Fade To Midnight (50 page)

“Run!” he yelled into the phone. “Christ, Edie, run out of that place, right now! Des Marr is in there, looking for you!”

“Des? Here?” Her voice was uncertain. “No! You're kidding.”

“Yes, and he's a sociopathic killer! And so's his crazy girlfriend! So shut up and run! Is there an exit out the back of the building?”

“Yes, but I—”

“We'll be there in a few seconds! Run! Look for a gray van!”

“Oh, God,” she whispered. “I love you, Kev.”

She hung up. Kev pounded his fists against his knees. “Faster!” he yelled. “Can't you get any more speed out of this piece of shit?”

The tires squealed, fishtailing. They took the curve on two wheels. Centrifugal force tumbled everyone into a struggling tangle of limbs.

The van jerked to a stop. Kev dove out the back, stumbling to his hands and knees. He got up and sprinted for the door. Serious door. Made of thick, solid metal. Pushbar on the inside. Just a small window which showed exactly nothing in the darkness.

Of course, it was locked.

E
die's legs felt hollow as she flipped off the light. She wondered which stairwell Des would take, and peered out into the hallway—

Whack.
Something slammed her to the ground, on her back.

“Gotcha.” It was Des, breathing hard. There was just enough light filtering from the two stairwells to make out his gloating expression.

She sucked in a desperate teaspoonful of oxygen. “Des?”

His expression morphed into concern. The transformation was bizarre. “Edie, what are you doing here?”

Edie coughed. “What are you doing on top of me?” she croaked.

She struggled, but he was big, heavy. Shock was replaced by fear, which grew sharper every second that passed. God, how she needed air.

“Protecting you!” His voice was self-righteous. “You're a danger to yourself, Edie. You need to be back home, where you're safe.”

The lecturing tone was dissonant with the nasty, breathless intimacy of his body. She struggled. He rolled his weight more squarely on top of her. His chest was so rigid. Like he was encased in steel.

Body armor? Oh, God. The fear ratcheted up.

“Let's try this again,” he said, as if he were talking to a stubborn child. “What are you doing here, Edie?”

He knew. No point in lying. “I wanted to see if the boxes were here,” she rasped out, breathless.

“So? You see that they're not. Satisfied now? Can we go home now, and have cookies and tea?”

What the hell? She doubted, for one horrible instant, that she actually had seen them. Wondering if she really was wrong in the head.

But that quiet voice whispered,
stand firm. He's fucking with you.

“The boxes are there, you lying bastard,” she said. “Get off me. I took pictures of them, and sent them to Houghtaling. The game is up.”

His first reaction was to look hurt, but as they stared at each other, she felt that eye open up. The one that opened when she drew.

For the first time, she used it, instead of letting it use her. She had no idea how. The wild intensity of the last few days had taught her.

She let that eye open deliberately, and looked at him with it. And oh, God. If she'd been scared before, it was nothing compared to now.

There was no one in there. Nothing that she even recognized as human. That spark, the heart. He didn't have it. No one was home.

He knew, the second she realized what he truly was. His smile widened grotesquely as all pretense of normalcy fell away. He shifted, pressing against her, and his penis swelled against her belly.

She stiffened in revulsion. And he liked that. Her disgust actually turned him on even more. His pulsing and grinding intensified.

“Edie, Edie. What am I going to do with you now?” he mused. He pinned her hands above her head, yanked the neckline of her stretch T-shirt until her breast was exposed and clicked his tongue. “Bruises! Your lover's so rough. That mean, nasty brute. But don't worry…Des will make it better.” He slid down her body, and licked her breast.

She fought not to scream at the horrible wet swipe, sensing that would make things worse. She had to be cold, indifferent.
Hurry, Kev. Hurry.
“What did Dr. O do to you?” she asked.

Des lifted his face from her breasts, distracted by the question. “Exactly what he tried to do to you,” he said. “It's just that in me, it worked. In you, it didn't. Simple as that. You weren't strong enough.”

Delay, delay.
“I wasn't?” she squeaked. “Strong how?”

Des chuckled. “If you have to ask, there's no point explaining, but I'll indulge you. Dr. O set me free. Before the program, all my instincts, impulses, desires…” He emphasized the last word with a hard pulse of his hips. “…were blocked. By fear, guilt. Stupid inhibitions. Dr. O took the fear and guilt away. And I took off. Like a rocket.”

