House (30 page)

The slamming doors throughout the house stopped in unison with the crash of the toppled armoire.

Bam!

Dust roiled.

Silence settled.

Susan ran.

Past Lawdale, past Jack, down the hall. “You're going to get us all killed, Jack!” she cried and was gone.

What was she talking about? What was he doing that would get them killed? What were any of them doing that would get them killed?

Or was it something they
weren't
doing?

One dead body.

Lawdale faced them, breathing steadily through his nose. “You okay?”

“I'm alive.” Jack pushed himself to his feet.

“I heard her screams, but I had to go back for the shotgun you boys left in the kitchen.”

“What caused
that
?” Leslie asked.

“What's causing any of this? Evil. The house has a mind of its own. No luck, right?”

“What do you think? What about Randy?”

“Attic's no help.” Lawdale tossed the sledge on the floor. He seemed to have lost his fire. “I think we're all going to die.”

“Thanks for the encouragement, Officer, but we've already reached our own conclusions.”

“Which are?”

Jack hesitated. “There's no way out.”

“The wise man built his house upon a rock,” Lawdale said. “Preacher used to say that. Unfortunately, whoever built this house built it on a grave. Unless we expose that grave, we're all going to die.”

“Uncover the mass grave this place was built on?”

“Grave. As in death. He obviously thinks we're all deserving of death. One of us has to die. It's the only way.”

His statement would have left Jack floored seven, even three hours ago. But he knew that basic logic had brought the lawman to his summary of the matter.

“We can't just kill someone,” Leslie said.

“We're running out of time. Someone has to give their life so that the rest can live, not only here, but out there, in the world. Put an end to this lunatic's game.”

“Suicide?”

“No, I don't think that will work for him; it doesn't fit his profile. He's not looking for cowardice. Whoever kills has to do it like he would, out of malice.”

“That's murder.”

“We aren't murderers.”

“Evidently not. Not yet. But that may change in the next few minutes.”

He paused then said, “And if it comes down to it, I'm willing to be the victim, even though there may be better choices.”

They stared at him. The cop was actually offering to die for them all?

“I've already told the others,” Lawdale said. He set the shotgun down. “I'm going to try to find Susan. Twenty-five minutes, my friends. Whatever you do, do it quickly.”

He handed Jack his gun, walked past them, and turned toward the dining room where Susan had fled.

Jack glanced at Leslie, who was staring after Lawdale. She turned her head to him, eyes wide.

“It makes sense.” Then he added so there would be no misunderstanding, “In a textbook way. Logically.”

“This isn't a textbook,” she said. “It's a classical case of mass hysteria, and he's contributing to it.”

He ignored her. “Maybe he's right; there's a better choice than him.”

“Who, Randy?”

Jack didn't answer.

Leslie's jaw flexed. “He may be a bit twisted up here”—she pointed to her head—“but not even Randy deserves to die.”

“We can't just ignore what's happening,” he said. “White told Randy to kill
me
.”

She glared at him.

“Come on, Leslie. You know as well as I do that he's capable of killing
both
of us!” Jack leaned the shotgun against the wall. “If Lawdale told them what he just told us, I guarantee you, Randy's already got me in his sights.”

Leslie looked back down the hall. “You can't just kill him, for heaven's sake!”

“And if he comes after me, what would you suggest I do?”

Leslie took a shallow breath. “Pete told me that White wanted the girl dead,” Leslie said. “I think this whole thing is about her. I think White really let her go so that we would have someone to kill.”

Jack just stared at her, daring her to say what she meant.

“I'm not suggesting you kill Susan,” she snapped. “But Randy might try. He's too much of a coward to come after you, but he may try the girl.”

The house began to groan again. An indistinguishable scream pierced through the walls. Other screams rose, overlapped.

33
5:40 am

STEPHANIE DIDN'T AGREE TO THE PLAN, but she didn't stop Randy either. If there was any other way, she would have stopped him, but the only way for them to live through the deadline was for someone else to die, as the cop himself had said.

It didn't sound right; she knew that it couldn't be right. But it was the closest thing to right she could come up with.

Her hands had done their share of shaking through the night, but now she couldn't stop them if she tried. She didn't feel good about killing someone any more than she felt good about eating Pete's dog food. But she wasn't exactly a healthy person. She'd learned that in the last few hours.

The thought of dipping her fingers into his nasty food and placing it into her mouth made her stomach swim with nausea.

Deep down, where she'd managed to run away from herself, she was a very sick, twisted little girl. If anyone deserved to die here, it was probably her. Jack could attest to that. She had abandoned him in his time of deepest need and retreated into her world of denials and self-pity.

A tear slipped down her cheek. She followed Randy out of the room toward the stairs. “Are you sure we should do this?”

Randy stopped and turned back. “You could wait here. I have to get the gun and find the girl, but I'm coming back, like we agreed. There's no way I'm getting hung out to dry on my own. I want Lawdale here when I pull that trigger. He'll back us up.”

“And if he doesn't?”

Randy hesitated. “Then we'll have to do them all.”

“You never said—”

The house screamed. A dozen overlapping screams.

“What's that?”

Randy ignored her and moved forward in a crouch.

The scream sounded like it had come from a little girl. Susan, maybe. Stephanie shivered. And in that second, she understood.

It was Susan. Tin Man wanted Susan. He wanted
them
to kill Susan.

And according to Randy, that's what Lawdale had meant when he said the killer wanted fresh blood.

