'Don't argue. Just do it!'
'But, Eric-' Tracy pleaded.
He grabbed her arm, his iron grip numbing her skin. 'I mean it. All of you. I don't want your help here. I want the four of you to follow Fallows and Cruz. They're so close, I don't want to lose them. They may still have Timmy.'
'Okay, Eric,' Tracy said.
He loosened his grip, sighed. 'Sorry. Just go. And don't lose them. And for God's sake, don't try anything with them. Wait for me.'
'We won't,' Rydell said.
'Good luck,' Molly said.
Season pecked his cheek. 'Me, too.'
And they were gone. Eric waited a few minutes before moving. There was a light inside, but a pink pillowcase covered the window. He circled the trailer once, then again, but there was no sound. Maybe he'd been mistaken? But no, as he passed the front door, saw the long, black hair, he knew it was hers. Stringy and dirty now, but Annie's.
So Fallows had traded her to Savvy after all. That didn't surprise Eric. It was Timmy who Fallows really wanted, because he had never believed that the love between a man and a woman was very binding. Parents' love for children he could understand, 'the ego of flesh' he'd called it in Nam. But man and woman? Temporary. 'Disposable as toilet paper,' he'd laughed.
Eric readied his crossbow, lifting it to his shoulder with his right hand while his left hand reached for the doorknob. He glanced over his shoulder up and down the road. No one.
Slowly he turned the knob and he was reminded of the night it all started. The intruder in the house. Eric watching the bedroom door opening. Annie, naked, trying to throw the electric blanket over his head.
When the handle was turned all the way, he slammed his shoulder into it, somersaulted into the room, and rolled to one knee, the crossbow sweeping the room.
'Welcome, Lieutenant,' Col. Dirk Fallows said.
'Eric,' Annie choked out, her voice raspy and weak.
He forced himself not to wince at the sight of her. The shaved head so pale like the underbelly of a frog. The sunken eyes, dark with strain. The hollowed cheeks. She sat on a wooden barstool, wrapped in a blue bathrobe.
Next to her stood a giant Eric figured was Cruz. The short hair, heavy face, lizard's measuring eyes. Always measuring for death. He carried no gun, no bow, though he had a machete strapped to his belt. His arms were folded in a bored, contemptuous stare. Measuring.
Across the room, Timmy sat tied to a plastic kitchen chair. His little finger was wrapped in a splint and bandaged. His clothes and body were clean, in shocking contrast to his mother. 'Dad?' he said. It was a question. But asking what?
Next to Timmy, leaning arrogantly against the wall, was Dirk Fallows, a black beret tilted rakishly on his head. A P-38 rested loosely in his hand.
'So.' Fallows smiled. 'All the players finally assembled in one room. That would suggest the play's almost done. Curtains, as they say.' He motioned with his gun. 'Lower the bow to the floor, Lieutenant. Those things go off so easily.'
Eric eased the crossbow to the floor.
'Hup, hup, hup.'
Eric pushed it away with his foot.
'Better. Much better.'
'Are you all right, Annie?'
She laughed and cried together and Eric could hear the Annie he loved, see her in the twinkling eyes. 'Sure. A little soap, a little water. Some eyeliner. Good as new.' The speech took a lot of effort and she sagged a little in the chair trying to regain her strength. She winked at Eric.
'Timmy?' he asked, looking at the boy.
'Fine,' he said, lowering his head.
'Well, Eric, I may have taught you all you know, but I certainly didn't teach you all I know. There are things-'
'You know the part I dreaded most about being captured by you, Fallows? Having to listen to your pompous speeches.'
Cruz laughed. 'He sure has your number.'
Fallows' face tightened with a grim smile.
'Look, Fallows, you've finally got me. Now I imagine you want to toy with me a bit before actually killing me, so why not just let my son and wife go. There's not much sport in hurting them.'
'Well, now, Eric, your son and I have grown quite close in the past few days. Old buddies. Right, kid?'
Timmy's face quivered with anger. 'I hate you.'
'See what I mean. He used to loathe me, now it's only hate. But in a few months, maybe years, he might even come to love me. What do you think, Eric? Possible?'
'What the hell are you talking about?'
'He wants a son,' Annie explained. 'He wants Timmy.'
Eric remained silent, his mind ticking over possibilities. Dive for the bow; tackle Cruz; jump Fallows.
'So you see, Eric, it's not over yet. Though it is time to say goodbye to some of our players. Unclutter the stage, so to speak.' He nodded at Cruz.
It all happened so quickly, so coldly, that Eric didn't have time to react.
Cruz reached over, grabbed Annie by the head, and twisted sharply. The bones crackled like gravel and she flopped forward onto the floor, dead.
Eric lunged for the crossbow, his hands stretching toward it as he flew through the air. But as he dove, Cruz's heavy boot kicked toward his face, crashing into his jaw. It took forever to fall, but finally he plunged into a black, inky ocean. He swam against the tide, toward consciousness. On the distant shore he could see the furniture, familiar people, their faces illuminated by the ghastly light of the moon. Annie, sprawled across the sand, her neck twisted at an uncomfortable angle. Timmy, tied to a chair, his face streaked with tears. Cruz, one foot on the shore, the other in the ocean looming over him, bending over to hit him again. And Fallows. A gun raised over Cruz's head, swinging it into his skull. Cruz swooning, wavering. Fallows hitting him again. Cruz falling into the ocean next to Eric, splashing everyone. Fallows laughing. Someone calling, 'Daddy. Daddy!'
And the black tide sweeping him out to sea.
29.
'Showtime, gentlemen.'
The voice droned in Eric's ear like a record being played too slowly.
'Come on, Eric,' the voice continued. 'You're slowing the show down. And I think you're going to like this.'
Eric felt the hands on his shoulder holding him up, his knees wobbly, rocking slightly. Something thick and scratchy around his neck.
A sharp slap across the face. His eyes sprang open.
Dirk Fallows stood before him, hands on hips. 'That's more like it. There's a good trooper.'
'Daddy!' The word sliced through Eric's foggy mind like a propeller, whooshing away any grogginess. His eyes frantically searched for Timmy. Daddy wasn't a word Timmy used anymore; in fact, he made a point of calling Eric Dad or Father depending on how adult he was feeling. But calling him Daddy now and before squeezed at Eric's heart. All that pain, confusion, and fear packed into one universal word.
Eric tried not to think of his own pain. Of Annie, falling again and again in his mind, each time her neck twisted at a more grotesque angle. He remembered a dream he'd had while unconscious: he and Annie were swimming naked in a clear blue lake. They touched each other underwater, tried to make love but the water was too deep.
