news. They’d entered some competition in one of the supermarket tabloids and they’d won third prize. Third prize had been a weekend at a luxury hotel in Washington, D.C., with all expenses paid and a thousand dollars spending money to boot.
Richard tried to coax the pickup past an eighteen-wheeler and got honked at by an asshole in a Porsche. He went back into the slow lane and played it safe. So the kids flew off to the capital and had a great time, they said. Went to the White House, took in a concert, saw the Redskins get stomped all over. They were even spotted by a talent scout from some photo agency-apparently there was always demand for twins. But ever since then, they’d been different. They didn’t come home from college at the weekends like most of the local kids, but they wouldn’t say what kept them in town. They didn’t come home during vacations for more than a few days. Richard had gone down to surprise them once and found them both away. Their roommates didn’t know where they were, and Randy and Gwen wouldn’t say where they’d been when they eventually came home. At least they still seemed to be close; if anything, they were even more involved with each other’s thoughts and emotions. Neither of them seemed to have close friends.
Richard saw that he was low on gas. He didn’t have much cash and his credit cards were almost maxed out. The trip to D.C. would leave him with zero funds. He saw a sign for a service station and took the exit.
After filling up the tank, he went to pay. There was an array of newspapers on the way into the store. He immediately picked out the Star Reporter. Even surrounded by the other tabloids, it looked cheap and nasty, the paper off-white and the print faintly smudged. Today the front page had a photo of a shrouded body on a gurney. The headline screamed Satanic Singer’s Ears Skewered! He picked it up, not because he was interested in the story but because the Star Reporter was the paper that had paid for the twins’ trip to D.C. and provided an escort. He was going to find out exactly what had gone on during that long weekend last winter, even if he had to camp out on the editor’s doorstep.
Richard looked toward the pay phone. He told himself that he would hang up the moment Melissa started shouting, but he knew he wouldn’t be strong enough to keep that resolution. If only Randy and Gwen hadn’t gone. He used to be able to stand up to his wife when the twins were around. He turned away and went back to the pickup.
Six
I stepped into the control room, grabbed the two men by the ears and smashed their heads together. Then I pulled open the heavy door and went into the studio. The naked woman with the knife turned slowly towards me and I instantly saw that I was too late-the man was slumped in his bonds, a slick of blood over his chest. I shoved one of the camera stands aside and charged the killer, incensed by what she’d done and giving no thought to her gender. She raised her knife, but I pulled back my upper body and aimed a kick at her knee. She dropped with a scream. I stepped on the blade and got hold of her chin, forcing her head up.
“What is this place?” I demanded.
“Fuck you,” she gasped.
I gave another kick, keeping her head up. “Who are the assholes in uniform?”
She was panting, her eyes bulging. “Like…like I’m…gonna tell you.” She obviously knew I was a runaway. Her lips twisted into a mocking smile. “You’ve got…no chance.”
“Why did you kill him?” Up close, I could see that she’d slashed his throat.
“Ever…ever heard…of snuff movies?”
I lashed out at her with my boot, catching her on the other knee.
“Who’s in charge?”
She stared up at me sullenly, her lips tightly closed.
I knew I shouldn’t waste any more time. The temptation to turn the killer’s own knife on her was huge. I managed to get a grip and satisfied myself with tying her to the dead man and gagging her with a rag from the floor. As I reached the door, it struck me that I should have taken the knife, but I wasn’t keen on using the weapon that had deprived the defenseless man of his life. Then, as I heaved open the door, a loud and repetitive alarm began to sound.
The men in the control room were still comatose. They were wearing white T-shirts rather than uniform jackets. I looked around and saw a coat stand. Their jackets didn’t interest me, but their sidearms did. I slipped a semiautomatic pistol into my pocket and then put one of the berets on. Now, I hoped, I looked like the real thing.
I went back upstairs. Perfect. There were uniformed people running in both directions. I stood in the alcove, then took a deep breath and joined the crowd. No one seemed to notice. Heading down the corridor away from the ward I’d been in, I saw a stairway ahead that led upwards. I took it, hoping that I’d find some sign of an exit. So far, I hadn’t seen any directions I could understand.
I was in luck, at least to start with. I made it to the next level and realized I was in an entrance hall. The downside was that two assholes in gray were stationed at the heavy steel door marked Exit, and they were carrying assault rifles. It was only a matter of time before I was spotted. Without hesitating, I walked towards the door as confidently as I could. The alarm must have entailed some kind of lockdown because one of the guards took a step forward and leveled his weapon at me. If that was the way it had to be…
I smiled, then grabbed the rifle with both hands and rammed the butt into the guard’s abdomen. He crashed to his knees. I had control of the weapon now. Taking another step, I drove the butt into the other gorilla’s face. The back of his head thumped against the door and he fell down, unconscious. I looked for keys on their belts but found none. Then I saw a touch pad beyond the door frame. Jamming the muzzle of the rifle into the face of the first guard, who was now gasping for breath, I demanded the code.
“No fuckin’ way.”
So discipline was pretty strong in the gray ranks. I moved the rifle a few inches and fired a shot past his ear.
“Screw you, pal,” the man said.
I heard a clatter of boots on the stairway behind. I had a few seconds, at most. I pointed the rifle at the touch pad, then thought again and loosed off some rounds at the lock mechanism. One of the doors remained where it was, but the other swung back a few inches. I put my shoulder to it and was out. I heard shouts and then a rattle of shots hit the door that I’d just pushed shut again. The glass was obviously bulletproof. The ricochets would have peppered the guards I’d taken out; it seemed that the escape of patient L24 was being treated more seriously than the health of the people who staffed the place.
Breathing in cold air, I rapidly took in the scenery. A high razor-wire fence rose about thirty yards in front of me. Beyond it, tall pine trees covered a gentle slope beneath low, iron-gray clouds. I heard orders being yelled out somewhere to my right, so I headed left. Visibility wasn’t great, but that could be to my advantage. Getting over the fence wasn’t going to be easy, though. I looked back at the building. It was long and low, with very few windows. At one end there was a raised area-that may have been the room I awoke in.
Suddenly lights came on, lights set in the ground at regular intervals along the inside of the fence. So much for my advantage. A pair of rifle-toting men in the standard uniform came round the end of the block. One knelt down and sent a volley of shots in my direction. I hit the ground and heard bullets cut through the air above me.
“Over here!”
I looked to my right and saw a black man standing behind one of the fence posts. It wasn’t exactly giving him much cover, especially since he was a big guy. He was unshaven and wearing what looked like blue-and-white striped pajamas. When I crawled closer, I realized the flesh on his face was slack and he was much thinner than the loose clothes initially suggested.
“You ain’t one of them,” he said, squatting next to me.
“How can you tell?” I said, glancing at the uniform I was wearing.
“You’d already have shot my ass.” He handed me a lump of bread, then put his hands together. “Now get the hell outta here.”
