81
The front door had a thick pane of glass covered with lace curtains. Someone was home. A light was on inside the kitchen, and Darby could see a round table and a wool jacket lying over the back of a chair.
Darby was about to lean on the doorbell again when she heard a man screaming.
She reached one hand inside her coat, the other gripping the doorknob, turning and finding it locked. She kicked the window with the heel of her boot. The glass splintered and she kicked it again and it shattered – a woman was screaming for help. Oh Jesus, Hannah Givens is in there and she's screaming.
Darby crawled through the pane, jagged pieces of glass cutting her coat and cheek, and stepped into the foyer. SIG gripped in her hand, she moved down the hall and stared down the target sight, ready to shoot, the screaming growing louder as she spun into the kitchen and checked her left side, her blind spot – clear. To her right, a well-lit hallway of checked green and white linoleum stretching down to an opened door with stairs leading into the dark garage. At the end of the hallway and to the left, another opened door, the light inside blazing. Shadows moved across the hallway wall and Darby moved fast. Get ready to shoot. Keep shooting until he falls. Mouth dry and adrenaline pumping, she crouched low and turned the corner.
A man with a mangled face smeared with makeup had one arm wrapped around Hannah Givens' throat, squeezing, pressing her close to him. Darby couldn't fire. Hannah's head was too close to the man's face – the man was Walter Smith, there was no question; the man Darby had seen in the hospital photographs, the face with slabs of scarred meat stitched back together and smeared with the same shade of makeup found on Judith Chen's sweatshirt.
Hannah's nose was broken. Blood poured down her face and a blindfold of black cloth covered her eyes. Walter Smith stood behind her, his head partially shielded behind Hannah's, his bloody hand coming out of the sink holding a revolver. He's going to kill her, you can't risk a shot. Do something.
An idea came and she had to try it, roll the dice and pray.
'The Virgin Mary sent me here to help you,' Darby said. 'She's in danger.'
A single, lidless eye stared at her.
'Mary called for me, Walter. She told me to go to Sinclair and help her.'
'You talked to Mary?' Walter didn't lower the gun, kept it aimed at her, but the caged, desperate glare in his good eye disappeared, replaced by confusion, maybe even hope. Use it.
'Yes,' Darby said. 'I spoke to her. She told me what happened. She told me to come here and help you.'
'Why do you have a gun?'
'I had to protect Mary.'
'Are you an angel?'
'Yes.' Darby didn't want to lower the gun. If she lowered the gun, she'd expose herself. Walter might panic and start shooting. Keep talking. 'The Blessed Mother was in great danger, but I saved her. She told me to come here to help you. Your hand is bleeding. Are you hurt?'
'They have her.' Walter was crying. 'They're going to hurt my Blessed Mother.'
'They can't hurt her. I took care of them.'
'What did you do?'
'They're gone. They can't hurt you. Mary's safe but she needs your help. We have to move our Blessed Mother to a safe location.'
'Mary said I had to do this.' Walter moved the gun to Hannah's head.
'Mary wants you to give Hannah to me. Do not disobey her.'
'Mary told me what to do. She told me but I can't… I can't do the other thing. I can't kill myself, I'm too scared.'
'You don't have to be afraid any more. I'm here to help you. Mary sent me here to help you, but first, you need to help her.'
'I love her.'
'She loves you too, Walter. That's why she sent me here.'
'I love her so much.'
'I know you do.' Get him to put down the gun.
'I can't live without her,' Walter said.
'Mary has given us both so much and now it's our turn to help her.'
'Where are we going to take her?'
'I don't know. Mary said she would tell me when I brought you back to the chapel. Let Hannah go and I'll take you to Mary.'
Walter eased Hannah into a sitting position on the tub's side and then collapsed to his knees, sobbing, hands in his hair. The gun slid from his fingers and dropped to the floor covered with shards of broken glass.
'I love her,' Walter said.
'I know.' Darby kicked the gun away, grabbed Walter by the hair and smashed his face against the floor.
Walter cried out in surprise, his muscles tensing, ready to fight. She pressed a knee into the base of his spine, grabbed the back of his collared shirt and dug the muzzle of her gun against his neck.
'Move and I'll kill you.' Darby could taste it on the back of her throat, that burning satisfaction of killing the monster that lived beneath his human skin.
A shot to the head was too kind. She wanted him to suffer.
Then do it. Make him suffer.
Walter's muscles went limp. He collapsed back against the floor.
He didn't fight her when she yanked his hands behind his back and cuffed them. If he had tried to put up a fight, she could have shot him. She could have done anything. Darby felt a curious disappointment seeping through her limbs as she reholstered the SIG.
She rifled through his pockets for the handcuff key.
'You're safe, Hannah, he can't hurt you.' The college student was lying sideways inside the tub, shaking and crying. 'I'll have those cuffs off in just a moment.'
Walter lay motionless on his stomach, eyes blank as he stared off into space mumbling what sounded like a prayer.
Darby found the handcuff key. She reached inside her jean pocket for the phone. She felt it along with the small panic button Tim Bryson had given her.
Behind her, the sound of a heavy footstep crunching over glass and then the feeling of two cold metal prongs pressed against her neck.
'I'd prefer not to use the Taser,' Malcolm Fletcher said, 'so please sit still.'
82
The SIG was tucked inside her shoulder holster. There was no way Darby could reach it.
'Special Agent Fletcher,' Darby said, gripping the panic button between her fingers. 'I thought you'd left town.'
'I missed you so much I decided to come back.' Fletcher stood behind her. 'Please put your hands behind your back.'
Darby pressed the button, felt the seal break. 'May I stand?'
'If you wish,' Fletcher said. 'But please, no sudden movements.'
Darby slowly removed her hand from her pocket. Leaning forward, she placed both hands on Walter's lower back, tucked the panic button in his back jean pocket and stood. The Taser's metal prongs never left her neck.
'Nice job deleting the patient file from the Shriners computer system,' Darby said, placing her hands behind