She was a sick, sick person, and she should be stopping Randy rather than sneaking down the stairs behind him.

But she was too sick to stop him.

They hurried to the kitchen for the shotgun. But the guns were gone. Randy stared, face red. “What now?” He stormed around for a few seconds, checking behind the table and the counter. “He took them! He took 'em both!”

“Randy, I'm not sure—”

“You left the crowbar upstairs,” he said, pushing past Stephanie. “We'll do her with the crowbar.”

Five forty-nine. “We have to go,” Jack said. “We have to do this now!”

“And what have you decided to do?”

He wavered again. Kill Lawdale? Kill Randy? Kill Susan? Rage flooded his bones. He slammed his fists against the wall. “This is insane!”

“Jack,” a soft voice said.

He whirled to the sound of the girl's voice. Susan stood in a doorway at the end of the foyer, near the stairs.

Tin Man's metal mask hung from her right hand.

Jack was too stunned to speak.

She dropped the mask to the floor where it clattered noisily.

“What's . . . ?” He wasn't even sure what to ask.

“Will you listen to me now?” she asked.

Jack took three steps and stood beside Leslie, who gawked at the sight. There was something unnerving about the way Susan appeared, standing there in her tattered white dress with the killer's mask by her feet.

“Of course we'll listen,” Leslie said softly.

“You have to listen carefully. I've been trying to tell you, but you aren't listening.”

“Of course I—”

“I tried to warn you. The house is keeping you from listening.”

“What do you mean?”

“It messes with your hearing. Makes it so that you can't see things right. Or hear things right. I've been trying to tell you all night. Will you listen now?”

He stared at her. “I . . . I can hear you.”

“We're running out of time. Will you listen?”

“Who . . . who are you?”

“I'm the one he wants you to kill. But if you kill me, you'll die. You have to believe me. The only way to survive the game is to destroy him.”

“How?”

“I can show you.”

If she was right, their hope for survival had been with them most of the night, and they'd ignored her. In that moment Susan was a picture of perfect innocence. His own daughter, Melissa, reaching out to save him. A guiding angel of light sent to save him, even though she was just a girl White had abducted. But in that moment she was more.

“He's trying to kill me, Jack.”

He wanted to rush up to her and throw his arms around her and tell her that he'd never leave her again, but he couldn't seem to move.

“I know.” Jack went to her. “But that's not going—”

“Lawdale is trying to kill me,” Susan said.

He stopped. Blinked. “What? Who . . .”

“Lawdale. The Tin Man, the one who leaks black smoke even up here. I told you before, he wants you to kill me. That's the real game.”

His mind spun. A new terror flashed down his spine.

“Did you hear me?” she asked.

“Are you sure? Lawdale?”

“You'll see the smoke, Jack.”

A hand reached out from beyond the doorframe and yanked Susan by her hair. She cried out.

Randy stepped through, grinning, eyes wild. “Stay back, Jack. This is our only way out, you know that.”

“Randy?” Leslie brushed past Jack. “Randy, what are you doing? You're crazy, she's innocent!”

“I think that's the point, doctor,” Randy said; then to the girl, “Let's go, sweet pea.”

He jerked her back the way they'd come.

Jack reeled. His own shotgun was still back by the armoire. He spun, four long strides, grabbed up the shotgun. He ran to the doorway that Susan had been snatched from, checked beyond with a jab of his head. Clear.

It split at the end—one way led back to the kitchen, around the back of the dining room; one way to the rest of the lower house and the stairs. Which way?

“What are you doing?” Leslie breathed at his shoulder.

Jack held still, gripped by indecision. He couldn't just blast his way through the house while Randy had the advantage.

Something was wrong with his elbow. He rolled up his denim shirtsleeve and stared at his elbow where the armoire door had plastered him. A small gash leaked red blood.

“Black smoke,” he said. “When I was in the basement, I was leaking black smoke. Everyone who was evil leaked black smoke. We all would have. But up here it's different. This is where evil can hide.”

“The smoke is only in the basement? I don't understand how—”

“I don't know,” he snapped. “But up here evil doesn't just walk around for us to see it, like it does down in the basement. I'm not leaking black smoke up here.”

“I can see that! But what does that have to do with Lawdale?”

“She's saying that he's different, that he'll leak black smoke no matter where he goes.”

“How?”

“I don't know! All I know is that we have to believe Susan.”

Too much time had passed. He ran toward the kitchen, shouting, “Randy, you can't do this! We need her!”

No sound. Jack threw caution to the wind and ran for the kitchen with Leslie hard behind.

Empty.

“Upstairs, hurry!”

They peeled back through the other hall into the dining room, but it was as far as they got.

Officer Morton Lawdale stood in the archway, holding a large, gleaming knife from the kitchen. Randy's knife? His eyes were wide and his face was white.

“We're out of time,” Lawdale said. He thrust the knife into the table and looked into Jack's eyes, eyes pleading and scared.

He didn't look like the Tin Man.

“I want you to kill me,” Lawdale said.

34
5:53 am

“KILL YOU?”

“We can't put it off any longer.” Sweat beaded Law-dale's forehead below the bloody bandanna. “Someone has to die so the rest can live, and I'm willing. Do it now before I change my mind.”

Jack had the shotgun; he could easily lift it and put a hole in the man's chest. If Susan was right, he'd be killing White.

If Susan was wrong, he would be killing a cop. And she could easily be wrong, couldn't she? She wasn't exactly a predictable person.