his eyes.
The underlying roar rose in volume and was lacerated by the high-pitched grind of manual transmission gears as the extended moment fast-forwarded into real time. I heard Ben screaming my name as he crossed in front of me and pushed me back toward the waiting door of the ambulance. The wrenching groan of metal tearing apart scraped through the air once more.
I stumbled and slid on the icy pavement, catching the door to steady myself as I continued to watch the action play out. The van was already moving forward as Ben’s arm whipped up from underneath his coat, his bandaged hand wrapped around his Beretta. Eldon Porter was still glaring at us from the open door of the vehicle, and I stared back with morbid fascination as my friend took aim.
An ye harm none. The snippet of the Wiccan Rede passed through my mind as I watched. It was the simplest of instructions and a covenant by which I endeavored to live my life. But now, it was something I was unable to embrace. I wanted Eldon Porter to be dead. I wanted Ben to empty his handgun into the bastard just as he had done with the lock on the basement door. I wanted him eradicated from existence, and the hatred I felt for him burned inside me hotter with each passing second.
From where I stood, the shot was clear. Ben was even closer. I started to breathe a heavy sigh of relief because I knew that at this distance my friend could not miss. It was all about to be over. The nightmare was coming to an end.
I jerked my head quickly to the right as several shots sounded from the opposite side. I saw the uninjured Wood Dell officer firing once again into the panel van as it lurched forward, allowing the patrol car to drop back down on the front corner.
I heard an almost anguished expletive to my left and whipped my gaze back. When my eyes fell on Ben, he was standing there slapping a fresh magazine into his weapon and jacking the slide back without having fired a single round.
I screamed, “What happened?!”
The tires on the panel van had bit through the slush and were now making a wet squeal against the pavement as the vehicle sped away.
“Goddammit!” my friend exclaimed once again, as he centered the muzzle of his weapon on the van and tracked it. However, the immediate opportunity for a clear shot had passed as it was already rounding the corner. “Goddammit!”
He lowered the handgun and then slipped it back into the shoulder rig as he turned. “Empty!” he shouted. “I never fuckin’ reloaded after we got out of the basement!” His face was contorted in a painful mask of self- loathing.
I didn’t blame him for what had happened, but I was infuriated. Porter was getting away, and we had missed a prime opportunity to stop him.
“Jeezus, I don’t believe this!” my friend screamed as he ran toward the disabled police cruiser.
I released my grip on the ambulance door and chased after him, dodging a paramedic who was racing for the downed officer. I fought for steady footing on the grey slop that covered the street and slipped several times before making it the thirty-odd feet to where he was standing. He had cranked the passenger door open on the patrol car and was speaking into the microphone of the police radio.
I listened as he identified himself and then began describing the van. The last thing I heard him tell the dispatcher was the direction the vehicle had been headed and the street on which it was traveling.
I didn’t hear anything else because I was lying on my side in the icy slush with the metallic tang of electricity coating my tongue and my body tensed in a violent seizure.
CHAPTER 19:
It’s dark.
It’s cold.
I try to move, and then I remember that I cannot.
How long have I been here? I can’t remember. It seems like forever. A day? A week? A month?
I’m confused.
I’m trying to think. Where am I?
Where am I? Hell, who am I?
My head hurts. My whole body aches.
Fear grips me, and I don’t know why.
What is it?
Why am I afraid?
The feeling passes, and I just forget. It seems easier than trying to remember. It doesn’t hurt as much.
I’m uncomfortable sitting here.
I try to move again.
That’s right, I can’t move. I wonder why.
My hands wriggle, but when they do, my wrists hurt. They are sore.
I can move my feet. Not much, just a little. My ankles hurt just like my wrists.
I hear water splash, and I can feel it on my feet.
Why are my feet in water?
Good question. Where am I again?
I listen.
It is quiet here in the dark.
Almost too quiet.
I don’t like it.
I wait.
I listen.
Footsteps.
I hear footsteps. Heavy. Deliberate.
I keep listening and try to remember who I am.
T…
Tee?…
Tuh?…
Tay?…
Two?…
Two times two is four.
Two times three is six.
Two times four is twelve.
Twelve?
That’s right, isn’t it?
Two times four is twelve.
Two times twelve is sixteen.
Sixteen?
I’ll start over. Two times two is eleven.
No, that’s not right.
What was I trying to remember?
I give up.
My mouth tastes funny. Metal. Weird. Hmph. I can remember what metal is, why can’t I remember what time it is?
It sure is dark.
There’s that sound again. It’s like a motor running. I wonder what it is?
Fear.
