consciousness.
'Soon you will understand,' Chase said. 'Easter Sunday there will be a resurrection.'
He placed the threaded needle on the floor, got within inches of Jessica's face. In the dim light, his eyes looked burgundy. 'The Lord asked Abraham for his child. And now the Lord has asked me for yours.'
Please, no, Jessica thought.
'It is time,' he said.
Jessica tried to move.
She couldn't.
Andrew Chase walked up the steps.
Sophie.
Jessica opened her eyes. How long had she been out? She tried again to move. She could feel her arms, but not her legs. She tried to roll onto her side, failed. She tried to drag herself to the base of the steps, but the effort was too great.
Was she alone?
Had he left?
There was now a single candle lit. It sat on top of the dryer and threw long, shimmering shadows on the unfinished ceiling of the basement.
She strained to hear.
She nodded off again, startling herself awake seconds later.
Footfalls behind her. It was so hard to keep her eyes open. So hard. Her limbs felt like stone.
She turned her head as far as she could. When she saw Sophie in the arms of this monster, a freezing rain rinsed her insides.
No, she thought.
No!
Take me.
I'm right here. Take me!
Andrew Chase put Sophie down on the floor next to her. Sophie's eyes were closed, her body limp.
Inside Jessica's veins, the adrenaline fought the drug he had given her. If she could just get up and get one clear shot at him, she knew she could hurt him. He was heavier than her, but just about the same height. One blow. With the rage and anger roiling inside her, it was all she needed.
When he turned away from her momentarily, she saw that he had found her Glock. He now had it in the waistband of his pants.
Out of his field of vision, Jessica moved an inch closer to Sophie. The effort seemed to exhaust her completely. She had to rest.
She tried to see if Sophie was breathing. She couldn't tell.
Andrew Chase turned back to them, the drill now in his hand.
'It is time to pray,' he said.
He reached into his pocket, removed a carriage bolt.
'Prepare her hands,' he said to Jessica. He knelt down, put the cordless drill in Jessica's right hand. Jessica felt the bile rise in her throat. She was going to be sick.
'What?'
'She is only sleeping. I've given her only a small amount of midazolam. Drill her hands and I'll let her live.' He took a rubber band out of his pocket and put it around Sophie's wrists. He placed a rosary between her fingers. A rosary with no decades. 'If you don't do it, I will. Then I will send her to God right in front of you.' I… I can t…
'You have thirty seconds.' He leaned forward, depressed Jessica's right forefinger on the trigger of the drill, testing it. The battery was fully charged. The sound of the steel twisting in the air was nauseating. 'Do it now and she will live.'
Sophie looked at Jessica.
'She's my daughter,' Jessica managed.
Chase's face remained implacable, unreadable. The dancing candlelight drew long shadows over his features. He took the Glock from his waistband, drew back the hammer, and placed the gun to Sophie's head. 'You have twenty seconds.'
'Wait!'
Jessica felt her strength recede, return. Her fingers trembled.
'Think of Abraham,' Chase said. 'Think of the determination that compelled him to the altar.You can do it.' I… I can t.
'We all must sacrifice.'
Jessica had to stall.
Had to.
'Okay,' she said. 'Okay.' She closed her hand around the grip of the drill. It felt heavy and cold. She tested the trigger a few times. The drill responded, the carbon bit whirring.
'Bring her closer,' Jessica said weakly. 'I can't reach her.'
Chase walked over, lifted Sophie. He put her down just a few inches from Jessica. With her wrists banded together, Sophie's hands were steepled in prayer.
Jessica lifted the drill, slowly, resting it for a moment on her lap.
She recalled her first medicine-ball training session at the gym. After two or three reps, she wanted to quit. She was on her back, on a mat, the heavy ball in her hands, completely spent. She couldn't do it. Not one more rep. She would never be a boxer. But before she could give up, a wizened old heavyweight who had been sitting there, watching her-a longtime fixture in Frazier's Gym, a man who had once taken Sonny Lis- ton the distance-told her that most people who fail don't lack strength, they lack will.
She had never forgotten him.
As Andrew Chase turned to step away, Jessica summoned all of her will, all of her resolve, all of her strength. She would have one chance to save her daughter, and the time to take that chance was now. She pressed the trigger, locking it in the on position, then thrust the drill upward, hard and fast and strong. The long drill bit dug deep into the left side of Chase's groin, puncturing skin and muscle and flesh, roaring far into his body, finding and shredding his femoral artery. A warm gush of arterial blood erupted into Jessica's face, blinding her momentarily, making her gag. Chase shrieked in pain as he reeled back, spinning, his legs starting to give, his left hand jammed against the tear in his trousers, trying to stanch the flow. Blood pumped between his fingers, silken and black in the dim light. Reflexively he fired the Glock into the ceiling, the roar of the weapon huge in the confined space.
Jessica fought her way to her knees, her ears ringing, fueled now by adrenaline. She had to get in between Chase and Sophie. Had to move. Had to get to her feet somehow and plunge the drill into his heart.
Through the scarlet film of blood over her eyes, she saw Chase slam to the floor, dropping the gun. He was halfway across the basement. He screamed as he removed his belt and slipped it around the top of his left thigh, the blood now covering his legs, pooling on the floor. He tightened the tourniquet with a shrill, feral howl.
Could she drag herself to the weapon?
Jessica tried to crawl toward him, her hands slipping in the blood, fighting for each inch. But before she could close the distance, Chase picked up the blood-slicked Glock, and slowly rose to his feet. He stumbled forward, manic now, a mortally wounded animal. Just a few feet away. He waved the gun in front of him, his face a tortured death mask of agony.
Jessica tried to rise. She couldn't. She had to hope that Chase would get closer. She raised the drill with two hands.
Chase stumbled in.
Stopped.
He was not close enough.
She couldn't reach him. He would kill them both.
Chase looked heavenward in that moment and screamed, the unearthly sound filling the room, the house, the world, just as that world came back to life, a bright and raucous coil suddenly sprung.
The power had returned.
Upstairs, the television blared. Next to them, the furnace clicked on. Above them, the light fixtures
