Empties (24 page)

“Sure, sure.”
 

The cab came roaring down Second Avenue, turned into Tenth Street, and crept up to the address. The lights in her apartment were off. He was in time!
 

He threw ten bucks into the driver’s receiving tray and scrambled out while the cab was still moving.
 

“You crazy!” the cabby called after him as Benek stumbled forward and sprawled onto the asphalt.
 

He got up and waved for the cab to keep going as he looked up at the old house. Could she have gotten here and left the lights off to trap him? They weren’t making seven-league sports shoes yet, he told himself.
 

Both shops to the left of the stairs were closed. He peered under the stairs and saw that the door she had used was ajar, moving gently in a draft.
 

He went down the three steps and pushed through the door. It led into a dimly lit corridor. He started through and felt a sudden tingling on the back of his neck, as if she were behind him ready to strike. How would it feel, when the coring started? Would it tingle, then hurt, and then the darkness? He came to the end and found another slightly open door.
 

Pushing through, he came out into the backyard and stood surrounded by the wooden fences that imprisoned the small, slate covered area.
 

He looked up. Dierdre’s lights were still out. He decided not to go up the short steps to her back door. Stepping forward, he grasped the fire escape ladder and climbed slowly up to the first floor window. He hesitated for a moment, afraid that he was quickly running out of time, then broke the glass with his elbow and reached in to open the old sash lock. It had been painted over, but he wiggled it until the paint cracked and the window came up.
 

He listened for a moment, then stepped inside and let his eyes adjust. She was not here, he told himself, expecting the lights to go on with a shout of surprise.
 

She was not here yet.
 

Now where to wait? Just inside the front door. Grab her from behind and break her neck, then bury the body in the grave she had dug for him. No one would look there a second time.
 

He moved across the sitting room toward the hallway that led to the front door, where he stopped and listened, still hoping that he would not have to use his gun. He stood against the door and listened for sounds from the hall, but there was nothing. Pressing himself against the wall to the left of the door, he waited, repeating to himself that he would kill her with his hands. He had never felt such a need; he had never killed anyone with his gun; but there was no doubt in his mind that he would kill Dierdre with his hands, and be satisfied when she went limp in his grasp.
 

He accepted it and knew why. He could not simply disappear and start a new life somewhere else, leaving her to core anyone who got in her way, hatch schemes for the use of her ability, get herself pregnant with a foolish new Adam. He could not live somewhere safely, knowing that people were dying because he had stayed his hand, because he had left a weapon free to make its own lethal decisions. His cop’s training and ideals had gone deeper into him than he realized. That was why he accepted what he had to do.
 

Of course, once she was dead, his career as a public knight would be over. He would be an obvious suspect—if her body were ever discovered; even her disappearance would put him under a cloud. He would have to make sure that no trace of her was ever found, which meant he could not bury her in the house. Too bad. He would have to make her body disappear completely. That meant taking it apart, bit by bit, and destroying every last piece. Then they could suspect him as much as they wished. He would pull himself together, and come to work as if nothing had happened. He would brazen it out in a good cause, knowing that he had done the right thing, even if he was the only one who knew it.
 

He heard the outer door open and swing back slowly, and finally click shut; but there was no sound of footsteps in the hall.
 

He looked out through the peephole.
 

Dierdre smiled at him.
 

Her shoes cried out inside him. They had made no sound.
 

21

“I see your eye, Bill,” she said loudly.
 

His eye stared back at her, blinking nervously.
 

She added, “Move and your brains come out.”
 

His eye gazed at her, and she realized that he might shoot through the door. She brought her face closer, to cover his field of view, took out her key, slipped it in and turned it. The door swung open, catching him in the glare of the hall lights as he moved back, pointing the gun. She stepped inside and kicked his shaking hand before he could see more clearly. He grunted, the gun went flying over his head, and he retreated, stumbled, fell on his back, shielding his face from her gaze.
 

She turned on the lights and stood over him. He was breathing quickly, and she pitied his fear.
 

“Oh, calm down, Bill,” she said.
 

He might still be useful to her, she told herself, enjoying her control of him. It had been easier to achieve than she had thought. Fear had made him brainless without removing the organ.
 

He lowered his arm, and tried to pull himself together, and she saw the failed pride in his timidity when he tried to stand up, as if he might lose his balance. She checked his pants to see if he had wet himself, but they were dry.
 

“Can’t stand up straight?” she asked, annoyed by his posture.
 

He did not look at her.
 

“Sit on the sofa,” she said, moving past him to the facing chair.
 

She watched as he staggered to the sofa; he was shaking as he fell into it and sat back, looking up at the ceiling.
 

“Get it over with,” he said softly.
 

She stood up, took off her raincoat and dropped it on the floor. Her jeans felt tight, so she pulled open the snap.
 

He was in shock, she realized as he stared past her, bandaging his dismay. Finally, he looked at her with a resigned expression.
 

