by Mike Cranny
“God, you’re lucky,” Pared said. “You should be dead.”
“I’m not.”
“Maybe I’ll keep you alive until Chad gets here. He’d like that.”
The idea that Archie had killed Reddin obviously hadn’t occurred to Pared, or any of the others. Archie thought it best to keep his mouth shut about it.
Pared motioned Archie towards the porch of the farmhouse with the barrel of the gun. As they neared the steps to the porch, the front door opened and Streya walked out. She smiled at him — mischief or cruelty in her eyes, he couldn’t tell. He realized how stupid he had been and knew that his own idiotic self-importance, the idea that she really did need him, had screwed him. Pared prodded him with the barrel of the H&K; Archie resisted. The next nudge hurt and he half turned, his hand raised.
“The gun’s got a hair trigger, Archie,” Pared waned. “I don’t want to kill you just yet. Plus I really would like to know how you got away from Chad.”
Archie shrugged and moved forward.
“He’s not with me; that’s all I can say.”
“I can see that, smart guy. Where is he?”
“Fuck off.”
Pared punched the gun barrel into the back of Archie’s skull. Archie swore again.
“Smarten up and get going,” Pared said. “You’ll save yourself a lot of grief.”
Archie looked towards Streya who was watching everything, her hands to her mouth, wide-eyed. He saw again the craziness in those eyes, her confusion obvious even from a couple of dozen feet away. She brushed back her unbound hair, came down off the porch and stood close to her siblings, the four lined up in front of their father’s house. They were very different in appearance, but the same somehow. Pared pushed Archie on and the siblings parted to let him pass. Then they followed him up the steps onto the porch and into the old house.
CHAPTER 43
John Robbie watched the farmhouse from the bushes where he had concealed himself. He studied the interaction between Archie Stevens and the others, he saw Pared come out of the house, and then Streya Wainright. He knew the trouble Archie was in but he couldn’t do anything about that; besides it did give him the diversion needed to get into the building.
He had spied out the basement door as he passed by the house. Now, he went to it quickly and silently, keeping to the shadows. He expertly picked the lock. He had decided that he was going to kill Emile Pared to make him pay for Nick and Bonnie. He even had a message memorized to whisper in Pared’s ear as he finished him off. After that, who knew, maybe he’d even get some of Brother Eli’s gold, not that he would have wagered much on his chances of getting out of the house alive once his job was done.
He entered a storage area and then crossed to a locked and sealed door. He saw evidence of soundproofing and wondered at it. To Robbie, no door was a barrier. He had it unlocked in fifteen seconds. He went into the room.
Patsy Kydd was in the center of the room tied with hands tied above her head, ready like a beef waiting to be butchered. Her surprise at seeing him was evident in her wide-eyed look of sudden hope. She grunted something through her gag. Robbie glanced at the walls. They were hung with plastic sheeting, the purpose of which was evident. It reminded Robbie of what he had heard and read about the activities of Foster, the serial killer, who had been caught fifteen years ago.
Hurriedly he cut Patsy down, helped her take the gag out of her mouth. He put his finger to his lips and shushed her before she could speak, said he had done all he could for her, whispered to her that she should leave immediately — if she knew what was good for her. He indicated the way he had just come. Keeping her voice low. she asked about Archie. Robbie told her what he had seen in front of the house moments before.
She looked worried. She stood a few seconds as if she were thinking about what to do. Then she rolled the stiffness out of her shoulders and massaged her wrists. She picked up a claw hammer from the tool bench and said, “Let’s go.”
Robbie shook his head emphatically. He pointed again to the door out said, “Get out now, for God’s sake. Pete Wilson and Walter George have a boat close by. You can signal them and get help.”
She hesitated. He thought that he had convinced her. He left her, went to the other door — the one that led upstairs and into the house. He unlocked it and opened it slowly, quietly. He didn’t look back, certain that Patsy would make the right choice and get out like a sensible person. But she didn’t do what he expected. Instead, she pushed past him, slid through the door he had just unlocked, and closed it behind her. Alone in the room, he rethought his options.
