by Erik Carter
Bam. Bam. Bam.
Then Mira stopped. And collapsed onto chest again.
She panted, hands resting on his shoulders, staring at him darkly.
“Fine.”
She stood up, walked a few feet away.
“I hate this, Dale. I really do.”
She knelt down.
And picked up the knife.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Dale stared as Mira approached with the shortened blade. He felt his heart go rapid-fire in his chest. She climbed back onto the mattress, straddling him again.
“Tell me you love me.”
There was a small smile on her face.
“No.”
The smile left. She bared her teeth and swung the knife down viciously. It plunged into Dale’s right thigh.
Dale screamed out in agony.
She brought the knife back to her chest. Blood dripped off the end.
“Tell me you love me.”
He didn't respond.
She brought the knife over her head.
“Okay! All right! I love you. I love you! I love you! I love you! Are you happy, you crazy bitch??”
“Not until I get her name. What’s Allie’s last name?”
“Not happening.”
Mira brought the knife down twice, into Dale’s thigh. He was shocked at the speed of it. Her hand had been a blur. Like the blur that had flashed into Ern Plunkett’s side, snuffing out his life.
The pain shimmered out of his leg and into the rest of his body. He screamed out again, louder. His fingers quivered. There was sweat on his brow.
“The name!”
“Go to hell.”
She stabbed him twice more in the right thigh.
This stole Dale’s breath. He felt tingling on the sides of his face—cool, electric snapping near his temples.
“Her name!”
Another blast of pain. She’d stabbed him once more.
Dale’s breaths were short. His head felt wet. And airy. And cold.
His vision lightened. He looked at her. Mira. Her ugly beauty. Couldn’t look at her. Turned. Stared at the rock ceiling. The texture…
And then his mind gave him a respite.
It took him away for a moment.
Allie’s birthday. She didn’t have many friends, and neither did Dale. They had each other. So she’d laughed when she’d come home to the decorations.
“Please tell me that no one’s going to jump out from behind the couch.”
“Only the puppy I bought you.”
“You what? Dale, I’m allergic!”
He winked. “Kidding.”
“Don’t scare me like that.” She walked up to him, gave him a kiss, threw her arms around him, saw a surprise waiting on the counter.
“Awwwww. That is the ugliest, sweetest homemade cake I’ve ever seen.
A flash of pain.
“Her name! Her name! Her name!”
She stabbed him over and over, moving up from the right thigh…
…away from the thick muscle…
…and to his torso.
There was the CRUNCH of bone as the blade struck one of his ribs.
Dale’s eyes went wide, and he gasped.
Whiteness.
He was with Allie. She’d bought a new desk, the particle board type, a hundred pieces and confusing directions. He was putting it together. She was watching, laughing…
Kissing in her car. Like teenagers…
In his car now. Arancia. She was in the passenger seat. She put her hand on the shift knob, spread her fingers. He put his hand on top of hers, interlace their fingers…
Mira stopped stabbing. She threw the bloody knife to the cave floor. It clattered. She lay on his chest, panting for a moment like she had after the sex they’d had minutes earlier.
Then she said, “You’re a stubborn man. If I can’t take that slut’s life for you, there’s only one way for you and me to be together.”
She breathed in. Sighed.
And when she spoke again, there was deep reluctance in her voice.
“I’m going to have to kill you, Dale.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
There had been several times over the last few years that Nash regretted his excessive drinking. But he hadn’t regretted it anymore than he was at that moment.
Because right then he was so tired he felt like he might collapse.
He and Taft were drenched. And they were in the middle of the forest. And they were hiking up a hill. All of this had left Nash in a state where his lungs burned, his legs felt like they weighed a hundred pounds apiece, and he had a sharp, painful stitch in his side. He’d fallen over in the mud twice, and he was having to push hard to keep up with Taft. This especially made him realize how far downhill he had gotten. Taft was no spring chicken. And he was far from the pinnacle of health.
Taft was in front of him on the trail, and this time it was his turn to fall. He slipped on the slippery surface of a rock poking through the mud, and he landed on his side in a shallow puddle.
Nash helped him up.
Taft stayed hunched over, hands on his knees.
“Are you sure this is the right trail?”
Taft squinted in the rain, looked around, confused, still panting. “I don’t … There! Look! Goat Rock.”
Ahead of them was Goat Rock, its stone face gray and glossy in the rain.
“And there’s the bend in the trail,” Nash said. “Just past it.”
“Come on!” Taft said. “We get off the trail here."
They moved off the path.
And into the tangled darkness of the trees.
Chapter Fifty-Five
“There!” Ventress shouted and smacked Fulton on the shoulder. “There they are! Straight ahead.”
“I see them, dammit,” Fulton said. “You don’t need to hit me.”
The visibility was so damn bad in the rain, Ventress had started to think that they weren’t going to find Harbick and Taft. But finally she’d spotted them. Up ahead on the trail. Two dark shapes navigating the treacherous path in the pouring rain.
