He stopped strutting and glared at Will.
“I’ve dreamed about this for so long,” he whispered. “Making you pay for taking him from me. He was all I had after my worthless mother abandoned us, and you took him.”
“Do you really believe your mother left you?” Will said. “You know what your father was. Didn’t you ever consider that maybe he killed your mother like he killed those other women?”
“Liar!”
Artie screamed the word and lashed out, hitting Will with the back of his left hand. The chair’s left legs came off the floor. For a second, Will thought he was going to tip over, but before he did, Artie grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked the chair back down. He turned and stomped to the other side of the room, his back to Will, and stood, mumbling something to himself that was too low for Will to understand. He stopped, shook his head, and mumbled some more, almost as if he was having an argument with himself. Finally he stopped mumbling and turned. The look on his face caused Will to shudder. It was the look of a man teetering on the edge of violent insanity.
“It’s time.”
He spoke the words quietly before turning to the door closest to him. He opened it, and Will saw it was a closet. Artie reached in and pulled out a wheeled utility cart with three shelves, one of those things his own mother had called a hostess cart. He couldn’t see all the items on it well enough to identify each and every one of them, but the ones he could see were enough. A handsaw, a drill, pliers, several knives, and a metal pan for—what? He didn’t want to think what it might be intended to hold.
“Please.” His voice cracked. “Please. Just let her go. You want me, you got me, but let her go. She’s got a son, for Christ’s sake!”
“My father had a son!” Holiday—Artie—shouted at him. “Did you care about that?”
“I didn’t have a choice,” Will said. “Your father was a murderer whose luck ran out that night.”
“My father was a hunter. He culled the herd of the sluts that prey on men. He—”
“Sluts like your mother?” Will spat out the words. If he could focus Artie’s anger on himself, maybe he could gain some time. The others would be searching for him and Jen, and if he gave them enough time, maybe…
“Enough!” Artie picked up the metal pan and threw it. His aim was off, and it struck Will on the shoulder and bounced off. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”
He stormed across the room, a knife in his right hand, stopping in front of Will.
“I should cut out your filthy tongue!”
They stared at each other, Artie’s hand shaking, Will expecting him to follow through on his threat any second. Suddenly Artie’s features relaxed, and he began to laugh.
“No, no. Not yet. Maybe later.” He turned, went back to the cart and laid the knife on the top shelf. “For now, I want you to be able to talk. I want to hear you plead and beg for mercy when I start carving up the lovely Detective Dillon.”
He raised his left arm and made a show of looking at his watch.
“Speaking of, I think it’s time for the show to start, don’t you?”
He walked past Will to the other door in the wall. Will twisted around enough to see the door as Artie opened it. The room Artie stepped into was dark except where Artie’s handheld spotlight was shining. No furniture, old linoleum, bare walls, but no Jen. Artie swung the spotlight around to shine behind the door.
“Time to party, Detective—”
That was as far as he got before Jen launched herself from the opposite side of the open doorway, her cuffed hands going over Artie’s head, bringing the chain down around his neck, as she jumped on his back and wrapped her legs around his waist. Artie let out a strangled cry, his free hand going instinctively to the chain pressing against his Adam’s apple, but he kept his footing. He moved back into the open doorway and slammed Jen against the doorframe, once, twice, and a third time. She let out a cry of pain, but she hung on.
Will stretched his arms back as far as he could and began working them up off the back of the chair. He was nearly there when Artie and Jen stumbled into the main room, Artie striking blindly at Jen’s head with the spotlight. Just as Will finally got his arms free of the chair back, Artie made contact with Jen’s forehead, splitting it open. Dazed, she loosened her hold, and Artie dropped the spotlight, grabbed her hands with both of his, and pushed up. Still stunned, she fell backward and in seconds he was free.
Coughing and gasping in air, he kicked her viciously in the ribs. She rolled away from him, but he went after her. Will had made it to his feet, and as Artie drew his foot back to kick Jen again, Will made several unsteady hops and launched himself against Artie’s back. The two of them went down, but before Will could roll away and try to get back to his feet, Artie punched him in the midsection, knocking the wind out of him. Will bent his legs, and as Artie started to get up, he kicked out and caught Artie in the hip, knocking him back down.
Will rolled toward Artie. Maybe he couldn’t get to his feet again, but he could kick lying down. Beyond Artie, he could see Jen rising up and thought she’s amazing. Her face was swollen, one eye nearly shut, her forehead bleeding,
