“What’s your motivation?” I asked, thinking maybe I could stall long enough to come up with a plan if I got him talking. “Why are you like this? Why did you take MacPherson’s job?”
“Do you want me to tell you some tortured history to justify my crimes?” he replied with a snort. “What can I say? I’m good at one thing and one thing only. Got to pay the bills somehow.”
Kingston hopped down one of the steps leading up to the tower, the movement casual and easy, almost cavalier. He swung the gun but didn’t point it at us. Fletcher and I tensed, and I kept aim at him.
“How about we just do this thing?” Kingston suggested. His words were light and pleasant, but I could see the violence coiled under his skin, trapped within his muscles by the thin veneer of social nicety that he wore, just waiting to be set free. “Rather than talking our arses off out here in the rain. Why don’t we just see what happens?”
I definitely didn’t want to ‘just see what happens,’ as he put it, but it didn’t seem like we had a choice in the matter. Kingston jumped down another step, then the third, placing the three of us on the same level, his feet shoulder-width apart, light on his toes, ready to counter whatever we could throw at him.
“It’s a shame you lot can’t carry guns, you know,” he said. “More of a shame on me that you got one of mine, though.”
I waited for him to make the first move, my stomach so tight it hurt as my heart thundered in my ears, loud enough that I almost couldn’t make out his words.
“You could put yours down then,” I suggested, and he laughed, sounding genuinely amused.
“That’s cute,” he said, and halfway through his next laugh, the gun snapped up in one smooth motion, his expression never changing.
Startled, it took me a moment to realize what was happening, but I recovered quickly, and Fletcher and I dove in opposite directions. The gun went off while I was in the air, and then I hit the ground and rolled, staying low as I darted towards the stone wall that I’d clocked as possible cover when Kingston had first appeared. It seemed further away than I’d first thought, but maybe time had simply slowed around me.
Another gunshot shattered the night. I didn’t get a good look at his new weapon, so I had no idea how many rounds he had in the magazine. I dropped to my knees and slid the rest of the way to the short wall, the slick grass helping me along. I breathed heavily as I fumbled with my phone, trying to turn off the torch so I wasn’t lighting up my position. I was plunged into a darkness that was nearly complete but for the slip of moon that had finally made it through the clouds.
Rain splattered against my face, cool and bracing, and I peered over the top of the stone to try to spot Kingston. Fletcher was nowhere to be seen, but Kingston was a dark smudge sauntering down the path, gun not even held at the ready, enjoying this. My hands shook, but I braced them against the stone and slipped, sending small rocks tumbling loudly to the ground.
Kingston’s head jerked around to lock onto my position. I ducked back behind the wall, expecting stone chips to explode into the air in the next second, but there was no sharp retort, no whine of a bullet. Cautiously, I poked my head up again, but Kingston was gone, lost somewhere amid the barely visible stone walls.
Shit.
It was too much to hope that he would simply take this chance to sneak away and disappear. He saw this as a game now, a contest that he had to win, especially if he wanted to be sure that we wouldn’t hunt him down again. But more than that, he craved victory, craved it like some people craved a cigarette or the prick of a needle.
I crouched down and took several deep breaths to try and calm my racing heart so I could listen to my surroundings, maybe glean where Kingston had gone. Luckily, he was as blind as we were, though he was no doubt more skilled in this kind of situation than us. The rain made no noise as it landed, but I could hear the wind sifting through the cracks and crevices in the stone. It sounded an awful lot like breathing, and I snapped my eyes open, convinced that Kingston was mere inches away from me, ready to strike. But I was all alone. That didn’t help the nerves crawling up and down my body.
I pulled out my phone and hid it within the confines of my jacket so I could text Fletcher, “Where are you?” She was one of those people who always kept her phone on silent, so the sound wouldn’t give her away, but I could only hope that she would feel it buzz and would think to check if it was me. I didn’t have high hopes. If it were me, I probably wouldn’t.