And it was a good thing to that she’d spotted them when she did because right after she found them, they did something very unexpected.
They stepped off the trail and disappeared into the trees.
She scowled.
What the hell are they doing?
She paused. For only a moment. Then took out her gun. A Smith & Wesson Model 29. 6.5-inch barrel. Just like “Dirty Harry” Callahan.
She turned to Fulton. “Weapon out, Fulton. It’s time to do some real work.”
Fulton reached into his suit jacket and brought out a Walther PPK.
How fitting. How perfect. An itty-bitty foreign gun. A 3.3-in barrel, looking tiny next to her 6.5. The loser of the pissing contest.
Expensive suits… 007’s gun…
Did this guy really think he was James Bond?
Pathetic.
“Come on,” she said and led Fulton off the trail. “They’re gonna lead us right to Conley.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Mira traced her finger tenderly, slowly, careless over his chest.
“First I’ll kill you,” she said. “Then I’ll kill me. It’s been a dark life anyway, hasn’t it? A dark world. A twisted, ugly existence. Why not die here where Clyde and Bill played their games? Bring a little love to this place.”
Dale didn't respond. He was back in the present, aware of everything that was happening and everything that had happened. But he was numbed. His body was in so much pain that he could feel nothing. His mind was reeling but blank. The blood was warm and sticky and wet down the right side of his body, and he could feel it congealing, cracking in spots. His eyes were half closed.
Mira climbed off him.
“Time for your water.”
She went to the water jug.
“Thought you were going to kill me? Do I really need to hydrate first?”
There was still enough str
ength in him to be a smartass. It wasn’t his best work. But under the circumstances, he’d cut himself some slack.
She came back with a tin cup
“Oh, I am gonna kill ya.”
She pointed at the cup. Smiled.
“The water …” Dale said.
He wouldn’t have believed that in his current state he’d have the ability to come to another realization, to put together the pieces of another bit of historical intrigue. But he now understood Mira’s fascination with her water…
“I actually found those serial killer books really interesting,” she said. “The ones I planted at Clyde’s. People think of serial killers as being men, but there are plenty of females too. Except lots of the females skip the knives and the choking and all the perversion. They go a more subtle route.”
He finished her thought for her. “Poisoning. Let me guess. Arsenic?”
“That’s right. You really do know your history. Lots of the ladies use arsenic.”
Dale thought back to all the times she’d offered him water in the cave, insistently, from the moment they arrived.
“You’ve been poisoning me since we got here.”
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Dale. Like I said, I knew you were going to be tenacious. I really wasn’t trying to hurt you. I had to subdue you. Tame you, ya big stud. Arsenic makes a person drowsy, causes confusion.”
“Confusion. Of course. All the crazy memories I’ve had. And dreams. The hallucinations.” He paused and gave her a cold stare. “And my poor decision-making. A cloudy mind being led astray, coerced.”
“I hope you’re not implying that our love-making was a mistake.”
“Lady, being in the same room as you is a mistake.”
“You don’t mean that, Dale. You have blood-loss. Arsenic-poisoning. You’re not yourself.”
She stepped closer.
“Come now. It’s time to drink your water.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
The thrilling adrenaline rush of adventure and purpose was starting to diminish for Nash. Aside from the fact that his whole body was complaining of exhaustion and wondering what the hell he was doing to it, he was also starting to get concerned.
Because they hadn’t found the cave.
Sadler’s directions had been vague, and they would have been difficult to follow on a bright, sunny day. But today was anything but bright and sunny. Nash could hardly orient himself at all. The rain was relentless. The forest was dark. And both he and Taft were stumbling every few feet.
Nash had spent a lot of time in the last few years plunging into desperation, and though this assignment had shown him that perseverance was stronger and so much more important, he felt himself getting desperate again.
And he imagined the worst for Dale.
What if Ventress caught up with him before they did?
I had of him, he saw Taft pole slightly to the right. It’s seem to Gnash that this would bring them farther away from the slope of the hill and, and he cut his hand over to yell something out to Taft.
It was then that he saw it. Next line a rock face, up the side of the hill to his left.
He kept that hand over his mouth, yelled out to Taft.
“Taft! Look!“
Ahead of them, in a rock wall, was a small cave opening. There was the tiniest bit of light coming out of it.
“Let’s go!”
Neither one of them wasted a second. They both started up the hill.
But then there was a sound from behind them, and both of them instinctively stopped. Because the sound was on deniable. Instantly recognizable.
It was the cocking of a gun.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
“Come on now, sweetheart.”
She held the tin cup over his mouth over Dale’s mouth. His face was soaking wet from her attempts. This was the third cup, and he’d been fighting her off as doggedly as he could in his current state, using just enough energy to survive. He had very little energy left.
