“Was being the operative word.”
Crap. He wasn’t in the best shape himself, and he wasn’t sure he could carry the girl and the guy. “Can you walk?” Paxton asked the boy.
He pointed to the blood-soaked bandages on his feet. “A few steps. No more.”
Great. Just great.
A loud pop, then a crashing boom, followed. Paxton raced to the door. The hallway, no the entire level was coming down. Hope Dahmer had fun with that. There was no way he could move the kids out in time. Paxton slammed the door shut, trying to keep the lethal smoke out as long as he could.
He turned to Frannie. “Grab the sheets off the furniture and start tying them together.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Just do it,” Paxton answered as he cross the room to a window. With his trusty flashlight he knocked out a glass. They were a full floor lower than the attic, but that was still a hell of a drop.
Frannie came up beside him. “Climbing down there is your official rescue plan?”
“Hey,” Paxton answered. “Work with me. I am improvising.”
The girl didn’t seem too impressed. However, he didn’t need her to be. He just needed her tying sheets together. Paxton grabbed one himself and knelt by the unconscious girl. He bound her hands together.
“What are you doing?” the boy asked.
“I’m going to have to carry her down, but I can’t risk her slipping from my grip.”
Momentarily the sight of Evan releasing his hold and plummeting to his death filled Paxton’s vision. They weren’t all going to end up like that. Not if he could help it.
“Frannie, how is our linen escape ladder coming?”
“I don’t know if I’m doing this right,” she answered, showing him a very loosely tied set of sheets.
Connor hobbled over to her, though, “No, Frannie. Tight. It’s got to hold all of our weight.” Frannie looked ready to cry again, though. Connor rushed on. “Think of it as the most bitchin’ rock climbing class ever.”
Frannie smiled faintly, but at least she smiled rather than descended into waterworks again. They were going to get wet enough as it was. Paxton lifted the unconscious girl up. She was a bit heavier than he had hoped. He placed her arms around his neck and scooped her up like a baby. After securing one end of the linen rope to the heaviest dresser in the room, Connor tossed a string of sheets out the window that Rapunzel would have been proud of.
“Okay, Frannie, you’re first.”
But the girl backed away. “No, I can’t be first.”
“You are the lightest,” Paxton tried to keep the annoyance and growing concern from his voice. Bright yellow leaked from under the door. The fire had reached them.
“Fine, then I’ll go,” Connor said as he hobbled to the window.
“Wrap the sheet around your arm to help stabilize you,” Paxton instructed.
The boy rapidly obeyed and slowly made his way down the steep rooftop.
Paxton’s plan was to let each of them get down individually. However, the doorknob started to glow. The hallway was superheating, and it was looking for its next meal to consume. Plus, breaking the window brought a whole new source of oxygen to the table. He bet the fire was hungry for that as well.
“Frannie, go on.”
“I can’t. I’m afraid of heights.”
Paxton was none too fond of them either after tonight, but he was more afraid of burning alive. That would probably be a bit TMI for Frannie, though.
“You’ve got to shove that aside. Otherwise, I’m going to have to leave you here.”
The door rattled on its hinges before bursting into flame.
“Okay, okay, okay,” Frannie chanted, as she climbed out the window with a renewed sense of purpose. She looped the sheet around her arm.
“Don’t look down, Frannie,” Paxton encouraged. “Just let gravity do the work.”
As the girl slid down way too fast, Paxton called out, “Not that much of the work.”
Finally she stopped herself, clinging to the sheet.
“Now that you are stabilized, I need you to keep going, Frannie.”
But the girl just hugged the sheet.
Paxton glanced behind him as the fire roared into the room. The flames tumbled over one another in a race to see which tasted him first. He could only hope that Connor had landed safety as Paxton climbed out the window with the unconscious girl in his arms. The sill was slick, and to make matters worse, he cut has hand on a piece of broken glass. There was no time to bind it.
“Frannie! Move!”
Whether it was the flames licking at the window frame or his tone, something inside Frannie got the picture, and she worked her way down.
“Faster!” Paxton urged, as he slung the limp girl’s form over his back. Her bound hands threatened to choke his trachea, but he needed both hands to climb. “Frannie, move it.”
“But you said to take it slow.”
Well, that was before the fire started burning through their lifeline.
“I lied. Now move!”
More skidding then climbing, they both descended as the sky lit up a brilliant orange. The fire laughed at them—crackling and exploding in delight. Paxton suddenly found it harder to keep his feet against the roof. He looked down to find Frannie hanging nearly vertical to the ground.
What in the hell was going on?
As the house gave a deep moan, Paxton feared he knew. This wing of the mansion was cracking off the rest of the house. If they didn’t hurry, they were going to have a dozen rooms of burning wood fall on top of them.
“Slide!” he yelled at Frannie.
“What?”
To hell with it! Paxton loosened his grip on the sheet and slid down the rope. His feet hit Frannie in the shoulders, forcing her down as well. She screamed as they plummeted to the ground.
