Dead End

by Jeramy Gates

  His head bobbed up and down. “That’s right. Just barely.” He pulled up his shirt, revealing the dark, bloodstained circle. “Went right through, right between the ribs. Can you believe that? Just a millimeter higher and it might have bounced right into my heart. How lucky is that?” He grinned insanely, like he found it truly remarkable.

  “Not lucky at all,” she said as her smile vanished.

  Lester moved, vanishing into the darkness. “I saw what you did to the boats. I must admit, that took me by surprise. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

  “I had to,” she said. “I can’t let you kill anyone else.”

  “Oh? Is that what you think you accomplished? You underestimate me, Val. I’m sure there’s enough left of those boats to splice together a raft. It’s just a few miles back to land, and there’s no hurry. I’ve got all the time in the world. Heck, I could probably swim if I had to.”

  He stepped closer, a flash of color as he passed through the beam of sunlight. He locked eyes with her. “You didn’t change anything. Do you understand? You didn’t. Change. Anything.” His frantic, unhinged stare sent a chill crawling down her spine. Apart from everything else -apart from the altogether unremarkableness of the man- that gaze revealed something more sinister than words could relay. It gave her a feeling of vertigo, sucking her in, drowning out everything else.

  “What happened to you?” she said, her eyebrows twisting into knots as she gazed into the depths of his madness. The words spilled out of her, and only as she heard them did she realize the danger of what she’d said. The anger that flashed across his face was real. He turned away, hiding it. Val narrowed her eyes.

  He walked over to the window, staring at the few clusters of dry grass waving in the breeze, the deep blue ocean beyond. Val wondered what time it might be. Noon? Later? It was cool and gray outside, and she had no idea where the sun sat in the sky.

  “You can’t even comprehend the sacrifices I’ve made,” he said. “The things they made me do...”

  “No one made you do anything.”

  He spun, slamming his fist down on the table so hard it jumped. “Don’t say that!” he shouted as the lantern and several weapons bounced on the tabletop. “You don’t even know. You can’t understand.”

  His gun was there, she saw, as was hers -Carver’s Glock, actually- and a knife. The knife, she thought, remembering back to that horrific night six years ago. How many lives had he taken with that simple, sharp piece of steel? It didn’t look like much: a slender silver blade with an upswept tip, a black handle made of plastic or Micarta, or something similar. Fifty bucks at any knife store in the country -if that much. So that was what it cost to take so many lives. The price of a cheap dinner… less than a box of decent ammo.

  Lester lowered his head, staring at the floor. His shoulders slumped, rising and falling with his heavy breathing. His gaze went distant, and she could visibly see him disappearing into a different time and place.

  He’s broken, she thought. I am too, but not like that…

  The spell passed. He stepped out of the light, disappearing into the darkness of the room beyond. Everything became silent for a time. Valkyrie began to wonder what had become of him. It occurred to her that he might be readying himself to kill her.

  “Tell me,” she said into the shadows. “Who did this to you?”

  There was no response. Was he ignoring her, or had he fallen asleep? What was he doing? Then his voice came drifting out of the black: ominous, rising and falling with a soft, inharmonious melody:

  “They took me apart. They dropped me in pieces on the floor. They tried to glue me back together, but there wasn’t any me anymore!”

  “No one forced you,” she said quietly. “You chose to be what you are.”

  “No.” His face appeared before her, disembodied, hovering at the edge of the darkness. “You think I chose this? It was them. It was Blackstar! If it wasn’t for them, I never would have existed. And you! Look at what they’ve done to you.”

  “Don’t you dare. Don’t you try to blame someone else for what you’ve done to me. No one made you come into my home, kill my family. The things you’ve done-”

  “I almost feel sorry for you,” he interrupted, that evil grin returning to his features. “You really think it could end here. You think that if somehow you could just kill me, it would be the end of all of this. You don’t see that we’re just pawns in this game. We’re inconsequential. When we fall, more will just rise up to take our places. There are dozens more, like little time bombs waiting to explode. This is the apocalypse, Val. This is how it begins!”

