Envy the Night

progress. It was hard to believe that, though, as he watched King bind Nora’s hands behind her back with duct tape, then wrap her ankles together. She’d given up on fighting him by then, but when he advanced on her with the piece for her mouth, she spoke.

“No. Please don’t cover my mouth.”

He snapped the tape over her face, wrapped it around her jaw until it tangled in her hair, and then added another, shorter strip. The fear grew in her eyes when her mouth was covered, and Frank wondered if she was claustrophobic. They had her stretched out in the small boat they’d taken. AJ kept his gun on Frank while King handled the tape work, and Frank had put up a little bit of an argument, just enough to let them think he opposed this. In reality, it was for the best. He felt bad for Nora, couldn’t meet her eyes because the panic that showed there was tough to take, but he knew it would be easier if he was alone with these two. Nora was a liability, an extra concern anytime he decided to take action. With that eliminated, he was a little freer. Now the only person who would die immediately if he screwed up was himself.

“You’re staying with her,” AJ told King, and that quickly all of Frank’s hope for this situation began to disappear. “Wait till we’re on the shore. The minute we hit that, you start watching the clock, all right?”

No, Frank thought. No clocks, no countdowns, please don’t say that.

“Ten minutes go by, you put a bullet in her head. No hesitation.”

“Won’t be a problem,” King said, and he leaned down close to Nora’s horrified face, stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “Won’t be a problem at all, will it, hon?”

The lake and the land surrounding it seemed to tilt and spin around Frank, that time limit—ten minutes, ten minutes, ten minutes—scorching through his brain, every possible scenario filtering through, none of them any good. It was too little time.

“You can’t—” Frank wasn’t even sure what words would have followed, because they never got the chance to develop. AJ hit him backhanded with the gun, caught him flush in the face and knocked him back into the boat, almost over the side and into the water. Blood left his nose, ran down his chin, and onto his shirt.

“Get up,” AJ said.

Frank stayed down, looking at his own blood.

“Get up!” AJ screamed it this time, then almost lost his balance in a wild kick aimed at Frank’s chest that instead hit the seat above him. The boat was rolling in the windblown chop. Frank got to his feet, fat red drops of blood speckling his jeans.

“Start the engine,” AJ said, shoving him into the seat behind the wheel. “And take us back. We’re almost done.”

Frank turned the key over and the motor growled and then they were in motion, pulling away from the aluminum boat where Nora—ten minutes, ten minutes, ten minutes—waited bound and gagged and alone with King.

A sharp ache cut into Frank’s ribs as AJ leaned forward, pressing the gun against him, and shouted, “Faster!” into his ear. Nothing to do from this position that wouldn’t generate a bullet in the lungs, and the only power Frank controlled—the boat—was useless now, too. If he rolled it or wrecked it and somehow pulled off the miracle of escaping unharmed, King would still be back on the boat with Nora, watching and ready to produce the planned result without the ten-minute wait. Whatever happened would have to happen in the woods, and it would have to happen fast. Frank leaned over the wheel, holding his shirt to his bloody nose, and slammed the boat through the lashing water. As the blood began to clot and the wind tore at his eyes, he tried to coax some insight or reassurance or reminder of old lessons from that voice in his head one more time. None came. The old man had said his piece.

“Slow down and land it,” AJ shouted. There was no real beach on this part of the shore, just trees giving way to rocks. The water was high this early in the year, and some of the smaller trees near the shore were almost submerged, only the tops showing. Frank brought the boat in among them, felt the stern shudder as the prop chewed through some branches. The rain was driving into the trees, swept by that strong western wind. It was going to be a wet, slippery climb to the top of the slope.

“Tie it up,” AJ shouted, pointing at the half-submerged tree just off the bow. “Cut the motor and tie it up!”

Frank got the stern line tied to one of the protruding limbs, but the wind had pushed the boat backward so quickly that the bow was now facing away from the island, toward the thin shape that was the boat with Nora and King.

“All right,” AJ said, tearing the key out of the ignition and sliding it into his pocket. “You lead the way, and stay close.”

Stay close so Ezra would have trouble getting a clean shot. Frank stepped out of the boat and sank up to his waist, would have sunk deeper if his feet hadn’t found a stump. AJ splashed over the side behind him, and then they were both stumbling through the water, pushing branches aside. The water was cold, crawled up through Frank’s legs and into his chest even though he was already drenched from the rain. He slogged through the small trees and stumps, slipping and splashing until he was out of the water except for his feet, facing a muddy slope lined with small saplings that seemed to grow horizontally. Then one more step and his foot touched the gravel bank and he felt like it was coming down on a land mine, that clock—ten minutes, ten minutes, ten minutes—starting to tick back on the boat.

“Start climbing,” AJ said, his breath warm on Frank’s neck. He was staying right at Frank’s back, determined not to give Ezra a shot.

He fought his way up the slope, using the saplings for handholds, his feet sinking into the muck, his brain counting seconds and subtracting them from ten minutes. They got to the top of the hill and stood gasping for breath and staring into dark trees that were shaking with wind and rain. No one in sight.

“Ballard!” AJ shoved Frank forward again, toward the trees, and bellowed the name. “Ezra Ballard, if you hear this, you listen sharp. Out on the boat is the girl from the body shop. Nora, I believe is the name. You know Nora, don’t you?”

They were into the woods now, and AJ paused when a prolonged ripple of thunder threatened to drown out his words. The thunder passed, and after one flash of lightning, he began to shout again.

“The minute we landed, you started to run out of time. That girl’s got ten minutes of life left. Those ten run out, and she takes a bullet right in her beautiful face.”

They were fifty yards into the woods now, walking without purpose, and Frank realized AJ was banking completely on the assumption that Ezra was close enough to hear him. What if he wasn’t, though? They were just going to walk around out here, shouting into the wind, until ten minutes were gone and Nora was dead?

“You can stop that,” AJ yelled. “What I want is Vaughn and Renee! You send them out and this is done. Renee, babe, you hear me? Devin is alive. Devin is alive!”

Eight minutes. That’s what Frank expected they had left. Maybe seven? The climb up the slope might have taken longer than he thought. Either way, it was time to act. He’d been waiting on Ezra, praying for Ezra, but the woods around them were silent except for the rain and the echoes of AJ’s shouts.

“Come on! Let me know you hear me!” AJ screamed it, his voice fading on the last word, and then went quiet and they both listened. There was no sound.

33

__________

What Ezra thought, kneeling in the wet earth beside a fallen pine, was of another word with old tacked on the front of it, the sort that had been tormenting him. Old game. Unlike those phrases that had run through his mind earlier, this one wasn’t a negative, had no doubts chasing it. Instead, it was an old of familiarity, as in old friend.

Old game meant Ezra knew the game. Had played it well. Few were better at it, in fact, and this son of a bitch shouting into the trees wasn’t going to be one of them. There were no doubts now,