At the last second Paxton yelled, “Grab hold! Slow your fall!”
Thank God that the sheets were nearly soaked through as they burned through his hand. He gripped tighter, slowing himself. Frannie, though, hit the ground harder than he liked, and sprawled on the ground.
Paxton landed with an uncomfortable thud. Quickly he swung the girl back around into his arm, giving his trachea a break. “Come on.”
Frannie moaned,“My foot.”
“Your foot?” Connor complained.
“Move it before the house hits us!”
He pointed up as he urged them out into the field. The teens’ faces blanched as the wing of the mansion listed overhead. Together they lurched, hobbled, and careened across the lawn.
With a scream nearly as high-pitched as a human, the house fractured and the walls came tumbling down … right at them.
* * *
Cecilia still couldn’t believe that the yacht left without them. But Jeremy had promised cover in the boathouse, so they hauled Michael down to the dock. Jeremy’s hand hovered over the knob.
Even though they were soaking and probably all catching pneumonia, Cecilia did not fault Jeremy for his caution. Had Evan made his way down here already? Could he have rigged the small boathouse?
“I think I’m going to check through the windows.”
“Good idea,” Cecilia agreed. The term “better to be safe than spiked,” had never more aptly been applied.
Jeremy made his way around the small building. “It looks clear …”
Michael leaned heavily against her as Jeremy rejoined them.
“We’re not going to survive out here,” Jeremy stated, as he wiggled his finger around in his ear.
He was right, but why was she so reluctant to open that door?
“I could use a chair,” Michael said as he coughed.
And maybe there were some dry material for bandages as well.
Cecilia gave the go-ahead. Jeremy tapped the doorknob as though it might strike out and bite him. Thankfully, it did not. Slightly braver, Jeremy laid his hand over the knob and turned it, then jumped back. It seemed that even her little brot
her could learn caution.
The door slowly creaked open, widening the entrance as Jeremy showed his light inside. Everything seemed in order for a small boathouse. There were oars and ropes and an abundance of sail material.
But of course, looks could be very deceiving.
* * *
Jeremy felt the trip wire brush up against his pant leg. With all his might he tried to reverse his course, but the damn thing snapped anyway. He threw himself backward as an object descended from the ceiling. No, not an object, but a body.
Screaming, he fell back as the body swung toward him, then snapped back as the rope around its neck broke its fall. Flat on his back, Jeremy stared up at the body. Only it didn’t have any skin. None. He could see every muscle. Every vein. Every tendon. He almost hurled as Cecilia helped him up.
“Who do you think it could be?” Cecilia asked.
Jeremy had no doubt that she feared it was another one of their friends.
“It’s Pancreas,” Michael commented.
“How do you know?”
Michael pointed to writing scrawled in blood on the inside of the door. “Take that, Pancreas!”
Jeremy gulped down his nausea. Evan definitely had a chip on his shoulder. Jeremy was just glad that he did not feel the brunt of it.
A scream from the fields spun them all around.
“What now?” Michael moaned.
It couldn’t be his ex-friend. Jeremy did not want to say the words and make them true. “The grand finale.”
“It can’t be,” Cecilia said. “Evan is dead. You said you saw him dead on the ground.” More forcefully, his sister stated, “We are safe.”
Jeremy put Michael’s arm around his shoulder and got him up and moving. “We are not safe until we are home, tucked in our beds.” He urged Cecilia toward the woods. “Even then, I am locking my door.”
But his sister didn’t budge. It was if denial physically held her in place.
“We’ve got to find cover,” Jeremy whispered, as the scream came again.
Finally, his sister was moving again. The big question—Was the island big enough to outrun Evan?
* * *
Diana Dahmer slipped again as shadows chased him.
“Help!” he screamed. Where was the cop? Why wasn’t he protecting him like he promised? The least the bastard could have done was give him a gun.
He looked over his shoulder and turned back only in time to see the sword arced from a tree and slice his neck. Clutching the wound, feeling his warm blood pulse out between his fingers, Dahmer sank to his knees.
Evan jumped down from the tree, slowly circling Dahmer as he bled to death.
“I saw you die,” Dahmer croaked out.
“Saw?” the teen sneered. “You were hiding, dude.”
“I heard—”
Evan ripped the front of his shirt and knocked his knuckles against something hard. “It is amazing what a vest and a little PCP can do for your stamina.”
This wasn’t happening. Where was his manager? Crap! Where was his dealer? And why did his stupid mother have to name him after a martyred saint? Dahmer tried to crawl away, but Evan leapt in front of him.
“Julian. Julian. Julian. Where do you think you are going?”
Evan grabbed Dahmer by the hair and jerked his head back, laying the sword against his neck. “You should really appreciate the irony here.” He slid the cold metal along Dahmer’s neck. “This blade is even duller than the one I picked out for you.”
Dahmer screamed as Evan began sawing.
* * *
Paxton used the sleeve of his wet coat to dampen out a flame on the unconscious girl’s back. Frannie, her skirt on fire, was rolling around, frantically trying to douse the flames. Connor had disappeared over a ridge, his right pant leg aflame.
