When Ken reentered the living room, he spotted Robby and Chrissie whispering together on the couch. Hannah leaned against the front door with her arms crossed. She glanced in Ken’s direction and said, “None of us heard a gunshot. You didn’t shoot Glinski, did you?”
Robby and Chrissie turned to face Ken with wide-eyed, expectant looks.
Ken pocketed his revolver and approached Hannah, the hardwood floor squeaking under his weight. “Here’s the more urgent question. Is there anything else you know about the gun? Anything?”
“No.” She hesitated before shaking her head. “Nothing.”
“I teach for a living,” he said, pacing back and forth as if in class. “I know when my students are hiding things from me.”
“I’m not your student.”
“Yes, but I know you’re lying.”
“I already told you everything. Try recalibrating your bullshit detector.”
Ken gritted his teeth. The nerve of her. Not only was she mouthing off like an unruly student, but she was hiding info he desperately needed. If she wouldn’t give him answers, he’d force them out.
He leveled the gun at her forehead.
“Whoa.” She leaned back, blinking rapidly. “Please don’t.”
“Where’s the rest of that note from your sister’s wallet?”
“I don’t know,” Hannah said. “I told you, we found it ripped like that.”
“Then how’d you know where to find the buyer?”
“I…Michelle found him. I don’t know how, but she did.” Hannah swallowed hard. Her shoulders bounced with each shuddering breath. “Please. Put the gun down. Thought we had a deal.”
“The deal was you would help me.”
“That’s what I’m doing.”
“Tell me the buyer’s name and address.”
“I don’t remember,” she said, her back pressing against the door. “It’s written down at my apartment in LA, I swear.”
“Bullshit,” Robby said, rising from the couch. “Tell us.” He glared and rushed toward her.
She shook her head. “I legit don’t remember.”
“Here, let me jog your memory.” Robby seized her throat and slammed her head against the door.
“Ow!” She kicked Robby’s shin. “Asshole!”
Robby groaned and rubbed the insulted bone.
“Hey, don’t hit my boyfriend,” Chrissie yelled from the couch.
“Everybody, shut up,” Ken said. Straining, he tucked the gunhand in his pocket. His mind juggled images of blasting Hannah, Chrissie, and Robby, but he closed his eyes and breathed deep, trying to suppress the urges. When he exhaled, he didn’t feel any better. “Hannah, look at me.”
She glanced up, her neck again in Robby’s grasp.
“I’m losing control,” Ken said.
“Told you,” she said. “You’re lucky you lasted this long.”
“Goddammit, Ken,” Robby said. “Why didn’t you shoot Glinski?”
Ken ignored him and leaned closer to Hannah. “That note from earlier… What did the ripped-off portion say?”
“Yeah, quit holding out, you twat,” Chrissie said. “Spill it before he kills you.”
Hannah gleamed with sweat. Stank of it too. Her face muscles flexed with strain as she tried to dislodge Robby’s hand. Her mortified expression resembled that of a student who’d failed her way into summer school. Normally it pained Ken to see that look, but now it enraged him. He wanted that look gone. He wanted answers so they could all pass this nightmare exam with an A+.
She swallowed hard. “Already told you everything.”
He clenched his teeth. The barrel wanted her, and his finger wanted the trigger. He reached across his body, clutching his forearm, wrestling to keep the gun inside his pocket.
“What did the note say?” he asked.
“No idea.”
“Tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“Hannah, I’m at the breaking point. What happened to your sister is happening to me. I can’t hang on. Either tell me what you know, or you’ll never get the chance to.” Tears stung his eyelids. He gripped his forearm tighter. “Please. I don’t want to kill anyone. Not even you.”
Wincing, she said, “I know you don’t.”
“Then help me.”
“I can’t. Please, kill somebody else.”
“You’re not listening!” he snapped, leaning in till they were nose to nose. “I said I don’t want to kill anyone!”
But the moment he said it, he knew it wasn’t true.
This time when his finger brushed the trigger, he didn’t hesitate.
