Snakes & Ladders

by Sean Slater

  ‘They have to be stopped.’

  At any cost.

  Striker turned back towards the cabin. It looked smaller now. Secluded and empty. Almost all the inside lights were off, and from this new location, Striker could hear the chug-chug-chug of the generator running out back.

  Where Dalia had run from.

  Striker readied his pistol, then made his way around the lot towards the back of the cabin. He reached the corner of the house, raised his pistol and peered around the edge. Everything there was quiet and the lake was eerily still. Fog floated across the water and through the trees like a living beast, so thick that Striker could not see across the lake. Out there, across the thin ice, there was only a rolling mass of cold murky blackness.

  But no Lexa.

  And no Gabriel.

  Striker rounded the corner and made his way towards the cabin. The sliding glass door was wide open and the kitchen light was on. He walked up the slippery wooden steps of the porch, came flush with the entrance, and looked around the area.

  No one was there to be seen.

  He stepped forward into the kitchen and listened to the sound of his shoes against the hard tiles of the floor. Slowly, cautiously, he made his way through the first floor, and then the second.

  The place was empty.

  They were gone.

  Frustrated, he made his way back outside. He stood on the porch and shone his flashlight around the lake. At first he saw nothing.

  Then he discovered the body.

  It was a few feet out from the edge, where the ice thinned and turned to freezing lake water. As he closed in on it, he saw that it was lying face down. He crouched low, reached out with one hand, and grabbed hold of the arm. When he flipped it over, a sense of desperation filled him.

  It was Lexa.

  The Adder had killed her. He was spiralling out of control.

  And he was gone.

  One Hundred

  The voices were back, the laughter and giggles echoing in his head. But this time, the Adder managed to control them. He had lost his most precious of all precious videos and he did not have the headphones he needed for his iPhone, so he could not even listen to the white noise.

  It did not matter.

  A new sense of control filled his body. Electric. Empowering. Like ice water in his veins. Ever since breaching the line – ever since killing the Doctor – a sense of invulnerability had filled him. He was unstoppable.

  Completely, utterly, one hundred per cent unstoppable.

  And he nearly laughed out loud as he realized that.

  He moved slowly through the wooded grove. Speed was not necessary. What mattered here was silence. Stealth. Besides, there was little point in running through the forest blind. Broken ankles were bad for the killing business.

  As he walked steadfastly, thoughts of Jacob Striker filled his head. The big detective had looked so determined back at the cabin, so intense and powerful. The Adder had watched him from the shadows, impressed.

  It had been foolish to do so – he should have been gaining as much ground between them as he could. But something about the detective intrigued the Adder. The man had a magnetic presence.

  Like a tar pit sucking him down.

  He headed straight north and, when he found the proper trail, increased his speed towards Green Lake. That was where Striker would eventually find him. It was a certainty. Because the Adder knew something important that no one else had known – not Detective Striker or Detective Santos or even the omnipotent Doctor herself. He knew where Larisa Logan had been hiding.

  And he was determined to get there before Striker.

  One Hundred and One

  ‘Felicia!’ Striker called out.

  It was the tenth time he’d screamed her name, but to no avail, and now he was beginning to panic. He made his way back to the main road. Once there, he tried her cell again. The signal was weak, but the call went through, and it was picked up on the second ring.

  ‘Jacob?’ she asked.

  ‘Jesus, you scared the shit outta me. Where the hell are you?’

  ‘I’m back in the village. She ran here. But I’ve lost her.’

  He was angry now. ‘I didn’t know if you were dead or lying in the forest somewhere. I’ve been looking everywhere for you!’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘And Gabriel?’ She asked the question almost tentatively.

  ‘Gone. He killed Lexa.’

  Felicia made a shocked sound. ‘My God.’

  ‘He’s spinning out of control, Feleesh. Gone right off the deep end. And he knows we’re here after him. No point in hiding that any more. Call the Feds. We need more units. We got to catch this guy before he escapes. I’ll meet you back in the village. By the flag pole in the centre square.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll call the Feds right now.’

  ‘And, Feleesh. Be careful on this one. We’ve lost sight of them, but that doesn’t mean they’ve run off.’

  ‘I can take care of myself, Jacob. Just get here.’ The line went dead and Striker started hiking back towards the cruiser. He’d gone less than ten feet when his phone vibrated again. He snatched it up, expecting to see Felicia’s name on the screen, but instead he saw that he had another text message. The send time was only a minute ago. He opened it up, saw Larisa’s name, and read the text:

  Jacob, R U there?

  He immediately typed back.

  I’m here. Where are you?

  After a moment, she responded:

  I have proof, Jacob. A video. The doctors at Mapleview are killing people for money.

  You need to come in.

  They’ll send me back to Riverglen. To the doctor.

  I won’t let them. I’ll be with you.

  He received no response, so he typed back:

  Larisa? U there?

  You can’t stop them. And I can’t take this any more.

  Let me help you!