I had two options as I saw it. I could either sit here and wait for Kingston to come to me, or I could go on the offensive. Both options set my heart to racing, but I figured it would be better to turn that energy into motion. Maybe Kingston wouldn’t expect me to start hunting him down. Maybe I was about to make myself horribly vulnerable.
I crept out from behind the low wall at the opposite end from where I’d started, sticking close to the castle’s outer wall and the deeper shadows there. The moon provided some illumination, but I could still barely see my hand in front of my face, and I had to move slowly, feeling out each step to make sure I was about to trip or make some other noise and give myself away. My ears hurt, I was listening so hard, trying to distinguish wind from breath, heartbeat from footfall. The rain was slowly picking up, making things even harder, though its patter would also hide any mistakes I made.
I reached the side of the tower. Bee was probably inside, but I would only put her in more danger if I went to check on her without dealing with Kingston, so I crouched by the corner below the steps, trying to decide on a trajectory. It was mostly open ground between here and the roofless enclosure that was the other main part of the castle. That was most likely where Kingston would be, and maybe Fletcher, too. I couldn’t make the structure out. I thought it was maybe that blob of deeper shadow, that gleam of moonlight off a corner of stone, but I couldn’t be sure if that was just my mind playing tricks on me.
I started towards it anyway. If I remembered the castle’s layout correctly, the open-air enclosure was straight across from the main tower. I would walk in a line and hope I didn’t spot anyone or anything.
I caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye. It was barely a flicker, possibly not even there at all, but I froze, keyed up, hoping that my stillness and the darkness would hide me. I watched the blank space, searching for another sign, but the night had gone blank again. I heard the scuff of a shoe against the path, and I slowly eased myself into a crouch to lower my profile and my chances of being spotted. It might be Fletcher. Maybe she was doing the same thing I was, going on the prowl, but my gut said it wasn’t.
The hair on the back of my neck prickled. I stepped forward and twisted out of the way and heard a grunt as Kingston overextended and staggered forward. He crashed into me, and we went down, but I somehow got my feet between us and pushed him off, hamstrings shrieking in protest. We clambered up right at the same time, and I heard Kingston start to move, planning to disappear into the dark again to try another sneak attack, but I got my phone out and clicked the torch on, catching him in the beam as I chased him. I was sure Fletcher would see the glow and come running.
Kingston sprinted for the roofless enclosure, planted one foot on a stone protruding out of the wall, and flung himself up and over. Despite my temptation to fire, I didn’t want to waste a bullet I knew would miss. I had to cut ten steps to the right to duck through the low doorway, certain that I wouldn’t be able to mimic that move. Thankfully, my little detour hadn’t given Kingston time to disappear again. He’d landed poorly and fallen, unable to turn it into a somersault since there was a short railing right in front of him.
My torchlight caught him, and he looked up at me in reflex, dazzling himself. He cursed, snapped up a hand to block out the light, and took off away from me diagonally. I was still moving, maintaining my momentum whereas he had to build his back up again, so I was able to gain ground, arms and legs pumping, my torch bobbing erratically through the night.
Kingston was headed
for a wall that had to be too high for even him to scale quickly. There was nowhere for him to go, so I smelled a trick or a trap and decided to make the first move. Still intent on taking him alive, I used this one chance before he could draw his pistol again. I jumped and tackled Kingston around the waist, smacking my head on his ribs, and we fell, his fist hammering at my back.
The ground gave way beneath us when we landed, and we were still falling, air whistling past my ears. “Callum!” I heard Fletcher yell. A second later, we hit stone and bounced off each other, my limbs a tangle, the phone flying from my hand. I tumbled to the side, caught by an incline, and came to a rough and painful halt against a slope.
It took me two tries to get my hands under me, but I pushed myself upright, using the wall for support. My phone lay a metre away, the torch pointed up towards the ceiling, and a second, paler glow of moonlight streamed in through the hole we’d fallen down. I stood in some kind of tunnel. It was clearly manmade. The walls were rough, but the floor was inlaid with stone, and though it was quickly swallowed up by darkness, I got the sense that it stretched on for a very long time.
What the hell?