And he knew he might need it at any moment.
For one last burst of resistance.
A final stand.
“Open up,” she said and tried to pry his mouth open with her fingers. “Open… I’ve mixed this stronger than before. It’s not going to taste great, but I promise you, if you don’t drink this, you’re not going to like the alternative. Come on now. Open up.”
Finally she got a finger into the corner of Dale’s mouth and pulled it open. He stopped squirming. He was burning up too much of his energy in the depleted reserves he’d been carefully monitoring.
He left his mouth open.
“There you go.”
She poured the water into his mouth, smiling.
It collected, filling up like a coffee mug. The last drop plunked into the pool, and she put the cup beside the bed.
She smiled warmly. Maternally. Rubbed his shoulder.
Then he spit the water on her face.
She jumped back. Looked at him. Wiped a hand across her face. Pulled back to slap him. And stopped. Another warm smile.
“All right, then. No water. That’s fine. We’ll go with the alternative.”
She started to get up…
…and Dale suddenly swung his legs at her, wrapping them around her torso.
It was time to use that last bit of energy.
It was time for his final stand.
“Dale!”
She struggled, clawing at his thighs, while he worked them up her torso.
He got her neck between his thighs, crossed his ankles, and squeezed as tight as he possibly could.
She grabbed at his legs, trying desperately to pull them apart.
“Dale! Stop!”
She’d done her best to work him over. She’d gotten him mentally. She’d gotten him physically. She’d escalated to the pointed where she’d punctured him all the way up and down his right side.
But Dale was far from beaten.
There was still some life in him.
And he was going to defend it.
Dale wasn't an assassin. He wasn't that type of agent. But situations arose, he did what he needed to.
And in this case, he needed to snap Mira Lyndon’s neck.
How he was going to escape the cave afterward—he was chained to the wall, after all—was another story.
But he’d figure that out later.
First things first.
He yanked viciously. Over and over. Waiting for the crack.
With each twist of his legs, he gave himself a small pep talk. Each time, he just knew that her neck would break.
But it never did.
And with each thrust, Dale could feel that depleted energy slipping away. Each attempt was a little weaker than the last, even if he’d convinced himself otherwise.
He twisted his hips, readying for the thrust he was certain would kill her, and she slithered out between his legs. She rolled off the mattress onto the cave floor and kept rolling until a few feet away. Safely out of the reach of his legs.
She lay there, breathing deeply.
Then she stood up. She looked down at him for just a moment then went to the crack in the wall.
There was some rattling, and when she returned, she had a towel in her hand.
“You didn’t want to drink it. Let’s see if you’ll breathe it.”
She stepped toward him.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Nash raised his hands into the air, and he saw Taft do the same thing beside him.
Approaching out of the darkness, rain pouring down their bodies, were two armed figures. At first Nash assumed they were HSPD who had followed them from town, but as they drew closer he could that they were Ventress and Fulton. Each of them had guns drawn, two-handed grips. And those guns were leveled at Nash and Taft.
A sinking feeling came to Nash. Only moments earlier, he’d been worried about Dale’s safety, about whether Nash and Taft would beat Ventress and her team to Dale, whether they could stop her from elimin
ating him.
Now it was clear: she’d been following them.
Nash had led her right to Dale.
And now she was ready to take the next step.
“That’s far enough, Taft,” Ventress said. She motioned with her head toward the cave, not taking her eyes off Taft. “Conley’s in there. With the girl. Isn’t he?”
“Yes. But it’s not what you think.” Taft spoked loudly enough that he could be heard over the thunderous rain, but his tone was mediating and measured. Nash imagined this had come from years of field experience. “Let me show you something. I’m going to reach into my jacket pocket. Slowly.”
Taft carefully put his hand into his jacket, keeping his eyes on Ventress. He pulled out the letter—which was instantly drenched in the rain—and handed it toward her.
She and Fulton were a few feet away. She took a couple careful steps forward—gun stilll leveled on Taft—and took the note.
“Just read that,” Taft said.
Chapter Sixty
Mira stepped toward the bed, approaching from the top, wisely avoiding Dale’s legs this time.
She dropped to her knees and held up the towel.
Her face was blank. Not cold. Not slightly smiling. Not reluctant. Not concealing some emotion that was fighting to get out. Blank. A perfectly clean slate. She looked unnatural.
Dale wanted to do something. Anything. But he could hardly even move his head. He’d used every bit of the energy reserves he’d been storing on his leg attack. And now he was depleted.
But he could talk. There was still enough strength for that.
Dale could always be a smartass.
Even to the bitter end.
“I hear the afterlife is lovely this time of year.”
No reaction from Mira. The blank, emotionless look on her face didn’t change. She was robotic.
And in one swift, cold, robotic movement, she brought the towel down over Dale’s face, covering him but for his eyes and the top of his head. She clamped her hand over his mouth and nose and pressed down hard.