sat defiantly around and throughout the Tower.
Chapter 10
Allander stood in the rocking speedboat about a mile offshore and nosed it around until the bow faced open water. He wedged an iron rod into place between the floor and the wheel, turned the motor over, and started the boat again. It was getting low on gas. He tried to ease the throttle a bit higher, but the boat jerked forward and he fell over the side, banging his shoulder as it sped off.
The cold choked the air out of him and for a moment he thought he might sink. But then he felt his arms fight through the numbness, and he began to tread water. He floated for a minute holding his shoulder, moving with the waves. At least I disposed of the boat, he thought as he started the long swim to shore.
The throbbing in his shoulder intensified with every stroke and Allander realized he had underestimated his injury. He began to thrash, fighting with the rise of the waves to pull his body nearer to land.
The water splashed over his face, forcing itself into his eyes and nose and stinging horribly. His throat became raw from taking in water in little gulps. The cut on his finger throbbed as the saltwater entered the wound. The small lights of houses in the hilltops above the beach twinkled at him, as though jeering at him in his precarious situation.
Be calm. Just calm yourself, he thought. He rolled his tired neck from side to side and inhaled deeply, clearing his mind.
He kicked off his shoes when he'd first landed in the water, and now he stripped off his socks, his shirt, and even his thin prison pants. He tied one leg of his pants in a knot and shoved his socks and shirt into it before throwing the whole ball of cloth aside.
Wearing only his underwear, Allander gave in to the rhythm of the ocean, letting his body flow with the swirling water, letting it seize his limbs and take him under its sway. He rose, barely moving his arms and legs, and twirled on the surface before dipping below again, his exhausted body washed about like a leaf riding a harsh autumn wind. But the ocean continued to press him upward. He drank the air greedily before the ocean moved him down, forcefully sweeping him to shore. He felt his limbs grow stiff with the cold and he hoped they'd keep moving.
Finally, he noticed that the waves were breaking and he had to fight for breath as they crashed, spouting a white mist into the humid air. His torso actually broke through the surface as he neared shore, pushed into the air by the force of a wave, and he saw the lights clearly before his body hit the water again. At last, he felt the sand beneath his feet, and the thick pebbles and grains surrounding his toes. He touched the ground with both knees and still the ocean pushed him forward, seething up his back and through his legs, propelling him to shore.
Suddenly, his legs and waist were seized by a large, dark mass. A slimy substance wrapped itself around him and squeezed him tightly, tying up his limbs and sucking him back out to sea. Allander dug his fingers into the sand and pulled himself forward, screaming and thrashing.
The mass slid from Allander's waist and briefly held his knees before he kicked free. He turned on his hip to watch as it slid from view. It was a patch of dark green seaweed, glittering moistly in the moonlight.
He pulled himself free of the water as it retreated to gather itself for another surge onto the beach. Scrambling on all fours and wearing only a ragged pair of underpants, Allander was delivered to shore at three minutes past midnight.
The water climbed gently to where his body lay and barely touched his side, as if sniffing him curiously. Allander stirred, coughing deeply, and winced at the dull ache in his throat and head. His finger throbbed even more now. He drew himself up to his knees and peered around the beach, admiring its fine, open expanse, its irregular shape and sloppy curves. Overhead, the moon broke through the clouds. Throwing his head back, he shrieked, something between a sob and a cackle.
He ran his hands through the water, petting it as it edged forward to meet him again. It rose through his spread fingers, climbing clingingly up his forearms, and he dug his hands shovel-like into the moist ground and clenched them loosely. The water drew the matter away to reveal two fists of small wriggling crabs, alive and free in every handful of sand.
Chapter 11
The first light of morning broke through the low clouds and cast a bluish glow over the beach. The storm had passed in the night, and the ground was damp with morning dew. A crab scuttled across the sand, back toward the water, its ragged claws leaving small trails in its wake.
Allander turned his head and coughed, then rolled over and threw up. His vomit smelled clean and fresh, his stomach acid diluted with saltwater. The swelling on his shoulder had gone down during the few hours that he had been passed out. He had slept deeply, but his eyes were puffy and sore.
At one point, from the depths of his stupor, Allander had thought he heard voices. Panic washed over him momentarily as he imagined cops or security guards dragging him from the beach. But then he realized that the noise came from a group of passing teenagers, and they dismissed him as a harmless bum.
Rolling to his forearms, Allander rose to his haunches, squinting even in the dim morning light. ''Free at last, free at last. Thank God Almighty, I am free at last,'' he mumbled. He laughed, a choke thick with irony.
He pulled himself to his feet, but stood stooped, favoring his swollen shoulder. Facing the breeze with his bare chest, he wandered from the beach, looking much like a scarecrow that had freed itself from its post.
He gazed up at the houses in the hills as he climbed the stairs that led from the beach to the residential neighborhood. Manicured bushes lined the sidewalks, but as the street wound higher up the hill, the neat shrubbery gave way to thicker underbrush. The houses sat farther back from the road behind larger gates. Their mailboxes were all that were open to the outside world, and even those were built into protective brick structures.
Blending with the shadows, Allander made his way up the street. It was early in the morning and no one seemed to be up yet. He could probably have proceeded up the middle of the road, but he kept to the shadows out of habit. He glanced at the gates as he passed them, amused at the false sense of security they created for their owners.
At the top of the hill, he stopped at a white stucco house that peeked out behind an elaborate fence. Reaching through the gate, Allander slipped the bar. He swung the gate slightly open and slid through, disappearing into the bushes at the side of the driveway.
He ran his thumb gently over the bloody tape covering his finger. It was damp and the edges were frayed. Ocean water was cleansing, he reminded himself thankfully.
Making his way slowly through the landscape, Allander flanked the house, occasionally peering between the bushes to scan the area. Although he knew nobody would be awake at this hour, he didn't want to risk a bold approach.
He made his way behind a garden shed twenty feet from the side of the house. Sliding open a window, he crept through, noticing the equipment stored within. He had always prided himself on being able to make do with anything he could lay his hands on. So many tools could be found around the average house-tools of death, destruction, torture.
After digging through a toolbox, Allander held up a lengthy awl, studying it in the light that filtered through the dust and cobwebs.
The doorbell rang.
'Who the hell? At this hour?' A shrill voice issued forth from beneath a white beauty mask and a set of rollers. Henry was startled until he remembered his wife's new habit of rising early to apply beauty products. 'Go get the door, Henry,' she urged.
Henry grunted and shifted heavily in the bed. 'It's probably just the paper boy.'
'Get the door, Henry.'
Henry sighed and stumbled out of bed as his wife rolled back over on her side, her arms crossed on top of her
