His voice was soft, gravelly.
'Yeah, you're a regular Einstein. How long were you stuck in that closet, sitting on my dirty laundry?'
'I hope I didn't hit an artery. I wouldn't want the fun to end so soon.'
'Maybe you should come in here and check for yourself.'
'I'm not going anywhere. I'll check on you soon enough. After you've lost some blood, and your reactions have slowed down.'
The pain hit. Red and angry, making my vision swim. It felt as if I'd been impaled by a white-hot pickax. I held the phone between my ear and shoulder and clamped my hand down over the wound. Hopefully someone in the building heard the shots.
'I hope you stick around.' Speaking through my teeth. 'Cops should be here any second.'
'Why should they come? A few loud bangs? Could have been a television turned up too loud, or a car backfiring.'
'I'm calling from my cell phone right now.'
'You mean this one, in your purse next to the microwave?'
Dammit. I tried to sit up, my bed soggy with blood. The killer was right. If I lost too much, I'd pass out. Then he'd come back and finish the job.
'Ooh, look -- pictures. This must be Mom. Maybe when I'm done with you, I'll take a trip to Florida. She fell, I understand. So sad. But I bet I can get her on her feet again.'
I bit back my response, focusing all my energy into getting off the bed. The pain made me cry out, but I managed to get on my feet and limp over to my dresser. I pulled out a braided belt and looped it around my leg, over the wound.
'What do you think, Jack? Should I pay Mom a visit?'
'You know what I think, Charles?' I jerked the tourniquet tight and winced. The room began to spin. 'I think you're a sad, small little man who didn't get enough love when he was a baby. Either that, or you were dropped on your head.'
He giggled.
'You don't know what you're talking about. People like me are labeled as psychotics. But it's a cruel world, Jack. Only the strong thrive. And I'm one of the strong. I'm no more psychotic than a shark, or a lion, or any other predator at the top of the food chain. And I'm head and shoulders above you and the rest of the world because I know what I want, and I know how to take it.'
'Dropped down a whole flight of stairs, it sounds like.'
I had to sit, or risk passing out. The pain was a writhing, living thing, full blown and making any movement agony.
'You sound sleepy, Jack. Maybe you should lie back, take a little nap.'
It didn't seem like bad advice to me. My breath was coming a little quicker, and I was cold, but beyond the pain a kind of peace was settling in. A nap might do me good.
'Shock,' I said aloud.
I wiped some sweat off my face and gave my cheek a slap. I was going into hypovolemic shock, a condition caused by extensive fluid loss. If I passed out, I was dead.
But in my condition, there was no way I could attack him. So what the hell could I do?
I had more bullets in my dresser. I half hopped, half dragged myself over to the drawer and replaced the two rounds I'd fired. I had a plan, kind of, but to make it work I had to keep him distracted.
'So what's the real reason you're killing these girls, Charles? Did your scoutmaster get too frisky on a camping trip?'
'Cliche, Jack. Everyone wants to look for the reason. Like there's a switch that can be turned on to make a person a killer. But maybe it has nothing to do with environment, or genetics. Maybe I simply enjoy it. I know that I'll enjoy giving you my special present. Think I can use that bullet hole in your leg?'
'Possible,' I mumbled, pulling myself to the door. 'It's a really small hole.'
My bedroom led out into a short hall. The kitchen was to the left, out of view. But that wasn't my goal. It was a straight shot into the living room, and to my window with the view looking out over Addison.
'You little bitch.' Men never took teasing about their penis size well. 'I'm going to make you scream so loud, your throat bleeds.'
'Promises, promises.' I held my gun in both hands, took aim, and fired four shots into my window.
The glass exploded outward, hopefully peppering the sidewalk below. It was night, and my neighborhood was always crawling with barhopping kids. If that didn't warrant a call to 911, I didn't know what else would.
Apparently my assailant thought the same thing.
'We'll finish this later, Jack.' His voice was curt. 'See you soon.'
And he finally hung up the phone. I cocked my ear and heard my front door slam shut.
I was still on the floor, gun clenched in my fist and fighting to stay awake, when the cops arrived.
Chapter 21
EVERYONE AGREED I'D BEEN LUCKY.
The bullet entered my thigh at the sartorius muscle and exited through a muscle called the gracilis. The wound