  “You’re completely insane.”

  “Maybe, or maybe I have become what I was meant to become. Soon, you’ll realize that we’re more alike than not.”

  Her stomach churned. The layers of madness peeled away before her, revealing the rotten core beneath. Lester’s words almost made sense -maybe they would have if she hadn’t already glimpsed the true inhumanity of the twisted creature inside- but they were colored by hysteria. In the back of her mind, she tried to diagnose him: Psychosis? PTSD? Psychopathy? All of the above!

  Val doubted even a professional could isolate the motivations behind a mind so unhinged. Whatever it was, it hadn’t begun in Syria. It had been going on a lot longer than that…

  They fell silent for a while, him staring through the window while Valkyrie silently worked her fingers, trying to loosen her bonds. Her weight pulled against the rope, keeping it tight against her skin and cutting off the blood flow, making it impossible to move her fingers with any authority. Another hour or two, and she might not have any use of her hands at all. The clock was ticking. With each passing minute, her chances of escape dwindled.

  Of more immediate concern was the lunatic standing in front of her. A change seemed to have come over him. A resigned look had settled over his features. He stared at something outside, beyond her field of vision, and sucked in a deep breath.

  “Figures,” he mumbled, giving a little shake of his head. He headed for the door.

  “What’s wrong? What are you doing?”

  He glanced at her over his shoulder. “We’re about to have company.” He lifted his pistol from the table and then, as an afterthought, took hers and tucked it into his waistband. He paused at the door and shot her a meaningful glare. “Don’t go anywhere.” Then he laughed.

  The door closed, muffling out the sound of his laughter. Val found herself alone in the darkness. She leaned to the side, trying to get a glimpse through the window at what he had seen. If she could take just one step to the side… but that wasn’t possible. Just that slight movement already threatened to pull her off balance and sweep her feet out from under her.

  She drew her gaze around the room, looking for any means of escape. The killer’s knife rested on the table, just a few feet away, but still well out of reach. Even if she could somehow reach it, Val wasn’t sure how she’d get it up to her hands.

  Valkyrie thought of the knife hidden away in the hem of her blazer. If she had one hand free, it would be an easy escape. Unfortunately, the knots were sound, and so far, she didn’t have the strength or dexterity to work them loose. It was a pointless train of thought, anyway. If she had one hand free to get her knife, she wouldn’t even need the knife. So much for being prepared.

  Val stretched her leg out, reaching for the table. If she could pull it a little closer, she might climb on it and loosen up the rope. If she just had a little space to move… Her foot grazed the corner of the table, and the movement pulled against her wrists. She lost her balance, and her foot slid out from under her. She dropped, and jolts of electricity shot through her spine as her arms went tight. Val groaned.

  It took a moment to pull herself together. When the pain subsided enough that she could get her feet back in place, Valkyrie straightened. She closed her eyes, willing back the pain. The darkness seemed to close in, and the scent of the place washed over her: dust and mildew, salty sea air, anc
ient stone and dry earth. The wind picked up outside, buffeting the walls. The coldness crept in through the cracks around the windows, moving the air around her. The eaves made a low whistling sound.

  Maybe, she thought, there is another way...

  Valkyrie flexed her fingers, trying to get a grip on the hem of her sleeve. The fabric was slick under her fingertips, nearly impossible to grasp. She twisted her wrist, forcing her fingers painfully against the fabric. She closed her hand, the material bunching up in her palm. She held it there, teeth clenched against the pain, ignoring the fear that lurked at the edge of her senses. She closed her thumb on the fabric, holding it in place while she flexed her fingers to pull up another handful of material. As the sleeve piled up in her palm, the hem of her blazer began to rise.

  Valkyrie repeated this process, dragging the sleeve higher one inch at a time. Gradually, the hem slid up over her hips. Inch by inch, it worked up her torso. Outside, the wind lashed against the wall. The door rattled on its rusted hinges, and her head snapped up to stare. He was back!

