When You See Me (Detective D.D. Warren #11)(108)

“Agreed.”

“Uh, guys.” Flora again. “I think you two should go ahead. I’m not, um, I’m not moving so well.”

Even with Keith’s arm around her waist, she was swaying where she stood. Now, the vigilante held out her butterfly blade to Kimberly. “For good luck.”

“You keep that. We don’t know how many people are roaming these tunnels yet. Besides, at the rate things are going”—Kimberly eyed Flora and Keith grimly—“you may be our cavalry.”

“Deal,” Keith said.

Last nods all around. Then Kimberly stepped forward briskly, the sheriff already at her side.

“Stay safe,” Kimberly ordered Flora and Keith.

“Back at you.”

Kimberly and the sheriff raced into the gloom.





CHAPTER 44





IAM SILENT. I AM SLOW. I am weak.

What I need to be is smart.

As I hear the Bad Man’s roar behind me, I think, I will turn, I will take a stand. I’ll summon my mother’s love and my slaughtered sisters’ anguish, and we’ll incinerate him with our rage.

I recognize now, as I lurch down the hall, that these fantasies are only that—the vivid dreams of a girl too weak to fight back.

He’s coming. He’ll grab me by the shoulder, twist me about. And in one second of searing pain, it’ll be done. I’ll be with my mamita. Surely that won’t be so bad. Our pack of two, together again.

Footsteps, pounding closer.

The hallway is too long. I won’t make it.

I could veer off into one of the many rooms, but then what? They’re small and barren. I’ll be nothing but a mouse, trapped in a corner. I need to get upstairs. The kitchen. It has knives and rolling pins and all sorts of weapons for a little thing like me.

The footsteps grow louder. Yet the hall goes on and on.

I send out my best plea to the house. I know it’s sad and unhappy. I know it never wanted to be used this way. “Help me now,” I beg of it. “I see you, I hear you. Please, please, help me.”

And just like that, the hall lights flicker, then wink off, casting the entire hall into gloom.

A fresh roar of frustration. The Bad Man lurches to a stop somewhere in the dark, disoriented by the sudden pall.

Whereas me . . . I’ve been roaming these halls under the cover of night for years. I’m the mouse, scurrying along, keeping out of sight. I don’t need light to see. I know every inch of the hall by the feel of the stones against my feet.

Faster now. As much as a gimpy girl can do.

The Bad Man surges forward again. Slower, with an occasional thump and curse as he hits a wall, a doorjamb. His legs are longer than mine. Even slowed, he’ll eat up the distance between us in no time.

The stairs. I sense them before I make out the first riser. In my mind, I’m whimpering with relief. In real life, I’m just as silent as always.

Creeping now. Up, up, up. The door, just there, I can nearly reach.

“Stop, police!” I hear a new voice boom behind me. D.D. is alive!

I twist just in time to see a beam of light slice across the hall. D.D. has a flashlight tucked between her ribs and her injured right arm.

Meaning D.D. is holding her gun in her left hand. None too steadily.

The Bad Man turns. The beam of light catches the side of his face. He is grinning as he beholds an injured cop, swaying on her feet, daring to defy him.

The Bad Man charges the detective.

Bam. Bam. Bam.

D.D.’s gun. But the Bad Man doesn’t seem to care. He smashes D.D. to the ground as if she were nothing more than a paper doll.

I see the knife flash up.

Then, I can’t look anymore.



* * *



    —

    THE HOUSE GROANS WITH AGITATION as I finally burst through the cellar door. I stumble into the carpeted hall, falling to my knees, then scramble up again. I’m crying. Snot drips from my nose, tears coat my cheeks.

I’m terrified and pissed off and emptied out. So many years, so many ambitions, and here I am again, watching the Bad Man take it all away. I hate him beyond all rationality. I hurt beyond all possibility.

Why are so many dying for a Stupid Girl like me?

I careen wildly toward the kitchen. The building moans again. Wind whips the tangled knots of my hair, though the doors are closed and the house shuttered tight. The girls, my mother. I can feel them all. The Bad Man is feasting. And they are as angry as I am.

I make it across the marble foyer into the breakfast room. Through the window I see a police officer standing guard. He catches the shadow of my movement, bobbing up and down as I drag my right leg. His eyes widen.

I try to shake my head, warn him away, but he doesn’t notice.

He runs down the porch, bursting through the front doors behind me.

“Hey there—”

Just as the basement door flies open, cracking against the sidewall. The deputy turns, caught between a sobbing little girl and a hulking fiend with a knife. He doesn’t need any help figuring it out.

“Stop! Police!”

Does he pull his weapon? Does he manage to fend off the first blow or two? I don’t have it in me to turn and look, as once again the Bad Man charges. The officer goes down.

I hear a gurgle I know too well. The young man dying. Alive one moment, gone the next. The Bad Man isn’t just a monster. He is the devil himself.