Memories of those horrible sessions strapped into Dr. O's special chair swirled up. “You mean, the electroshock treatments?”

Des looked offended. “It was much more sophisticated than that.”

She was so appalled, she forgot to be diplomatic. “You mean he burned the part of your brain that can tell right from wrong? Morality, ethics? He made you into a…a sociopath?”

“Oh, please.” Des rolled his eyes. “Your slavery to unconscious programming is showing. He altered the part of our brains programmed to believe that X is right, and Y is wrong, but who's to say? It's relative. It's random. Once you understand that and really experience it, you're free. The world has no limits, except for those you make yourself. You're free to do anything…if you can get away with it. And I always can.”

He appeared to be so utterly convinced of what he said. It was surreal. “What about love? Loyalty?” She was afraid to know the answer, but she couldn't help asking.

He looked vaguely baffled. “What about them?”

“You don't care about them? You don't feel them?”

He shrugged. “Feelings are just hormonal squirts, brought on by unconscious programming. They don't last. They're good for nothing except for momentary physical satisfaction.” He licked her breast again, and grinned. “We don't worry about feelings. We're past all that.”

“We? Who's we?” Her teeth were starting to chatter.
Hurry Kev.

“The successful ones,” he explained. “Club O. Dr. O's army.”

That sparked a fresh, brand new stab of pure horror. “Oh, God. You mean, Dr. O did this to other people? Not just to you?”

“The strong ones,” he repeated, emphasizing the words. “Every brain responds differently. He tried to do it to all of us, but some of his subjects weren't, well, you know.” He sniggered a little. “Worthy.”

“Like me,” she whispered.

“Like you,” he agreed. “Although you've managed better than most of Dr. O's duds. At least you're still alive, and not in a padded cell.” He paused, significantly. “So far, anyway.”

She struggled to shove him off again, but he was horribly strong, and held her in place with his weight. “We're everywhere,” he said, his face gloating. “Our abilities are expressed in different ways, but we all like power. Doctors, scientists, business people, politicians, military. But all of us have something in common. Freedom.” He leaned, until his hot breath filled the air between them. “Too bad it didn't work on you.”

“I'm glad,” she said. “I'd rather be dead than like you.”

He jerked her face toward his. “You're tougher than I thought. I wasn't expecting this kind of resistance. It's sexy.” He kicked her legs open, settled himself against her. “This is all for you. Lucky girl.”

Her gorge rose. “Don't, Des.”

“Why not? I can do anything I like. All I have to do is find a way to spin it. And sell it. I'm so good at that. Like with your mother.”

“My mother? What does she have to do with—”

“You never asked yourself why a woman in such perfect health would drop dead on a sunny September day, hmm? It was so easy.”

She gaped at him, so shocked she didn't even try to raise his bulk to drag air into her chest. “You killed my moth—”

He cut her off with a smothering, bruising kiss. His muscular tongue thrust deep, making her gag. She fought for air. Her vision dimmed. Her feet drummed. Des had murdered her mother. He'd murdered both her parents. The weight of the Ruger banged the floor.

The Ruger.
She pulled her face away, with huge effort. “L-l-let's go into the library, at least,” she gasped out. “There's a rug in there.”

“The princess likes her comforts? Works for me. Easier on my knees. I like to fuck from behind.” He got up, yanked her to her feet.

She yelped with pain, and stumbled, sagging. Groping desperately at her ankle for the gun. Des roared at her, tried to drag her upright.

She lolled, as limp as a doll, swinging by her arm. Des kicked the side of her thigh. She screamed with pain, but by then she'd loosened the gun snapped into the holster, swung it up, squeezed the trigg—

Bam.

The force of the shot knocked her right back down onto the floor. Des stumbled back, arms pinwheeling. He thudded to the floor, but rolled instantly up to his knees, pulling out a gun.

She shot again, from the floor. He flipped backward.

She staggered up onto her knees. Shot again, again, aiming for his head, but her hands shook, and the shots went wild. She felt no righteous satisfaction, just horror that it should fall to her to put that subhuman thing out of its misery. Someone was screaming, high and thin.
Bam. Bam.
Her eyes blurred with tears. She squeezed the trigger—

Click. Click.
Empty. All six shots, gone.

She backed away, wobbling on rubbery legs, brandishing the useless gun as if it could still protect her somehow. She heard sobbing, hiccupping. Huge, rasping gasps for breath. That was her. She ignored herself, focused on that monstrous, inhuman thing on the floor.