Chapter 27
The moment Ken pulled the trigger, he felt relief. A smooth coolness flooded his brain and spilled through the rest of his body. He enjoyed it for a split instant before registering the heat of the blast, the punch of the recoil, and the ear-pounding bang reverberating through the house.
After the noise faded, he heard Hannah wailing.
Holy shit, I shot her.
Ken backed away from her and realized Robby now had both hands fixed around her throat. Robby looked petrified, but what looked even worse was the side of Hannah’s gray t-shirt, now soggy and dark. The stain spread downward, and her screams devolved into a series of agonized moans, each weaker than the last.
“Robby, let go of her!”
But Robby remained awestruck.
Ken swiveled his head, looking for something to stop the bleeding. On the couch, Chrissie clutched a pillow to her chest, her eyes and mouth wide with terror. He ripped the pillow from her hands and rushed to Hannah. Before he pressed it against her wound, he paused.
A dark realization seized his mind. He could try saving her life, yes, but at this point was it worth it? Someone had to die, and the damage was already done. Besides, part of him wanted to shoot her again.
Do it. Finish this.
He ignored the temptation and jammed the pillow into her side.
Hannah wailed. Her head thrashed sideways, smearing her hair against the door. Robby finally let go when Ken wedged himself between them. He held Hannah in a clumsy embrace as he guided her knees to the floor. The urge to shoot flooded him, but he slid his arm around Hannah’s back to keep from targeting her.
“Help me stop the bleeding!” he yelled. “We gotta patch her wound.”
“Fuck that!” Chrissie said. “Better her than me.”
“It’s over, man,” Robby said. “She’s done.”
“Hang on, Hannah,” Ken said as her chin fell to his shoulder. “You’ll be okay.”
“Floor,” she whispered.
“Floor?” he asked. “You want to lie down?”
“Floor mat.”
“Floor mat?” There were no floor mats nearby. “Hannah, what’re you saying?”
“The note.” Her free hand pushed at Ken’s chest with all the energy of a drooping sunflower. “In my…van. Under the…floor mat.”
She tumbled forward, her weight spilling against him. Ken had to reset his blood-slick knees to keep her upright. In the process, he lost the pressure on her wound.
“Robby, I’m losing my grip.”
“What do you expect me to do?”
“Help me out!” Warm blood poured across his thigh. He looked for somewhere to set her down, but floorspace was limited and she was already shivering. Last thing he wanted was to set her on a chilly floor. “Robby, grab one of Mom’s quilts and spread it across the kitchen floor.”
“Man, she’s not gonna make it.”
“She will if you listen to me.”
“It’s over, Ken. Besides, you heard what she said about the floor mat. That’s the info we needed.”
“Get the quilt.” Ken twisted around and poked the gun at his brother. “Now, Rob! After all the times I’ve helped you, you owe me.”
“Fine, whatever!”
“Chrissie,” Ken snapped, “get over here and help me move Hannah—now!”
In the kitchen they shooed Hopp
er away and set Hannah on the quilt beside the dinner table. Ken then grabbed a clump of paper towels and pressed it hard against Hannah’s wound.
The pressure shocked her back to life. She blinked rapidly.
Ken asked Robby for more paper towels and some duct tape. He crafted a makeshift bandage and taped it tight around her belly. Though he had once worked at a hospital, he’d never learned much about gunshot wounds. All he knew was the obvious—stop the bleeding and call an ambulance. After wiping his bloody hand on the quilt, he pulled Hannah’s phone from her pocket.
“You’re calling for help?” Robby said. “That’s insane. You’ll have to explain the gun, Dad’s body, everything.”
Ken hated to admit it, but his brother was right. If the EMTs showed up, Hannah might be saved, but everyone would face life-destroying legal trouble.
Still, he refused to let her die. He probably should’ve—especially after the role she played in Dad’s murder—but Hannah was different from her sister. The fact that she could’ve killed Ken this morning but didn’t—that convinced him. And since she spared his life, he needed to return the favor.
