Dark Eye (55 page)

“You’re going to be okay,” I told him, and hoped he believed it. “Just stay put. Don’t try to move.”

I wanted to remain with him, but I couldn’t. Rachel was still up there, and the other girls. Every additional second they spent upside down in those things could be fatal.

I realized Edgar must’ve used the scaffolding to get the bodies up into those bells. So I would do the same to get them down.

By the time I ran through the cathedral door again, the ballroom was perhaps half empty, which was a damn good thing, because the flames were spreading fast. At least a third of the room was already ablaze. The air was thick with dense black smoke. Everyone was coughing and choking, black stains under their noses and mouths. I was finding it hard to breathe myself. But I put that out of my head. I had to get to Rachel.

The scaffolding levels were maybe seven feet apart. Edgar had no doubt used a ladder, but he hadn’t left that behind for me, so I just vaulted it. Up on the first level, I found round steel pylons, buckets of mortar, tools, signs of a barely completed construction process. I leaped up, grabbing the edge of the next level, my bullet-creased arm aching, and swung myself around. On the next riser, I was level with the bells.

Up close, I saw that Rachel was tied tightly across her entire body, ensuring that she couldn’t move or escape. But the other three girls were only bound at the feet, just enough to keep them on the clappers. Why hadn’t they escaped? Was it possible they’d let Abbott put them up there?

Rachel’s eyes were open, but I couldn’t gauge how conscious she was, hanging upside down for so long, her head thumping against the bell, that incredible noise shattering her eardrums. The side of her head closest to me was bleeding-not a good sign.

“Rachel!” I shouted. No reaction of any kind.

There was a narrow catwalk on the front of the cathedral, probably to give the workmen access to the bell chambers. With a cautious, tentative step, I edged off the riser onto the catwalk. From there, I was able to reach out and grab the edge of the bell.

It fought me. Nearly knocked me off the cathedral. I wobbled and teetered, noticing for the first time just how damn high up I was. But I held on to that damn bell.

It stopped. No more swinging. Rachel hung motionless in the center.

“Rachel!” Still no response.

I didn’t know whether I should untie Rachel first or stop the swinging of the other girls’ bells. And while I was deciding, the cathedral suddenly shot out from under my feet and I tumbled down into the smoky abyss.

Correction: my feet were knocked off the platform. By Edgar.

Somehow I managed to grab the edge of one of the risers and swing myself onto the second level. Edgar jumped down on the other side.

His face was bruised, bloodied. He was wheezing with each breath, coughing. And he had my gun.

“You’ve ruined everything.” His voice was harsh and gravelly from the smoke, and perhaps my beating. “My ascension. Virginia’s return. Dream-Land.”

“You need help,” I managed. “I told you that before.”

He held out his hand. “Give me the detonator.”

“So you can set off the other eight bombs? And kill even more people?”

“It’s for the greater good.”

While we talked I mentally measured the distance to the next riser, the chances of me making it before he could shoot. Where were the cops, the firemen? They were bound to appear soon. If I could just stall, just keep him talking…

“You’re starting to sound like me,” I said.

“I’m nothing like you, Susan.”

“You are. You’re rationalizing. Trying to justify the horrible things you do.”

“I’m trying to give us a new world. A better world! One that isn’t so… hard. You of all people should appreciate the value of that.”

“You have a good heart,” I said, and I truly believed it. “Maybe we all do. But it went wrong somehow. You haven’t done anything wonderful. You’ve killed innocent people.”

“No!” He fired. It missed me, but not by so much that I didn’t feel my heart skip several beats. “I’ve studied the prophet’s words. I was given the secret.”

Down below, the flames were everywhere. I knew it would not be long before the entire room, infrastructure and all, came crashing down. Where was my backup?

“Give it up, Abbott. Let me get you some help.”

He inched forward. “I want the detonator! Now!”

“Not gonna happen. Not now. Not ever. No matter what you do.”

He rushed me. I was caught off guard by the sudden change, not to mention the fact that I was on the edge of a riser some fourteen feet off the floor. I wrapped myself around his body and wrestled him down. He couldn’t get me in his sights, so he clubbed me over the head with the gun butt. That hurt. I fought to block out the pain, keep myself conscious.