Cinder and ash still rained down upon them. Their only saving grace was the steady, pouring rain that flooded most of the wreckage. Paxton made sure that Frannie was not on fire.
“Watch her,” he instructed as he headed off to find Connor.
“Wait!” Frannie yelled, grabbing him by the cuff. “Did you hear that?”
A faint scream rose above the howl of the wind.
“Stay here!” Paxton yelled, as he raced toward the woods.
Would this night never freaking end?
* * *
Cecilia plugged her ears with her fingers, but still she could hear the scream that pierced the night. Then, as abruptly as it had begun, it stopped. Nothing but the sound of heavy raindrops filled the air.
She clung to Michael as the moments dragged on.
Jeremy whispered, “We need to head deeper into the woods.”
“But … But shouldn’t we check …” Cecilia couldn’t even finish the sentence. What would they check on? Another dead body?
“No, we are heading in exactly the opposite direction of that sound,” Jeremy said.
Before she could agree, a figure crested the hill. There was no doubt who it was. Not with the bloody sword hanging from his hand.
“You should listen to your little brother, Cec,” Evan said. “He’s got almost as devious a mind as I do.”
Michael tried to step in front of Cecilia, but he nearly pitched forward. Cecilia drew him into her arms. Jeremy, however, took a step back.
“You don’t want to do this, Evan,” her brother pleaded. “I’m the only one who really knows you …”
Evan laughed. “And you think that matters to me? How, exactly?”
Jeremy’s eyes darted from Evan to Cecilia. “I am so sorry.”
Then her brother turned and ran. Full-out ran away.
“Jeremy!” she screamed, but all she saw was his back as he fled.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Evan chided. “Guess all the men in your life leave you, Cec. Too bad.”
“Not me, you sophomoric freak.”
Evan looked Michael up and down. “You don’t count. You can’t even stand up on your own, let alone run away. But, give you time....”
Cecilia felt light-headed, and not in the good way. Fear had overrun her. All the running and crying and trying to stay alive had sapped her soul.
Tears streamed down her face. “Just get this over with, will you?”
“Oh, not so fast, my dear,” Evan cooed, as he stepped closer. “I have a nice little cave picked out for you so that I can take the next three days to really enjoy myself.”
Cecilia knew that Evan meant each and every word. That if he got ahold of her, she too would become an unwilling martyr. She didn’t want to be mourned. She wanted to live. Michael tensed beside her. He too must have known that the end was near.
“Never!” he said, as he charged forward.
Evan easily evaded Michael’s unsteady attack and stabbed him through the belly. Michael stumbled back to Cecilia, the sword sticking through his side. “Okay, that really hurt.”
Was it the way Evan laughed, the warm blood on her hands, or God himself who gave Cecilia the strength to strike out? With all the fury she had bundled inside of her, at her mother, at even her father, Cecilia backhanded Evan.
The boy’s head snapped around as he went sprawling backward. She looked down on Evan, shaking, not believing what she had done.
“Take the sword,” Michael urged.
“I can’t!”
Michael grabbed her hands and put them around the hilt. “You can.”
As Evan rose, wiping the blood from the side of his mouth, Cecilia closed her eyes and pulled. The blade slid out from Michael’s body as if it were butter. Michael crumpled to the ground. Dear God, was he even still alive?
Evan tackled her from the side before she could check. Cecilia elbowed him in the side, but he grabbed for the sword. They rolled down the hill until they splashed into a gulley. Cecilia scrambled up, holding the sword with both hands as Evan taunted her.
“Cecilia, you know that you want your death to be a masterpiece.”
“You know what?” Cecilia said, digging her heel into
the dirt. “I am getting really tired of boys telling me what I want.”
Pushing off her back leg, she lunged forward as hard as she could. Evan tried to evade her, but he slipped in the puddle. He looked so surprised when the sword went straight into his belly. All the way to the hilt.
They stood there for a moment, nose to nose. Her fingers trembled on the handle, but Cecilia did not let go.
Then Evan smiled. “If I die, you die with me.”
He lashed out and latched his fingers around her neck. He squeezed until she couldn’t breathe. Choking, Cecilia shoved the sword in deeper but Evan just laughed, as if the pain delighted him. Cecilia let go of the sword and clawed at his hands, but they were like a vise. A crazed, high, demented vise.
The world pulsed before her. Then, like a shade being drawn, her vision blurred at the edges, until she could only see a pinpoint before her.
Evan whispered into her ear, “I always win, bitch.”
Then a shot rang out, and blood spattered from Evan’s forehead. His finger gripped tighter for a fleeting moment, then went slack. Cecilia shoved him off of her as she slumped to the ground.
As Cecilia wheezed in air, Michael crawled toward her, but Jeremy was the first one at her side.
“Cec!” he cried dropping to his knees. “Are you okay?”
All Hallow's Eve: The One Day It's BAD to Be Good Page 21