She had had the hammer ready in her hand and he knew that she was heading directly upstairs to try to rescue Archie. That was stupid. He swore under his breath. Now he would have to wait for a new opportunity. He found a place in a storage room where the joists were exposed, concealed himself and listened for sounds above his head. He heard people moving on the wood floors, deliberate, unhurried movements. He guessed Patsy was waiting, still hidden near the top of the stairs, undiscovered. She would make her move soon. At least, he thought, she could confuse things, do something that he could exploit, something that would help him get to Pared.
CHAPTER 44
The house seemed ordinary in every way. Not that Archie was paying much attention to the décor. He was handcuffed to a straight-backed chair and his complete attention was focussed on Streya who, when she spoke to him, seemed apologetic one minute and psychotically fixated on humiliating him the next.
Emile Pared concentrated on his sister. Sometimes, he stood close beside her, ran his fingers through her long, red hair and, when he did so, he whispered in her ear and she blushed. Lisa Wainright and Wes Means seemed interested only in Archie, openly discussing his grim, likely future. Archie, who was still trying to come to terms with what had transpired, had refused to respond to the siblings. He kept silent. He wondered what they were waiting for.
“You don’t have all night, Emile,” Lisa said.
Pared removed his hand from Streya’s hair and walked over to Archie. He knelt down and looked directly into Archie’s face.
“We do have all night, Detective, and more.”
“I’ll make you pay for this, Emile,” Archie said.
His words seemed hollow and desperate. Pared laughed coldly.
“Do you think I came here without help on the way?”
“I’m not stupid,” Pared said. “You came in a fishboat and you knew how to get here because Streya told you. Where is that boat now, sister?”
“It’s gone, Emile,” Streya said. “It’s gone — back to Harsley. It was so that Archie and I could be alone. I told them that that was what Archie wanted and they believed me.”
“You’re sure they believed you?”
“Of course they believed me. They know Archie loves me and would do anything in the world for me.”
“There you see — you have no hope, Detective.”
He rose and returned to talk to Means and Lisa, to discuss logistics.
Archie tried to figure Streya out. She could have told her brother everything, about John Robbie, about Walter and Pete, about his instructions to them, but it seemed that she hadn’t. She was lying to her brother. Maybe she hadn’t made up her mind yet about what to do. He caught her eyes and he could see the confusion there, that she was mostly controlled by her brother, but that there was a part of her that struggled against that control.
Pared said something under his breath about getting to work. He turned back to Archie who was now the focus of attention. At Pared’s word, Lisa produced a long, carved staff and handed it to her brother. He hefted it and then, without warning, he swung it hard across Archie’s shins. Archie stifled a cry of pain. He told himself that he had had worse in hockey games and that helped. Pretending you weren’t hurt when you were had been part of his youth. The difference was that — in sport at least — he could retaliate. Not here. Pared grinned.
“How’d you like that one,
Detective?”
Archie glared at him, but said nothing.
“I want you to tell me everything you know, from Donaldson on. Be a good boy and we’ll kill you quickly. We also want to know about Chad, about how you escaped from him.”
“Go away, Emile,” Archie said. “My advice is that you get out while you still can.”
Pared grunted, reversed the staff and then drove the metal-shod end into Archie’s midriff. Archie twisted, trying to dodge the main force of the thrust, but winced as the steel point raked his wounded rib cage. He could feel the blood oozing out of his wounds again. Streya saw the dark stain, stepped in between Archie and her brother, pushed Emile back.
“Leave him alone, brother,” she said. “You promised to let me decide what happens to him.”
Emile nodded, lowered the staff and took a step back. Streya knelt, put her hands on Archie’s hands and squeezed them gently. She looked over her shoulder at Emile.
“He’s bleeding, Emile. He can’t take much more.”