He seemed possessed, as if one of Poe’s worst monsters had taken over his body. He kicked me repeatedly. I pushed up to my hands and knees and he kicked me again, flattening me. I felt something in my chest snap.

“You don’t have to do this,” I said, spitting blood. He kicked me in the mouth, loosening a tooth. “Like Poe said in
Eureka,
we’re free spirits. We can chart our own destiny.”

“In Dream-Land.”

“No. That’s where you got it wrong. He was talking about finding your own Dream-Land. He was talking about making
this
world a Dream-Land.”

“Liar. False prophet.”

I hauled myself up, hoping to make one final run at him, but he saw me coming. With both hands, he grabbed me by the neck and flung me backward. Off the riser. Into the flames.

I woke up and there were noises everywhere there were noises everywhere and they were so loud and it was just like the inside of my head except it was outside and the room was on fire everything was on fire and I don’t like fire I’m afraid of fire. Everyone was running and fighting to get out and I was going to get out too except I heard my dad calling and he sounded just like he did that time when he told me my mommy was dead and I wouldn’t get to see my mommy anymore. I ran to him and I saw him and he was hurt and he had red all over him. He was crawling and barely pulling himself along and his gun was in his hand and I don’t like guns I don’t like them at all but he was too weak to lift it up. I shouted for someone to help but no one was listening until someone told me he’d talked to the hospital and ambulances were coming and I tried to get my dad out of there before the entire room burned down and there was a scream! There was a scream I knew it was a scream and I knew who it was even before I saw her it was Susan and she was falling falling and she fell so far please God don’t let her be dead please don’t please don’t please don’t please don’t let the Bad Man take away our babies. Susan is my friend doesn’t he know Susan is my friend just like Brian in the fifth grade was my friend until they took him away to another school but Susan is still my friend and I want her to stay to be my friend. Please don’t hurt her. People should not hurt each other! People should not hurt each other!

I hit the floor back first, head tucked, then rolled, like they teach us at the academy, but I was certain I’d broken my right arm. Maybe a leg. It sure hurt enough. Possibly had a concussion. I didn’t have time to do a personal inventory. As soon as I opened my eyes, he was standing there, hovering over me, his foot between my legs.

“You know I loved you. You know that.” He looked like Satan, with belching smoke and billowing flames in the background.

Blood trickled out of my mouth when I tried to speak. I knew I couldn’t escape. He could pump three rounds into my skull before I could blink. “You had a damn funny way of showing it.”

“I let you live.”

A silence fell, blocking out the fiery chaos surrounding us.

“I did that for no other,” he continued. “It was not the will of the Raven, but I did it, because I so desperately wanted you to see the path.” His lips trembled. “You must hate me.”

“No.” And as I spoke, staring up at his twisted, pathetic face, I realized it was true. Whatever anger I’d had, whatever enmity I’d borne, was gone now. “I don’t hate you. I did. But not anymore. I told you already. We’re a lot alike.”

“We are?”

I nodded. “Both haunted. Both screwed to the max.” I wiped the blood from my mouth. “I used to think you were evil. Like if I demonized your psychosis, that somehow made it easier to deal with.” I laughed. “Hell, you’re not evil.”

“I’m… not?”

“No. You’re just a poor schmuck who misses his sister. Like I miss my husband.”

He hovered over me, gun still pointed, listening.

“I couldn’t forgive my husband for what he did. And I channeled all that anger against you. But that’s no way to live. I’m not going to spend my whole life angry, tearing myself apart. I forgive you.”

“You-what?”

“You heard me. I forgive you.”

He hesitated, gun wavering, sweat and blood trickling down the sides of his face. “You know I can’t let you live.”

I spat more blood out of my mouth. Something inside me was broken. I couldn’t remain conscious much longer. “So if you’re going to kill me, do it already. What do I get, the axe? I don’t think you have time for dental surgery.”

