'I'm hoping you'll find out. That's why I gave him to you.'
The man reached across her thigh and fumbled for the holster strap holding the SIG. As he worked, keeping the muzzle pressed against her skull, she carefully slid the fingers of her right hand underneath the elastic fabric of her shirtsleeve… there, she felt the handle of the tactical knife. To pull it free and grip the knife properly would take no more than four seconds; but to use the blade effectively, she needed him to face her.
He pulled the sidearm from her holster. She heard the SIG land somewhere in the hall.
'I just want to talk,' he said.
Darby waited. He didn't pat her down for any other weapons. Yet.
'I don't want to hurt anyone,' he said again. 'Please believe me.'
A part of her did believe him. She could hear the hope in his voice, the excitement, as if a gift he had longed for was about to be realized. And he was speaking too clearly and coherently for a schizophrenic.
'The people listening to us right now,' he said. 'I want you to tell them to stay away from the house until you've heard the truth. We're all going to talk, that's it. After we're done, I'll release the hostages, and you can arrest me. I'll cooperate. Did you bring something to transport me?'
'It's parked right out in front of the house.'
'What is it?'
'An Armoured Patrol Car.'
'Is it bulletproof?'
'It can withstand rocket fire.'
'Thank you.' His voice caught, strangling on tears.
Judith Rizzo moaned.
'Thank you,' he said again, more clearly now. 'Tell the people listening to us I won't harm anyone.'
'They heard you.'
'I want you to tell them. I want them to hear you say it.'
Darby's gaze had cut sideways. Judith Rizzo had rolled on to her back. Blood dribbled from her mouth and broken nose. A dark, wet pool was on the carpet.
'It was an accident,' Charlie said. 'She tried to run while I… She fell and hit her head on the edge of the bureau. Now talk to the SWAT people and tell them what I just said, word for word.'
'I will if you release your mother.'
'Not yet. She has to stay here.'
'Why?'
'We'll get to all of that. Now tell the SWAT people, hurry.'
Darby said, 'Charlie Rizzo has asked for SWAT to stay away from the house. All he wants to do is talk. After he's done, he'll release the hostages. I'll arrest him and then transport him to the assault vehicle.'
'Ack-' Lee began, interrupted by a coughing fit. 'Acknowledged.'
Darby expected Trent to pipe in and add his two cents. Much to her surprise, he remained silent.
Charlie said, 'Dr McCormick, I'd like you to please turn slowly to your right… Okay, stop. Stay right there. Don't move.'
Behind her she heard the scratch and hiss of a match being struck. The room lit up with a faint orange glow and now she could see the terror etched on the twins' faces, their cheeks shiny with tears.
Charlie said, 'My mother told me someone named Detective Kelly was in charge of trying to find me. Stan Kelly.'
'That's right.'
'What happened to him? I called the Boston police and was told there was no one there by that name.'
'He retired.'
'Retired,' Charlie repeated. 'That means… that's when a person leaves a job, right?'
Darby blinked in surprise. Is he being serious?
'That's right,' she said.
'When did he die?'
'Why do you think he's dead?'
'Never mind, it's not important.' He was speaking quickly — too quickly, she thought. He's panicking. 'My mother also said you helped look for me. Said you're a good person, someone worthy of trust.'
Judith Rizzo blinked dully in the candlelight. Her pupils appeared dilated.
'You can turn around now.'
Darby didn't move. Up until this point, she had cooperated. Now it was time to push back a little, to try to turn the tables.
'Release your mother and I'll turn around.'
'She needs to hear the truth first,' Charlie said. 'She needs — '
'What your mother needs is medical attention. Let me bring her outside. There are people waiting who can take her to an ambulance. I'll come back upstairs and we can talk.'
'No.'
'If you really are Charlie Rizzo — '
'I am! I am Charlie Rizzo, and I'm going to prove it to you!'
'Careful,' Lee whispered over her earpiece. 'Don't push him too hard.'
Darby said, 'If you really are Charlie Rizzo, you'd want your mother to get help. She's suffered a serious head injury. Accident or not, she'll die unless you let me bring her — '
'Turn around,' Charlie roared. 'You turn around right now or you'll never know the truth about what happened to me, what I'm doing here. I'm giving you a Goddamn gift so you turn around right now or we'll lose everything!'
She did, slowly, her hands folded on top of her head.
A small votive candle had been placed on the foot of the bed, and in the flickering candlelight Darby got her first look at the man claiming to be Charlie Rizzo and felt the blood drain from her limbs.
7
Darby's gaze flashed inward, away from the man claiming to be Charlie Rizzo and seizing on a memory of herself at thirteen, lying on her stomach underneath the bed in the spare bedroom of her childhood home and watching, in mounting horror and fear, a pair of soiled work boots moving slowly across the carpet towards her — the serial killer she would later come to know as Traveler, a real-life Michael Myers dressed in greasy blue coveralls and wearing a mask of stitched-together flesh-coloured Ace compression bandages, the holes for the eyes and mouth hidden behind strips of black cloth.
The mask covering Charlie's face was made of human skin.
The areas around the mask's eyes and mouth had been cut away, and in the candlelight she saw black non- absorbable sutures crisscrossing their way around the mask's eyeholes and dark leathery flaps of dried skin around Charlie's neck. The curling, cracked edges of the mask's mouth had been sewn into his healthy lips. There was no sign of blood, or of swelling or infection, on the lips or along the healthy, living skin around the sutures. This… procedure had been done some time ago, and Charlie's skin had healed.
Darby swallowed drily, the candlelit bedroom taking on a surreal quality, as though by turning around she had stumbled through some portal and straight into one of Stephen King's creepy horror stories.
Charlie stood behind the chair holding Mark Rizzo, whose head was still slumped forward. With the aid of the light, she now saw that Rizzo's face was swollen, the skin split in several places — Christ, the skin around his left eye was a bloody mess. Darby thought Rizzo had been beaten unconscious; he didn't stir or make a sound when Charlie placed a hand on the man's shoulder.
She saw dirty, callused nubs of scarred skin. No fingernails. They had been removed.
'I didn't do this,' Charlie said, pointing to the mask with the revolver.
