of her misery. I know what having damaged parents is like. As far as I can tell, the only thing you’ve earned is the right to not do this!”
Roger shook his head. Joan’s thin fingers plucked weakly at his shoulders, beseeching him. Her touch left faint streaks of blood on his shirt.
“It’s too late,” he told Linden. “You’re already lost. You should be able to see that.
“Your hand is bleeding, Doctor.” His tone betrayed a hint of eagerness. “Why do you suppose that is?”
She gaped at him, momentarily silenced. How had he-?
But he gripped her son by the wrist; pointed his gun at Sandy’s head. For their sake, Linden retorted, “Because I cut myself.”
“No.” Again he shook his head. “It’s because you’re already doomed. You can’t get out of it now.”
Her blood also was necessary to him.
Another prolonged shaft of lightning hit and held the ground. For a moment, its brilliance dazzled Linden, cast Roger’s face into shadow. This time from within the heart of the blaze Linden felt rather than saw the hungry yellow reach of fangs. They seemed to strain toward her while the bolt endured.
Calmly Roger added, “But I like you, Doctor. I like what your parents did to you. I’ll give you a choice.
“I see you brought your bag.” He nodded at the weight which anchored her against the compulsion of the wind. “I’m sure you have a scalpel in there somewhere.
“Get it out. Cut off your right hand.”
He smiled avidly. “Do that, and I’ll let this woman live.” His gun indicated Sandy’s crumpled form.
Joan lifted a tremulous hand to her wounded forehead.
Another long shaft of lightning: another impression of fangs like eyes, carious and malevolent.
In that instant, Linden was transformed. The fierce strobe of the lightning no longer staggered her. Shock and horror had no power over her.
“What about Jeremiah?” she cried into the storm.
Roger’s inhuman gaze held her. “First your hand.” No light reflected from his eyes. They remained as dark as catacombs. “Then we’ll discuss it.”
She let the wind and her bag’s bulk buffet her forward a step as if she were stumbling. Just one step, to the edge of the stone. Sparks in shards of silver mica swirled before her feet.
Jeremiah’s mouth hung open, slack. His gaze was closed to her. He was her chosen child, the son whom she had loved and tended in spite of his shuttered blankness. But nothing in him hinted at comprehension except the red metal racing car clutched in his left hand.
Deliberately she aimed her voice and her fury and her trembling flashlight at Roger.
“You’ve got it all wrong, asshole! I’ll give you a choice. You give me Jeremiah. And Joan. And Sandy. Alive! And I give you your father’s ring.”
He blinked as if she had surprised him. Joan made small mewling noises at his back, apparently begging him to hasten.
Lightning struck near the plane of rock again; so near that its force sent a stinging wave across Linden’s skin. This time she was sure that she could see eyes and hunger in the depths of the blast.
“Now why would I do that?” Roger asked her. “That ring is already mine. When I’m ready, I’ll just shoot you and take it.”
“No, you won’t.” Another step. Now she stood among the sparks. “That craziness in your head. Lord Foul. He won’t let you. He can’t get what he wants that way. If he could, you would have killed me already.”
“Roger,” Joan gasped audibly. “Roger!”
Prone at Roger’s side, Sandy shifted inconsolably, trying to twist away from the pain in her head.
Roger ignored his mother to concentrate on Linden. Briefly he seemed to consider her proposal. Then he announced, “It’s an interesting suggestion. There’s just one problem. Why would I ever trust you? If I let them go, you’ll just run away.
“No, let’s keep it simple. I have the gun. I have your son. If you don’t feel like cutting yourself, I’ll shoot this nice lady.” Sandy. “Then I’ll start on-what did you call him? – Jeremiah.
“He’s just meat. Don’t you know that? An empty carcass. There’s nothing you could do to save him. There hasn’t been anyone in there for ten years.”
The lightning had become almost constant, firing the sky and the earth in violent blasts only a small handful of heartbeats apart. And in the core of each bolt hung Lord Foul’s eyes, rapacious and unmistakable, flickering in and out of this world as each flash clung and faded.
Instead of answering, Linden took another step. Blood from her cut palm crusted her hand to her flashlight. With every flash of lightning, pain pulsed in her grasp as though her heart kept time to the music of the storm.
“You’re wrong!” she shouted over the wind. “You don’t understand. You haven’t earned anything. You’re no better than your mother. The only thing you’ve ever done with your whole life is let a crazy woman”- and Lord Foul- “tell you what to do!”
Still smiling, always smiling, Roger lifted his right arm in a slow arc to point his gun at Linden’s head. Its muzzle seemed to gape at her like a mouth, open and hungry.
“Hold it right there!” Sheriff Lytton yelled through the tumult. “Put the gun down! Let’s talk about this!”
“Roger!” Joan moaned distinctly, “I can’t stand it. I can’t stand it anymore.”
Roger’s weapon did not waver as he slowly turned his head in the direction of Lytton’s voice.
Deliberately Linden turned as well, letting her knotted arm lower the flashlight to her side, tightening her grip on her bag.
Sandy groaned painfully. Her hands made small scratching movements on the stone.
Lit by the strobing frenzy of the lightning, and watched by fangs, Barton Lytton picked his way down the slope into the hollow. He walked with a rigid, stiff-kneed gait as if he fought panic at every step. Silver snatched reflections of fear from his staring eyes. Nevertheless he advanced until he neared the boundary of the storm- blasted ground around the plane of rock. There he halted, swaying on his feet as if he were about to fall.
His holster was empty. He had come down into the hollow unarmed.
“Sheriff Lytton,” Roger remarked. “You’re a brave man.” The ease with which he made himself heard through the wind’s outcry mocked Lytton. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
Lightning flared and yowled, accelerating toward a crisis. Fangs hung poised for violence in every flash. Static mounted in the air. The wind gusted like a wail torn from the throat of the night.
“You’re in trouble here, boy.” Lytton’s voice shook. Somehow he forced himself to stand his ground. “You need to understand that. I’ve got half a dozen men up there.” He jerked his head at the rim of the bowl. “They’re all around you. And some of them shoot pretty good. If we can’t talk our way out of this, you and me, they are going to cut you down.”
Linden glanced toward him, then shifted her gaze back to Roger. Her concentration left no room for surprise at Lytton’s presence-or his actions.
Roger gave Jeremiah’s wrist a warning wrench that nearly snapped her restraint. “You’ve been listening to the things Dr. Avery says about me,” he commented to Lytton. “That’s a mistake. A law enforcement officer like yourself can’t afford mistakes.”
Facing the steady muzzle of his gun, Linden eased forward cautiously.
Lytton swayed on his locked knees. “You can’t either, boy. Do you understand that you’ve already killed two people? Bill Coty is dead. Avis Cardaman is probably going to die. And God knows what you’ve done with Sara Clint.” In the lightning, he looked pallid and frail, as if he were about to faint. “That’s life in prison.
“Even if you live through being shot a couple dozen times, you’re still dead. You’ll get the death sentence for this. They’ll stick one of those big needles in your arm, and you’ll sleep until you rot.”
Apparently he thought that he might be able to frighten Roger into submission. Plainly, however, he did not comprehend Thomas Covenant’s son at all.
Yet he did not give up.
“But you drop that gun now,” he went on, “and maybe they’ll just declare you incompetent. If that happens, you’ll end up in a psychiatric hospital with women like Dr. Avery taking care of you.