“I didn’t make him bleed and I didn’t promise not to punish him.”
Streya had a short conversation with herself; it was as if she was two distinct people, or had two distinct personalities. Then she started to sing one of her Finnish songs. If she intended to soothe Archie with the song, she failed. He knew she was close to madness — or already mad. Everything she did now made him more apprehensive. She bent down beside him, put her hands on his wounded side and gently lifted his torn shirt. She peeled back the bloody T-shirt and then slowly and carefully she unwrapped the bandage. Emile Pared moved closer to have a look.
“Those are bullet wounds.”
Lisa Wainright said, “Ask him how he got those, Emile.”
“You heard the question, Stevens.”
Archie laughed.
“Your brother shot me just before I killed him.”
Streya screamed; her features contorted bizarrely. She slapped Archie’s wound as hard as she could. Then she stood up and started to weep. Lisa moaned, a terrible sound that made Archie’s hair stand up on the back of his neck. She pushed Streya aside and attacked Archie, slapping at his face, swearing curses at him. Archie could do nothing to protect himself. Finally, Pared and Means pulled her off. Means took the staff from Pared, and took a swing at Archie with it.
Archie twisted in the chair and the head of the staff mostly missed, just glanced off his temple. Even so, the blow half-stunned him. He shook his head, tried to clear it. Pared moved in. He instructed Means to calm Lisa, said that they would find out about their brother later and that Archie was obviously lying. He told them to go to the cache and to start loading the gold and drugs. The two hesitated; Lisa had settled down but she was still incandescent with rage. Means and Pared had to guide her out.
When they had gone, Archie tried reasoning with Streya. He insisted that things had gone wrong, that Reddin was probably still alive. She seemed out of it, barely registering what he said to her. He promised he would help her if he could and tried to soothe her with soft words. He said he understood her and that he wanted help her. If he could make her think that he was on her side, then she might indeed help him. Otherwise, he had little hope he would live through the rest of the night.
But Streya stayed confused, like she couldn’t find her bearings. She ignored Archie. Pared returned. Streya asked her brother how it was possible that Chad could be dead since they were all immortal. Pared dismissed her questions.
“Didn’t you hear me, Streya? He’s not dead. You can’t believe Stevens. Chad will come like he promised. He hasn’t had a chance to call in, that’s all. We’ll load the gold, take it south, and he’ll meet us where we planned.”
She smiled, said, “I guess that’s right,” and then, “You still love me, don’t you?”
Pared winked at Archie.
“Nobody else — beautiful girl. It’s always been you and only you.”
“You wouldn’t keep any secrets from me, would you?”
“Never — I love you same as always, just like father wanted.”
Streya seemed happy with that. She turned, smiled at Archie. It was a triumphant smile like he was a lover who had jilted her but now she had someone better.
“I’ll be back for you, Archie,” Pared said.
Then he put his arm around his sister and led her out the back door. She looked back at Archie over her shoulder, and winked at him.
Archie, still handcuffed, looked around for a means of escape. At that moment, Patsy Kydd came through the door from the basement and entered the room. She saw him and hurried to him, reached and touched the wound on his head, saw his bloodied side and made a sympathetic sound.
“You’re a mess,” she said.
“You’re not exactly ready for downtown yourself.”
She shook her head at that, found her own handcuff key in the coin pocket of her jeans, and set him loose.
Archie stood, wobbled. Patsy put her arm around his waist to help support him while he recovered his balance. Neither heard Emile Pared re-enter the room or come up behind them. Archie sensed his presence but turned too late. Pared put the muzzle of his weapon to the back of Patsy’s head. He motioned Archie back with his other hand. Then, laughing, he grabbed Patsy by the hair and pulled her to him. He put his lips close to her ear.
“Here’s the deal — I’m going to kill Stevens and then you’re going back to the dungeon. We haven’t had our fun and games yet. Streya doesn’t know about you and me, about how I amuse myself.”