I staggered over to my phone and scooped it up, sweeping it around the tunnel and over the mouth of a blackened crossroad as I turned in a circle, searching for Kingston, but the man was like a bloody ghost, gone again.
Then there was a puff of breath against my ear, warm and moist compared to the chill night air. “Boo,” a gleeful voice whispered, and then there was an arm around my neck, tightening like a vice and cutting off my breath, the buttons of the jacket digging painfully into my skin. My hand snapped up to the arm, fingers scrabbling to find purchase against the damp fabric.
Kingston’s grip tightened and then tightened some more, his fingers clasped beside my ear, and I was terrified he was going to snap my neck. He huffed out a laugh, breath tickling my hair, and coloured spots began to dance before my eyes as my lungs ached and begged for air, and my throat felt like it was being crushed.
It was hard to think, hard to even keep my fingers on Kingston’s arm, and I began to panic which only burned through my oxygen faster as my heart raced and pounded in my head.
In a desperate bid, I drove the heel of my trainer into Kingston’s leatherbound ankle at the same time that I bucked my entire torso forward as hard as I could, fingers clenched around Kingston’s arm. I heard him grunt, and that pleased me. His arm dug deeper into my neck for a second before the angle changed, and I caught a single breath of sweet, beautiful air. Kingston’s weight was heavy across my back, so I tipped us forward even more, praying that I wasn’t about to break my neck as we tumbled into an awkward roll. Kingston hit first, his breath a surprised explosion across my head, and I landed on top of him, smacking the back of my head on the ground and craning my neck painfully, though the bulk of Kingston’s shoulder saved me from serious injury.
Kingston’s grip on my neck was broken, and I gasped gratefully, stunned. I rolled off Kingston in a tangle of limbs while he flailed a hand at my back, trying to snag my jacket and drag me back, but I tore myself free and flopped across the ground. I got my hands and knees under me and pushed myself up and back onto my heels. My phone had fallen away again, as the pistol I had taken from Kingston, the light from the torch illuminating the killer from behind as he rose into a crouch, trying to recover from the fall.
I had barely pulled myself together, but I pushed that slight advantage and drove off my knees to attempt to tackle Kingston. His hold-out was tucked in his belt, unsecured by a holster, and I reached for it as my other hand hit his shoulder and pushed. I got my fingers around the butt of the pistol, but I didn’t have a good enough angle to really do anything with it but fling it aside.
Kingston caught himself before I could shove him all the way to the ground, and his fist cracked into my jaw, sending stars shooting across my eyes, and I fell back, reeling. My head bounced off the ground, and for some reason, I was hyper-aware of the loose pebble pressed into the back of my neck, its rounded edges somehow razor sharp.
Kingston planted his knees on either side of my ribs, and he got his hands around my neck, knocking my defence away with his elbows, and he began to squeeze. I clawed at his skin, digging my nails in deep, gouging red lines into his hands, but it didn’t faze him. If anything, it made him squeeze harder. My head throbbed and pulsed and pounded, and I wanted to scream but couldn’t, my throat completely cut off. The dark tunnel turned colourful, a kaleidoscope of sparkling patterns whirling across my vision, but one by one, the spots began to disappear, swallowed by the black. My thoughts grew fuzzy and indistinct, hard to hold onto, slipping away like leaves carried by the current. My hands went limp, drifting away from the claws around my neck.
Then I heard a thump and a grunt of pain, and Kingston’s fingers were torn away from my throat, leaving long, burning lines across my skin as his fingernails dug into the soft flesh. His weight lifted off me and disappeared, and I was vaguely aware of him hitting the ground beside me. I took in a deep, horribly painful but delightfully fresh breath of air, my lungs, my throat screaming in protest.
I rolled over, braced myself on trembling elbows, and coughed, the sound raspy as the air scraped over my battered airway. My head wobbled, though I couldn’t quite tell if it was a physical bobble or something inside my mind. I could hear the sounds of a scuffle off to my left, but it was barely audible over the roar of my heart. I needed to focus, needed to help Fletcher before Kingston hurt her or worse, but I couldn’t get my thoughts in order.