  In a moment of panic, Val let the fabric slip out of her grip. The jacket dropped, all of her progress erased in an instant. Her chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths. Her eyes were wide and fixed on the door. It shivered again, and then went still. Just the wind, she told herself. It’s just the wind…

  Val noticed that it was getting dark outside. It was late afternoon, or early evening. She’d slept longer than she thought. And there was a storm coming. Or perhaps it was the same storm, just working back up after a brief reprieve.

  What was going on out there, she wondered. The Collector had seen something -or someone- outside. The Coast Guard maybe, or perhaps a group of tourists visiting the island? No, not on a stormy day like this. Maybe Matt had figured out where she was, and had sent help. Probably not. More likely, it was just a passing fishing boat that had caught the killer’s attention. The boat would drift by and continue on its way, and then he’d be back.

  How long had he been gone? Five minutes at least. Not ten. It couldn’t be that long. This thought reinvigorated her. Valkyrie turned her attention back to her work. She tugged on the sleeve, lifting the fabric into a bunch once again. As it rose, the cold air moved across her exposed skin, sending shivers through her body. The knotted muscles in her back tormented her, nerves crying out, pain threatening to overwhelm her senses and make her slip again. It was almost impossible to focus on what she was doing. She bit her lower lip, forcing back the agonized scream working its way up her throat.

  Inch by inch, second by second, the hem rose. It slid across her torso and made the slow climb to her chest. Finally, it slid up over her shoulders. At last, the hem was within reach. The fabric of the blazer covered her face, blocking out her vision. She could smell the scent of her own body wash and shampoo. The rustle of the material drowned out almost all other noise. She was wrapped in darkness.

  Val closed her eyes, focusing. With the bulk of the material bunch up around her shoulders, she had won a small victory over gravity. The suit no longer tried to fall back down, or twist out of her grip. It was easy to locate the blade sewn inside the hem; easier than it had been to lift it there in the first place. She found the edge and worked it forward, driving the tip through the material. As it penetrated the fabric, she closed two fingers around the end of the blade and ripped it free. With a gasp, she let the blazer fall.

  Valkyrie barely noticed the warmth of the material as it encompassed her body. Already, she was sawing at the rope. She held the tiny knife between her thumb and index finger, using the back of her left hand to keep pressure on it.

  A thunderous kaboom! of gunfire shattered the still. She froze, eyes locked on the door. There came another shot, and then a third. A brief silence followed. Her mind swam. The killer had been right. Someone had been there! But who? The gunfire had sounded like two different weapons. It had been loud but distant, somewhat muffled.

  Valkyrie redoubled her efforts. The knife was sharp, and it would have been easy to cut through the rope if not for the awkward angle. From that position, it was nearly impossible. She lined up the knife, made a cut, and then lost her grip. On the next try, she sliced through a completely different section of rope. She couldn’t even see what she was doing. She had to work by feel, and her numb fingers did not help. At this rate, it was going to take all night.

  Val tried to work faster, knowing that in doing so she risked losing control of the knife and accidentally cutting herself, or worse yet, dropping it. But this was the only way. She’d get through that rope one cut at a time, even if it took a thousand…

  One of the strands finally snapped. It was so sudden and noisy that it surprised her. In the silence of the old building, it may as well have been a firecracker. She fixed her gaze on the door.

  How long had it been now? Fifteen minutes? That sounded about right, but for all she knew, it may have been half that. Every moment seemed to pass agonizingly slow, every second of pain and fear like a lifetime. The knife moved back and forth, sometimes making a complete swoop, others barely grazing the strands.

  There was a sudden crash, and the door swung open. The gray sky outside made a silhouette of the man standing in the doorframe. He stood there, probably waiting for his vision to adjust to the darkened interior. Valkyrie couldn’t be sure, but judging from his size and appearance-

  “Carver?” she said in disbelief.

  “Valkyrie!” He hurried over to her. “Are you all right?”

  “Did you get him?”

  He gave a shake of his wavy locks. “I got a couple shots off before he vanished. I don’t think I hit him. He’s still out there somewhere.”