Des moved, sat up, clutching his arm. His hand was red. Blood dripped down onto the pale floor tiles. He grinned, his teeth amazingly white in the gloom. His gun swung up. “Is that all you've got?” He jumped to his feet, without much effort. “You bad girl. You winged me. You'll pay. Nasty little bitch.”

Bam.
She screamed, stumbling back against the wall.

It took a couple of shocked, confused seconds to realize that she hadn't been shot. It was Des who'd been slammed backward and off his feet again. Someone was yelling, but she was deafened by the gunshots. Des crawled up, onto his knees—

Bam,
again. Des flipped over sideways, howling with fury.

“…all right? Edie? Edie! Can you hear me?”

Oh, dear God. Kev, shouting from the end of the dark hallway.

“Kev!” she wailed, and took off toward him.

Bam
, a bullet clipped the wall beside her head, gouging into naked drywall. Dust and particles flew in a stinging cloud.

“Edie! Get down!” Kev bellowed.

She dove, bounced, slid.
Boom,
a muzzle blast flashed in the dark as Kev returned fire. “Stay down!” he yelled. “Crawl like a snake! Move!”

Bullets sang over her head, a whizbang thunderstorm. She wriggled, snakelike, over the shard covered floor.

Bam
. Kev grabbed her arm and yanked her through the doorway. They plunged into the stairwell. Two other man crouched there with him. She dove into space. The staircase slammed into her stumbling feet when gravity caught up with her. Kev steadied her, pulled her on.

She glanced at the two men. Unfamiliar. One was murmuring into a cell phone. “…got her. We'll be around to meet you, ten seconds.”

“Is he still…did you get him?” she asked Kev.

He glanced back. “Don't know. I thought so, but he—”

Bam. Bam.
The stairwell rang with shots. The thudding of feet.

“That answers that,” Kev muttered. “He must have a vest.”

The back door was wide open, glass smashed. A gray van idled there, back doors yawning. Bruno ran toward them, grabbed her other arm, pitched her inside like a sack of grain. The guys dove in after.

Bruno leaped into the driver's seat. The van surged before the doors were closed. They braked moments later, and another guy jumped in the front, another into the back. The van took off, tires squealing around curves as they headed back for the turn-off to Highett Avenue,

Lights, flashing. The red, pulsing strobe of cop cars approaching.

“For the love of God,” Bruno moaned. “Who the fuck called them?”

“I did,” Edie admitted, through stiff, numb lips. “Sorry.”

Bruno hissed something savagely through his teeth. “Is there a road on the other side of the park grounds?”

“Ah…I think so,” she said. “There's a new subdivision over there, but I think there's a—”

Bump, bump, whump.
The Chevy Astro lurched and corrected as Bruno drove over the curb and thudded through the ornamental hedges. They bumped and thudded over the landscaped garden, wooded greensward, swerving around trees. The tires wallowed in drifts of woodchips, thudded over rocks and walking paths. With no headlights they narrowly missed an ornamental fountain in the dark.

In the back, they bounced and rocked, slamming into each other. There was a grinding crunch and lurch, throwing them all against one side. Bruno switched on the headlights, cursing.

“Oh, Christ, please. Don't kill my van!” one of the guys begged.

“You Ranieris are freaking maniacs at the wheel,” another one commented.

“It's genetic. He learned to drive from his wacko aunt.”

Edie cleared her throat. “As I was saying,” she called out, more loudly, “I think there's a subdivision over there, but there's a creek at the other end of the—”

Splash.
The van plunged into the creek, spewing great fans to the side as it wavered…tipped…righted. Moved forward. The water rose, gurgling. The bank ahead was horribly steep, shiny with mossy mud.

The tires wallowed desperately, digging, fighting. The motor roared, whined, roared again—and they found traction, lifted up. Out.

They bumped and rocked over the rise, and thudded down onto asphalt. The street soon opened out into a loop of orderly new single-wide and double-wide manufactured homes. Pebble or woodchipped lawns. Bruno swept around the loop, and found the road that led back to Montrose Highway. A snarl of cop cars blinked at the Helix complex.

They turned onto Montrose Highway, merged with traffic. Outback Steakhouse. Shari's. Target. Hampton Inn. No one could speak, for a few minutes. Edie couldn't believe they'd really gotten away.

Kev had really come for her. Somehow.

One of the men flipped on a light. A van full of battered, exhausted men all stared at her so intently, it made her cringe.