I gave myself to the count of three, each one a breath that was longer and more stable than the last, and then I pushed myself to my knees and looked around. Fletcher and Kingston were on their feet, trading blows, Fletcher’s martial arts training barely keeping her afloat against Kingston’s combat skills.
She snapped her leg impossibly high towards Kingston’s head, and he ducked under the blow. She spun with the momentum of the kick, keeping control of her balance until Kingston stepped in and kicked out her knee. She yelped as her leg buckled, and she fell, landing awkwardly on the other ankle as she brought it down too fast. She crumpled to the ground with another cry of pain, and Kingston held her there with a hand on her shoulder. He drew a knife from under his jacket, and the blade glinted in the gentle moonlight coming down through the hole in the ceiling, slick and sharp like a devil’s smile.
I staggered upright, shoving to my feet as if there was a weight laden barbell across my shoulders. I picked up Kingston’s gun, and though my vision swam, I raised it to shoulder height, pointed right at his back. My throat was too tight and painful to even speak, so I couldn’t give him a warning or demand that he drop the knife. It was probably better that way. He wouldn’t listen to me anyway, and Fletcher didn’t have the time.
So I pulled the trigger. It seemed that the gun should have bucked harder in my hand, but it hardly jerked at all as light roared briefly from the barrel, blinding me. At this distance, I couldn’t miss. Kingston stiffened, the knife slipping from his hand to impale the ground all the way up to the hilt, slipped right into the seams between the stone like they were ribs. He turned slowly, hand lifting to gently touch the middle of his chest. He stared at me, eyes silver in the moonlight. He smirked, still amused, even now.
“I guess I was wrong about you,” he said, a wet bubble breaking up his voice.
I still had the gun raised. Though it was a lead weight in my hand, I couldn’t lower it, elbow locked in place. I didn’t have any words for Kingston, though in a film, this would have been the perfect moment for a witty one-liner. But I was more focused on the cold metal of the gun against my skin and the wisp of smoke floating off the barrel.
Kingston’s smirk never died even as he tipped forward onto his knees, the impact a dull thud against the stone. Blood glistened on his fingers as his hand dropped to his side, and even in the darkness, I could tell that the front of his shirt was wet. Then he pitched forward the rest of the way and f
ell face first into the ground, bouncing once before falling still. Dust, disturbed by the fight, continued to dance and glitter in the light of my phone. I kept the gun on him. I knew he had to be dead, but I still didn’t trust him, didn’t fully believe that that man could even be killed.
I took two quick steps forward and nudged his shoulder with my shoe, expecting him to leap up, seize my ankle, maybe drive that silver knife into my leg. It didn’t matter that the blade was still stuck into the ground behind him, too far away for him to reach. Knowing him, he had another one. But Kingston didn’t move, didn’t budge but for the inch that my trainer pushed him.
He was dead.
And I had killed him.
Eighteen
I retrieved my phone but made sure its torch didn’t shine on Kingston’s prone form, hobbling over to Fletcher where she’d fallen from her knees into a sitting position, a hand cupping the ankle she’d rolled. “Okay?” I asked, barely able to bring my voice above a whisper. Even those two syllables burned my throat.
“My ankle,” she said. “I landed on it all wrong.”
“Can you stand?” I held out a hand to her, but I still had the gun clutched in it. I hadn’t realized that I was still holding it. I dropped it, glad to have it out of sight, and Fletcher slapped her hand into mine so I could help haul her to her feet. She couldn’t put much weight on her ankle without her whole face contorting with pain, so I slung her arm over my shoulder and let her lean on me.
“What is this?” she asked, gazing around the tunnel.
“I have no idea.” If I had my sense of direction right, the tunnel Kingston had hidden down before attacking me led towards the lake, the ground sloping sharply before it disappeared into the darkness beyond my light. The air felt distinctly colder there, a breath of wind running its fingers along my cheeks. “Hello?” I called, and my voice echoed for a long time before it finally died away.
The Hidden Eye Page 28