His face knotted up. “You are so…
hard
on me.” He pressed the gun against the side of my head. “I’m sorry, Susan. Goodbye.”

The gun fired. I winced. And waited, expecting to feel the intense pain-and release-that did not come. Always I think I’ve made it, but it never, never comes.

I opened my eyes. Abbott had crumpled to the floor. And behind him stood Darcy, shaking from head to foot, his normally inexpressive face contorted with pain, his eyes streaming tears.

He was holding his father’s gun.

After that, everything got kind of fuzzy. I know police and fire teams invaded the ballroom, and I know they got me out of there. Darcy hovered by my side the whole time. He was horribly torn up about what he had done. I knew it would haunt him for a long time, maybe forever. But at that moment, all he seemed to care about was me.

Next couple of days were pretty much a haze, too, but I eventually got the lowdown on what had happened in the aftermath. There were surprisingly few casualties from the fire. Many injuries, lots of smoke-inhalation-related respiratory problems, but only a few fatalities, mostly because O’Bannon had blasted open an exit to speed up the evacuation. That ballroom and the one adjoining it were wrecked, but most of the rest of the hotel was still sound. I’d prevented Abbott from detonating the remaining incendiary bombs, which were found and removed.

O’Bannon was seriously wounded and would be in the hospital for months. He’d already had his phone rerouted to his room in the recovery ward and had all his open files sent over. He might be laid up, but he was definitely not out of commission.

Patrick had been killed with an axe, which Abbott had apparently brought along to cut the rope he used to string up the girls. We assumed he’d come upon Abbott at work and Abbott killed him. Hid the body where he thought no one would find it, at least not before the explosions started. What a waste. He was a good man, a kind man. A rarity, in our field. I miss him.

Abbott died, almost instantly. Darcy’s gunshot got him in the brain. Although I could empathize with the pain his life had brought him, I had no regrets about his execution. He had crossed the threshold into utter psychosis. No drug therapy ever would have brought him back. It was better this way.

Rachel was alive. The bells hadn’t been as hard as they looked-not real iron. She still had a concussion and had suffered some hearing loss, at least temporarily. But she was alive. And the docs told me that if I hadn’t gotten to her when I did and stopped that bell, she might not have made it.

That was something, anyway.

The other three girls, Tiffany and Judy and JJ, were also alive, but seriously messed up, far worse than Rachel. They hadn’t been in their bells as long-apparently they had helped him secure Rachel-but they were suffering severe psychological trauma from their time in captivity. It would be a long while before they were normal again, if indeed they ever were. But they were alive, and where there’s life, there’s hope. Right?

This time, I let the docs keep me in the hospital just as long as they wanted. I was in no hurry, and it gave me time to do some thinking. Which for me, was long overdue.

After six days, I was released. My arm was in a cast, my leg bore a brace, and I had a cracked rib, but I was out of there. Lisa picked me up at the hospital.

“You’re sure you want to do this?”

“Positive.” I wondered if I needed a friend who was a better driver, because each little bump of her Porsche radiated through my tethered arm and leg. “Thanks for being my chauffeur.”

“Hell, honey, you’re unsafe at any speed when you’re well. No way I’m letting you drive.” She paused. “But this could wait.”

“No, I want to do it now.” I reached out and lightly ran my fingers across her cheek. “I love you.”

She kept her eyes fixed on the road. “Tell me the trauma of your near-death experience hasn’t made you realize that you are at heart a lesbian.”

I smiled. “No.”

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that. God knows you couldn’t be a worse kisser than some of the male lovers I’ve had.”

“No. Just wanted to tell you. I know you’ve been taking care of me. Not just the big stuff, like driving and finding places for me to live, moving me and taking care of my life while I drank myself into oblivion. I know you’re the one who put Sugar Babies in my empty holster. Who quietly replaced my ratty old black turtleneck with a much nicer new one. Who kept taping Dr. Phil and leaving it on my VCR.”

Lisa’s eyes crinkled. “That’s what friends are for.”

I laid my head on her shoulder. “Alcoholics don’t usually have friends. They don’t deserve them. But you stuck with me through it all. I won’t forget it.”