Ken took her hand and guided it to the bandage. “Hannah, keep pressure on it.” He pushed down and she moaned. “I know it hurts, but you need to hang on for about thirty minutes.”
“Thirty minutes?” Robby said. “What, we dropping her off at the ER?”
“No,” Ken said, “we’re bringing the ER to her.”
Chapter 28
They reached Glinski’s house at two minutes to midnight. The ride over had been hell. Ken had endured homicidal cravings as well as the complaints of Robby and Chrissie, who insisted on letting Hannah bleed out. What swayed them was the revolver. The lethal threat not only quieted them but convinced them to pay close attention as he’d explained the plan to kidnap Glinski. Now it was time to act.
“Pull your hoods up,” Ken said, his heart slamming. “Gotta do this quick.”
They left the engine running and dashed across the front lawn. The moment they reached the porch, Chrissie played dead under the camera’s sightline. Robby squatted over her, pretending to pump her chest while Ken thumbed the doorbell repeatedly.
The ringing echoed inside. Ken checked the nearby windows, hoping for a flicker of light. Each second he didn’t see one, a dark weight sank within his chest. He worried about Hannah. When they left her behind, her face had been pale and sweaty, and she barely had enough strength to keep pressure on her wound. She might die any moment now. If she did, would his fever go away? Would the nasty thoughts subside? Honestly, he didn’t want to find out.
Behind him Robby continued to pretend to perform CPR on Chrissie. She complained about him being too rough, and every gripe made Ken more eager to go postal.
Before his rage could escalate, he grabbed his forearm and dug his nails into the flesh above his wrist. The sharp pain distracted him. He applied more pressure until, finally, lights flashed inside the house.
“Glinski’s coming. Get ready.”
Through the stained-glass border along the door, he spotted a robed figure sauntering downstairs. In her hand was a phone that cast light across her face. Her expression was confused. Though he couldn’t see her screen, he guessed she was eyeing the camera feed.
The front door opened slightly before catching on a chain lock. She peeked through the gap. “Who’re you?”
“My buddy’s girl OD’d,” Ken said. “Can you help us?”
“If she overdosed, rush her to the ER. They’ll take her, no questions asked.”
He stuck the gun in her face.
“Oh, God!” Glinski jumped. Her phone struck the hardwood floor.
He slid his foot through the gap. “Unlock the chain.”
With shaky arms, she reached for it. A scraping sounded as it extended in length. “I can’t unlock it without shutting the door. You have to move your foot.”
Instead, he slammed the revolver through the stained-glass panel along the door. She shrieked as shards pattered the floor. Jagged bits nipped the back of his hand, but he set his jaw and ordered her to unlock the chain. The moment he slid his foot away, the door closed. He heard a metallic scrape, followed by a satisfying pop. The door creaked open.
Ken shoved it aside and aimed for her chest. “Step outside.”
Panting, she shook her head. Her robe fluttered as she backed away, into the brightly lit foyer. Nearby was the sweeping staircase she had descended moments ago. She shifted toward it, but Ken dashed inside, blocking her escape.
“I said step outside.” He gestured toward the porch. “Move it.”
Instead she backed farther into the foyer. Her hip struck a French cabinet, sending an adorning crystal lamp into a wobble. She grabbed the lamp and swung it in front of her. The thing was still plugged in, and the cord cut short her swing. She whimpered as she tried ripping it free of the wall.
“Please go away,” she whispered.
“Put the lamp down and step outside. Not telling you again.”
“Be reasonable,” she said. “If you shoot me, I can’t help your buddy’s girl.”
“Who said she needed help?” Robby said, storming inside.
Chrissie ran in after him. “Yeah, Dr. Bitch. Don’t I look fine to you?”
Glinski gawked as the three of them surrounded her.
“Drop that fucking lamp,” Robby said. “It’s time you paid for what you did to Ellen Fujima.”