Patsy turned her head and spat at him. He laughed, grabbed her hair and pulled back her head.
“That’s okay, you know. I like it when you fight back.”
She kicked at his shins with her heel, fighting against his grip and the pistol still jammed behind her ear. He shuffled his feet, stumbled backwards over a turned carpet edge. Momentarily, he lost his grip on her and the pistol moved away. Archie saw his chance. Pared anticipated Archie and reacted. He hit Patsy hard with his fist and knocked her to the floor. Archie threw himself into Pared. Pared half-turned to avoid the worst of it and somehow kept his balance. He still had the Glock and he swung it at Archie like a club. Archie ducked, slipped and stumbled to his feet, too weak from loss of blood. Pared raised the Glock and fired.
Archie felt the hammer blow of the bullet and then his legs gave way beneath him. He tried in vain to get up. Pared switched his attention to Patsy, now getting to her feet. When she was standing, he motioned her to come to him.
“That Indian just keeps going and going, like the battery bunny.”
Then he laughed. Archie rolled over and got to his knees. Patsy moved quickly. She shielded him with her body, said, “Leave him alone.”
Pared’s expression changed, like he had a job to do, and didn’t have much time to do it.
“You have to be put back where you belong before she comes back.”
“She — you mean Streya?”
Then Patsy figured it out.
“Streya’s jealous, isn’t that right? You want to avoid that — what has been going on here?”
Pared shrugged. He paused, as if in thought. Archie, watching, tried to rally his remaining strength.
“Too bad. I wanted to have fun with you, Patsy. Now, I think it’s better I look elsewhere.”
He crossed the few feet of floor and put the muzzle of the Glock in the center of her chest. She froze. He pushed her back towards a couch. He nodded, a little smile on his lips, said, “Of course, she’s jealous. Why wouldn’t she be? We’re bonded, blessed by the Prophet.”
He put his hand to her cheek and stroked it. Patsy recoiled from his hand. Pared swore at her, jammed the pistol hard into her chest. He brought his face close up to hers, his breath in her nostrils.
“But she doesn’t understand that I need lots of women. I deserve them. I use them, like I was going to use you. It doesn’t mean anything. I let Streya be when she wanted to be with Stevens, didn’t I? That was fair.”
An
d then he was gone from in front of her. Archie grabbed him by the back of the shirt and yanked him back. He had the staff that Pared had used to thrash his shins and he used it as a prop. He felt superhuman, knew that was adrenalin and that he had better do what he had to do quickly. He had no feeling in his wounded leg at all. He had Pared off balance and he spun him around, hoping that he could get his hands on the Glock. But Pared kept his gun arm safe. He twisted out of Archie’s grasp, hit the floor and rolled away. Archie’s wounded leg cramped up on him and he stumbled. He tried to work it, to loosen the muscle. Before he could move forward, Pared had him covered once again.
“Boy, you are something else, Detective,” he said. “You’ve been shot at least three times and you’re still fighting. I admire that. I’m still going to kill you and cut your head off but I admire your spirit.”
And then Archie saw that Streya standing in the shadowed hallway and knew she had watched everything. Pared caught his look, turned his head to look; he saw her too. A look of worry or guilt crossed his face, as with a small boy caught lying. But she smiled at Pared as if nothing was wrong; she walked across the room, took her place by his side. She touched his face, so tenderly. Pared, smiling now, brushed her hair with his hand. She took the hand and used it to lead herself around, like a dancer so that she faced him. Suddenly and without warning, she slapped his face hard and shouted at him in Finn. Archie saw that she had a small nickel-plated automatic in her left hand. He recognized the gun; she had showed it to him once and told him it had been a gift from a brother. She raised it, pointed it at Pared and told him to drop the Glock.
Pared’s eyes registered surprise, then hurt, then worry, then cunning.
He shrugged.
“Okay, baby. Whatever you say.”