  Carver had reached up to help her with the rope. He was fumbling with the knot when Valkyrie heard a noise at the door. She raised her gaze to see another figure just outside. “Get down!” she shouted.

  The roar of gunfire drowned out her voice. Carver’s body lurched next to her. His jaw dropped, and his good eye went wide with surprise. He looked down, and she followed his gaze to the red stain blossoming on the front of his shirt. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but only made a grunting sound.

  Carver stumbled forward, falling into her. Val cried out as the weight of his body swung her back, stretching her spine. Her hoarse outcry rattled in her throat as Carver dropped to the floor. He landed at her feet, lying on his side. She twisted, struggling to regain her footing.

  “Carver?” she shouted. “Carver!” The sound of her voice was foreign in her ears, like a rattled shriek. She straightened, twisting around, trying to get a glimpse of him. As she turned, Val looked down and saw Carver’s good eye locked open and gazing at some distant point in the heavens.

  A dark silhouette filled the doorway. The killer stepped into the room. He lowered his firearm and stood over Carver’s body, inches away from her. She could smell him now, the acrid scent of his unwashed body the abomination of rotten food and melted plastic that was his breath. Valkyrie’s head dropped, her chin pressing into her chest. She felt something inside of her snap, like a piece of broken glass. The pain in her spine became a distant, almost forgotten throbbing.

  Carver was dead, she thought. Was there anything that this man couldn’t take from her?

  Chapter 26

  Lester Hurt made a hmmph sound as he stared down at Carver’s body. The killer wore a strange, almost perplexed look on his face. He nudged the corpse with his foot and then glanced at Val. “Strange. I thought that would be tougher. His reputation is… exaggerated, I guess.”

  Val glared at him, teeth clenched, eyes burning with hate. If Lester noticed, he made no indication.

  “Carver killed a friend of mine, you know. Rex had been following you; keeping track of your movements. He told me about your special relationship with Carver.” He winked and shot her a grin. “I was concerned that you might be sharing too much information with him. I guess I was right. I told Rex we’d better get rid of your boyfriend. That was th
e last I ever heard of Rex.” He stared at Valkyrie. “I’m surprised at you, Val. That’s not like you, to get sentimental. You must have had a real soft spot for this one.”

  “I’m going to kill you.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “You are? That would be something, wouldn’t it? Here I am with a gun, standing over the corpse of your dead lover. There you are, hanging by a rope. You’re tenacious, I’ll say that.”

  “I have good reason.”

  He sighed. “Yes, I suppose you do.”

  Val slowly became aware of a weight in her left pocket, pulling down on her blazer. It had been there ever since Carver crashed into her, but she hadn’t noticed it right away. She thought it might be his gun, that he might have dropped it into her pocket as his last heroic act. But no, she could see his gun on the floor next to his body. And the item wasn’t bulky, either. It didn’t weigh that much. Could it be a knife? No, that wouldn’t have done her any good. What was it?

  The sunlight was gone now, and in the deepening twilight, the room had grown dark. Hurt stood at the table. He lit the lantern and hung it from a beam on the ceiling. He placed the gun on the table and picked up the knife, turning it over in his hand. The blade gleamed, flashing with the reflection of the lantern’s light.

  “Sorry, Val,” Lester interrupted her thoughts. “I don’t mean to drag this out. It’s just that we’ve been at this for so long. We had something special, you know? Who else would have followed me this far?” He came close, the warmth and stench of his body washing over her. He leaned in, sniffing the faint lingering scent of perfume on her throat. He brought the knife up, dragging the sharp tip across her cheek. “It’s hard for me, ending it like this.”

  “So you’re going to kill me?”

  “What choice do I have? Somebody has to die, and it’s not going to be me.” He pulled back, looking at her with a wistful gaze. “You’ve been a thorn in my side for two years. Don’t get me wrong; up until now it has been a lot of fun. Cat and mouse. I kill someone, you track me down, I disappear… I’ve taken great pleasure out of our relationship. But now, things have changed. Now we know who is the cat and who is the mouse. And once the cat has the mouse… You know how it has to end.”