“Who?” Glinski’s mouth widened with terror. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Her bullshit denial drove Ken’s finger to the trigger. He was losing patience. It became harder to restrain himself, especially when he envisioned her forehead covered in juicy entry wounds. He felt himself teetering. If he spared her, he could save Hannah. But if he executed Glinski, both she and Hannah would die, and he’d only have three rounds left. The temptation shook the tightrope beneath his trembling mind.
Robby lunged for the lampshade.
Glinski hopped away but tripped, landing on her side with a hard double thud. Before she could push herself up, Robby ripped the lamp from her grasp and slammed it against the hardwood floor. The crystal base shattered.
“H-e-l-l-p-p!” Glinski screamed.
A thumping sounded along the staircase. For a moment Ken worried someone might be home with her. Then a fearsome bark cracked the air. Her rottweiler leaped onto the floor. It snarled as it reset its feet and made a beeline for him.
Ken aimed at the floor and fired twice.
Reports thundered through the high-ceilinged foyer.
The shots sent the rottweiler retreating upstairs.
Glinski, meanwhile, shuffled backward on her elbows. Her robe came apart, revealing a nightgown with a wet stain down the front. She frantically crawled toward the rear room, but Robby held her by the shoulders and pinned her to the hardwood. His face burned red with vengeance.
“Move her to the trunk,” Ken said. “We gotta hurry.”
Instead Robby barred his forearm across her throat.
“I said move her!” Ken snapped, steadying the gun. Hideous thoughts flashed in, surrounding his moral high ground like rising lava. “Now—I’m losing it again.”
But Robby wasn’t listening. He growled in her face. His free hand grabbed a dagger-like shard from the floor.
“No, Rob—what’re you doing?”
As Ken reached for his brother, something yanked him backward. He turned and saw Chrissie squeezing a fistful of his jacket. Before he could shake free, she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him from behind like a monkey.
“Get off me!” Ken slammed his elbow against her side. After a couple clumsy hits, her grip loosened. He twisted free in time to see Robby clutching Glinski in a headlock. With a trembling hand, Robby angled the shard toward her neck.
“Your call, Ken,” Robby said. The jagged crystal gleamed in the light from the chandelier. “Either you ice this bitch or I do.”
“Help!” Gl
inski shrieked.
“Let her go, Rob.”
“Not happening.” The sharp tip sank toward her windpipe. “Once I slice her open, you can finish the job.”
Ken broke free from Chrissie and leveled the revolver. The moment he did, Robby fumbled the shard. Glinski gasped with relief, and Ken felt an overwhelming urge to shoot her. He wanted to shoot Robby too. Shoot everyone. Shoot, shoot, shoot. His better self withered beneath his mounting bloodthirst.
He steadied the weapon.
Curled his finger through the trigger guard.
Robby released Glinski and ducked.
Ken pulled the trigger a moment later.
Right after he aimed at Chrissie’s head.
Chapter 29
Ken closed his eyes and welcomed smooth, easy air into his lungs. When he exhaled, out went the strain that had smothered his mind. Gone were the urges, the needs, the hostility. His brain tingled numbly, sweetly, as though he’d toked a joint and settled back into his favorite college bean bag chair. His muscles softened. His body became a relaxed puddle of flesh on the hardwood floor.
Relief blanketed him.
Soothed him.
Mesmerized him.
Then he heard sobbing. At first, he thought he himself was crying. Then the wailing intensified. It came from somewhere nearby, above him.
When he opened his eyes, he saw Robby hugging Chrissie. She wasn’t hugging back. Her head dangled sideways like a flower too heavy for its stem. A syrupy trail of blood leaked from an exit wound above her ear. The blood slicked through her hair and dripped onto the floor. One drop landed on the back of Ken’s hand.
He flinched. That single drop splashed him back to reality. No longer was everything sweet and cozy. All illusions of comfort were torn aside, leaving him with only horrid sobriety.
Chrissie’s dead, he realized. Because of me. I killed her. I killed a defenseless human being. She’s dead and gone and missing part of her skull. This wasn’t supposed to happen. How the hell did it happen? Nobody was supposed to die. Not because of me.
Entry Wounds: A Supernatural Thriller Page 13