“Maybe you wanted me to catch you,” she said, smiling. “Did you ever think of that? If true, then why worry? You’re home free. Relax.”
 

She watched him clench his jaw. He was up against a stone wall that shouldn’t have been where he had found it. She stepped closer to him and said, “Why don’t you imagine I was out jogging and you, handsome Mr. Policeman, just picked me up and brought me home.”
 

He glanced up at her, then looked away and searched the floor, breathing more deeply.
 

“Don’t even think about your gun,” she said sternly.
 

He laughed loudly, surprising her.
 

“What’s so funny?” she asked.
 

“I was only going to hurl,” he said.
 

“If you do, you’ll clean it up.”
 

She looked around for the gun and spotted it under the side table by her chair. Squatting down, she grabbed it and pointed it at him.
 

He looked away from her again. She took one step back and sat down in her chair, still pointing the gun at him.
 

“What do you need that for?” he asked.
 

“So I won’t have to exert myself,” she said.
 

“But it’ll leave more evidence for you to clean up.”
 

“Don’t you worry, I’ll manage.”
 

“You’ve ruined my life,” he said bitterly. “My boss thinks I’m nuts. They’ll never trust me again. Go ahead, shoot. I’m sick of worrying about your one note sidewalk act catching up with me.”
 

“You haven’t lost much,” she said. “Most of them get away from you. Haven’t you read the crime statistics?”
 

“I had some pride in my job.”
 

“Then you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”
 

“Just get it over with.”
 

“Why should I?”
 

“You have to, or lose everything. You’re not all that bright, but smart enough to know you’re not.”
 

“Oh, I see you’ve thought about it,” she said. Her finger tightened on the trigger. Then she took the gun with her left hand and held it by the handle with her finger off the trigger.
 

“You should never have revealed yourself to anyone,” he said, “if you wanted to do anything with your... talent. You can’t have anyone know.”
 

He was right, of course. “I can fix your so-called life, you know,” she said, surprising herself with the offer.
 

He looked away and did not answer.
 

“I can call your Captain Reddy and say a few words to him,” she said.
 

“Not that easy,” he muttered, still looking away.
 

“No? We’ve had our spat, but it’s over now and we’re together at last, deeply in love. You’ll take a long leave, to get married maybe, go on a honeymoon, and you’ll be back good as new as soon as you can. You can stay here for a while. He’ll believe it.”
 

“Why would he?” Benek asked.
 

“Who was it said that a married man is easier to control? Some sea captain somewhere, in a book.”
 

“Married?” Benek asked.
 

“Well, with a stable home life.” The gun trembled in her left hand, annoying her, but she would not put her finger on the trigger, telling herself that she did not need to.
 

“And then what?” he asked.
 

“We’ll see,” she said, smiling.
 

But having revealed so much to him, letting him live would make him a constant danger. She might be able to use him. But how to get him on her side? He was probably too far gone for her to try. She lowered the gun into her lap and tried to look at him sympathetically.
 

“Maybe we could work together,” she said. “What have you to lose if you believe that your life is ruined? What am I to do? Forget what I am? Give it all up and live a life of... restraint?”
 

“What?” he asked, swallowing hard and squinting at her. “You’re insane!”
 

She raised the gun. “Watch what you say to an insane person.”
 

“What do you want me to say? Sure, we’ll get together. To do what? What would be our business?”
 

“You could play along and kill me one dark night,” she said. “Or, I’m sure, you would find profitable things for us to do.”
 

He looked away. “Sure, in a carny show, where they would think it was a trick. What would you do it with, animals?”
 

“But what if I’m serious, Bill?” she asked, trying to sound sincere and half believing it. “How could I prove it to you?” Deep inside her she felt something like caring stir but determined to let it die. Sympathy was just a game to see what she could make him believe, what she might make herself believe.
 

“You couldn’t ever change,” he said, covering his face with his hands as if about to weep.
 

“Are you so sure? I’ll give you back this gun.”
 

“You don’t really need it, so what’s the point?”
 

She said, “I know, but put it away.”
 

He looked up and seemed ready to leap at her. Could she finish him while he was choking her? He was stronger than she was, and she would need time to concentrate.
 

Now was the moment to convince him.
 

She tossed him the gun. He caught it and held it in both hands, trembling.
 

“Put it away!” she shouted. “I did my part.”
 

Slowly, he put the gun in his shoulder holster and looked into her eyes. He was sweating, convinced, she knew, that nothing had changed and that she had given it to him only to prove his powerlessness. Even wearing the gun meant nothing; he would not be fast enough to shoot her, she told herself, and he knew it.
 

She closed her eyes and turned her head slightly.
 

“No!” he cried out. “Please don’t!” He fell on the floor in front of her, weeping. If he went for the gun, she would have no choice, she told herself. Was that why she had given it back to him?
 

She watched him carefully, then slipped forward from her chair and knelt before him, taking his head into her lap and cradling it. “Don’t worry, Bill, I’ll keep you safe, but you must stay with me. Will you do that?”