  Striker waited for a long moment, so long he thought Larisa had ended the conversation. But finally a text came back:

  I’m so tired, Jacob. I’ll leave you the video I have of Sarah. No. 5 Old Mill Road. I hope it helps you stop them. Thanks for being my friend.

  Striker got a bad feeling from her text. He recalled her PRIME files, remembered her emotional instability. He typed back:

  Don’t do anything foolish, okay? I’m coming right now!

  No response.

  Larisa?

  Nothing again.

  Striker sprinted back down the trail to the cruiser. Once there, he punched the address into Google Maps and located it. He started the engine. Hit the gas. And left a trail of dirt and gravel in his wake.

  Old Mill Road was only minutes away.

  One Hundred and Two

  Striker drove so fast he almost lost control of the cruiser on the icy gravel. When he reached Old Mill Road, he floored it. The road was narrow and old, unpaved. Tall rows of cedars and Douglas firs bordered the road, blocking out any of the weak moonlight that managed to struggle through the heavy blanket of fog.

  The road was a strip of blackness.

  He spotted a house at the end. Even in the pale glow of the cruiser’s headlights, the place looked ramshackle. Old. And dark. All the lights were off and the front door was wide open.

  Striker wasted no time. He jumped out of the cruiser, taking out his flashlight and pistol at the same time.

  He reached the front door, used the frame for cover, and flashed his light inside. Everything was dark and still and empty. He hit the light switch, but nothing happened. And he realized there were no sounds coming from the generator.

  ‘Larisa?’ he called out. ‘Larisa, it’s Jacob – are you here?’

  When he received no response, he made the decision. There was no more time for delay. Flashlight illuminating the way, gun aimed ahead, finger alongside the trigger, Striker stepped into the darkness.

  He moved quickly,
not allowing himself to slow for even a second. He made his way out of the small foyer, through the living room, kitchen, den and then the bedroom.

  But there was no sign of her.

  He took the stairs into the basement more slowly, keeping his body tight to the wall. When he reached the bottom and his shoes touched the hard concrete of the cellar floor, he scanned the area around him and spotted a long narrow hallway. There was a doorway to the right and one straight ahead at the far end of the hall.

  The doorway on the right was open; the one at the end was closed.

  Striker moved forward to the first doorway. He stopped and aimed his flashlight into the room, illuminating all four corners.

  And that was when he found her.

  Slumped in a chair at the far end of the room was the woman he had been searching for these last three days.

  ‘Larisa! ’ he said.

  He moved forward through the darkness. Came to within ten feet of her. And stopped hard. Her head was turned down and her eyes were half open. Dangling from her right hand was an empty pill case, and at her feet was a DVD case with the name Sarah Rose on it. Striker gently placed two fingers against her neck and felt for a pulse. She was warm, but he could feel no beating of her heart.

  ‘Please, Larisa,’ he said. ‘Please.’

  He was running out of time.

  One Hundred and Three

  Desperation flooded him. Striker took out his cell to call 911; it rang on him before he could even dial. He stuck it to his ear.

  ‘Striker,’ he said.

  ‘Where are you?’ Felicia asked.

  ‘Number five Old Mill Road,’ he said. ‘No time for talk. I got Larisa here. She’s overdosed on pills. Call 911 for an ambulance and get your ass up here now.’

  He hung up without waiting for a response, then grabbed Larisa and placed her on the floor, so he could begin CPR. Keep her heart going till the medics got here.

  His phone vibrated again. He looked down and read the words:

  I have proof, Jacob. I’m scared.

  I have proof, Jacob. I’m scared

  I have proof, Jacob. I’m scared.

  ;o)

  He stood back up, momentarily confused. ‘What the hell?’

  And his phone went off with another text:

  Congratulations, Hero, you found her – or have I found you?

  Snake eyes!

  SNAKE EYES!

  SNAKE EYES!

  One Hundred and Four

  Striker tore his eyes away from the text, knowing for certain the Adder was here. He placed his back to the wall, moved slowly to the corner of the room, and kept scanning with his flashlight and gun. With the exception of him and Larisa, the room was empty. Dark. Quiet.

  There was only one way in, and only one way out.

  For a moment, he considered staying put. Keeping all his attention on the doorway and waiting for back-up. Then he heard a door slam out front. Thoughts of being trapped in another inferno flashed through his mind, as did the notion of Gabriel Ostermann escaping once more.

  He got moving.

  Gun aimed ahead of him, flashlight illuminating the way, Striker made his way back across the room and turned towards the front foyer. The door leading out front was just a stairway away.

  It was closed.

  Striker took a step towards it, then heard a shuffling sound behind him. He stopped and slowly turned around. He looked back down the hallway. On the right side was the doorway into the room where Larisa’s body lay on the floor. At the far end was the only other room the basement owned. The door there had been closed when he’d first come down the stairs.

  Now it was open.

  He moved to one side of the hall, out of the main line of fire, and took aim on the open doorway. He called out:

  ‘Vancouver Police, Gabriel. I know you’re here and I’ve got every reason to believe you’re armed and dangerous. Come out with your hands where I can see them and you won’t get hurt.’

  No response.

