out the window with the unconscious girl in his arms. The sill was slick, and to make matters worse, he cut has hand on a piece of broken glass. There was no time to bind it.
“Frannie! Move!”
Whether it was the flames licking at the window frame or his tone, something inside Frannie got the picture, and she worked her way down.
“Faster!” Paxton urged, as he slung the limp girl’s form over his back. Her bound hands threatened to choke his trachea, but he needed both hands to climb. “Frannie, move it.”
“But you said to take it slow.”
Well, that was before the fire started burning through their lifeline.
“I lied. Now move!”
More skidding then climbing, they both descended as the sky lit up a brilliant orange. The fire laughed at them—crackling and exploding in delight. Paxton suddenly found it harder to keep his feet against the roof. He looked down to find Frannie hanging nearly vertical to the ground.
What in the hell was going on?
As the house gave a deep moan, Paxton feared he knew. This wing of the mansion was cracking off the rest of the house. If they didn’t hurry, they were going to have a dozen rooms of burning wood fall on top of them.
“Slide!” he yelled at Frannie.
“What?”
To hell with it! Paxton loosened his grip on the sheet and slid down the rope. His feet hit Frannie in the shoulders, forcing her down as well. She screamed as they plummeted to the ground.
At the last second Paxton yelled, “Grab hold! Slow your fall!”
Thank God that the sheets were nearly soaked through as they burned through his hand. He gripped tighter, slowing himself. Frannie, though, hit the ground harder than he liked, and sprawled on the ground.
Paxton landed with an uncomfortable thud. Quickly he swung the girl back around into his arm, giving his trachea a break. “Come on.”
Frannie moaned,“My foot.”
“Your foot?” Connor complained.
“Move it before the house hits us!”
He pointed up as he urged them out into the field. The teens’ faces blanched as the wing of the mansion listed overhead. Together they lurched, hobbled, and careened across the lawn.
With a scream nearly as high-pitched as a human, the house fractured and the walls came tumbling down … right at them.
* * *
Cecilia still couldn’t believe that the yacht left without them. But Jeremy had promised cover in the boathouse, so they hauled Michael down to the dock. Jeremy’s hand hovered over the knob.
Even though they were soaking and probably all catching pneumonia, Cecilia did not fault Jeremy for his caution. Had Evan made his way down here already? Could he have rigged the small boathouse?
“I think I’m going to check through the windows.”
“Good idea,” Cecilia agreed. The term “better to be safe than spiked,” had never more aptly been applied.
Jeremy made his way around the small building. “It looks clear …”
Michael leaned heavily against her as Jeremy rejoined them.
“We’re not going to survive out here,” Jeremy stated, as he wiggled his finger around in his ear.
He was right, but why was she so reluctant to open that door?
“I could use a chair,” Michael said as he coughed.
And maybe there were some
dry material for bandages as well.
Cecilia gave the go-ahead. Jeremy tapped the doorknob as though it might strike out and bite him. Thankfully, it did not. Slightly braver, Jeremy laid his hand over the knob and turned it, then jumped back. It seemed that even her little brother could learn caution.
The door slowly creaked open, widening the entrance as Jeremy showed his light inside. Everything seemed in order for a small boathouse. There were oars and ropes and an abundance of sail material.
But of course, looks could be very deceiving.
* * *
Jeremy felt the trip wire brush up against his pant leg. With all his might he tried to reverse his course, but the damn thing snapped anyway. He threw himself backward as an object descended from the ceiling. No, not an object, but a body.
Screaming, he fell back as the body swung toward him, then snapped back as the rope around its neck broke its fall. Flat on his back, Jeremy stared up at the body. Only it didn’t have any skin. None. He could see every muscle. Every vein. Every tendon. He almost hurled as Cecilia helped him up.
“Who do you think it could be?” Cecilia asked.
Jeremy had no doubt that she feared it was another one of their friends.
“It’s Pancreas,” Michael commented.
“How do you know?”
Michael pointed to writing scrawled in blood on the inside of the door. “Take that, Pancreas!”
Jeremy gulped down his nausea. Evan definitely had a chip on his shoulder. Jeremy was just glad that he did not feel the brunt of it.
A scream from the fields spun them all around.
“What now?” Michael moaned.
It couldn’t be his ex-friend. Jeremy did not want to say the words and make them true. “The grand finale.”
“It can’t be,” Cecilia said. “Evan is dead. You said you saw him dead on the ground.” More forcefully, his sister stated, “We are safe.”
Jeremy put Michael’s arm around his shoulder and got him up and moving. “We are not safe until we are home, tucked in our beds.” He urged Cecilia toward the woods. “Even then, I am locking my door.”
But his sister didn’t budge. It was if denial physically held her in place.
“We’ve got to find cover,” Jeremy whispered, as the scream came again.
Don't Read After Dark: Keep the lights on while reading these! (A McCray Horror Collection) Page 50