  Striker listened for a moment, heard nothing else. He slowly left his position of cover and made his way down the hall. When he came to within ten feet of the open doorway, he shone his flashlight inside the room.

  From the cover of the door frame, the weak beam of his flashlight caught a vague shape. Someone was hiding in a small nook of the wall. In the closet. He took aim on the figure and called out once more:

  ‘I see you, Gabriel. Don’t move!’

  But the figure only turned slightly and shuffled out of view; as it moved, Striker caught a brief glimpse of the man’s face. There was no doubt about it.

  It was Gabriel.

  The Adder.

  ‘I said, don’t move, Gabriel!’ Striker ordered again.

  When the Adder disappeared from Striker’s line of fire, Striker seized the moment before it was lost. He moved forward, ready to fire. It wasn’t until he had stepped right into the room that he realized his mistake. What he was staring at wasn’t a closet; it was the wall. And as he looked at the wall, he saw a poster on it – but the writing was all backwards.

  Then he realized. It was not a wall but a full-length mirror.

  The Adder was behind him.

  He spun to the right just as he felt an arm wrap around his neck from behind. There was a sharp pinprick and, almost immediately, a numbing sensation ran from his neck throughout the rest of his body, snaking out like long pulsating tendrils.

  Striker shoved back, but it was too late. He felt his body melting on him. His legs gave out. And he went down firing.

  He hit the floor hard. Felt the air explode from his lungs. And watched the darkness sweeping into his sight from all corners of his periphery. He thought of his daughter, Courtney, and then of Felicia and Larisa, whose life depended on him escaping this moment.

  But the last image Striker saw, as he was sucked down by the heavy blackness, was that of Gabriel. The Adder was staring back at him, his pale twisted expression the only visible beacon for him in a dark and cold vacuum.

  One Hundred and Five

  First came the sound.

  There was a faint, wailing noise in the background, like the soft banshee cries of some strange beast coming to take him away. The wail grew louder and louder until it was right on top of him – an overbearing echo in his ears. Until Striker realized the source of the call:

  Sirens.

  Striker tried to open his eyes, and then he realized they were already open. The strange supple warmth slowly washed away from him and was replaced by a stark coldness. The darkness slowly ebbed away, and Striker looked up to see three people on top of him.

  Two men dressed in white . . .

  Paramedics.

  And one between them. A face that made him smile and relax and brought back all the warmth that had been stolen from his body.

  ‘Feleesh,’ he said. His voice sounded weak and very far away.

  ‘Just relax, Jacob,’ she said. ‘They’re giving you some drugs. You need to stay still.’

  He tried to get up; she pushed him back down.

  ‘You need to relax.’

  ‘Larisa . . .’

  ‘They got her, too, Jacob. She’s breathing and en route to Whistler hospital.’

  He let go. Felt his body melt into the floor. And he lazily looked left.

  Lying on his back was Gabriel Ostermann. Two other paramedics, both women, were hovering over the Adder, examining his chest and stomach area. In the centre of the two was a large meaty hole. Striker saw this glistening redness and the vague recollection of past gunfire returned to his ears.

  His bullets had found their target.

  Centre mass.

  The simple action of looking at the Adder drained him, and Striker let his head fall back to the floor. He looked up, straight ahead at Felicia, who was hovering like an earthbound angel. Behind her, one of the female paramedics let out a surprised sound.

  ‘Jesus, this guy’s still alive,’ she said.

  And Stri
ker realized they were talking about Gabriel Ostermann.

  ‘He keeps whispering,’ one of the women said to her partner. ‘I can’t make it out. What the hell’s he saying? I’m the Villain? ’

  Striker understood the word, and he breathed heavily as he spoke.

  ‘He said William . . . he said, I’m coming, William.’

  And then the medications pulled him under and he did not wake for a long time.

  EPILOGUE

  One Hundred and Six

  It was a grey Sunday morning – over twenty-four hours since the Adder had injected him with mivacurium chloride – and Striker still felt like he had a hangover. A steady thud-thud-thud drummed behind each temple like a second steady pulse that was impossible to ignore.

  He was thankful that Homicide was empty.

  The coffee brewing was fresh. He poured himself a cup of it and swallowed three painkillers – the sting of the burn would not go away. He wandered back through the rows of empty cubicles to his desk. Open on the desktop were four separate reports. The first one was the statement he was required to deliver to the Police Board regarding the Billy Mercury situation. This was mandatory for all police shootings. The report was almost done, but Striker was still unsure about the wording in a few lines. With his head as messed up as it was, having an agent from the Union look it over wasn’t a bad idea.

  He saved the file for later.

  The other three reports were all linked because they had to do with Gabriel Ostermann. The first of the three reports was for Mandy Gill’s murder. The second was for Sarah Rose’s. And the third was for Larisa’s attempted murder. There were undoubtedly dozens more charges coming, but none of them could be laid until all the proper paperwork had been gone through and all investigative ends tied. Knowing Gabriel was responsible for other murders was not enough to charge the man; they needed reasonable grounds. Evidence.