Backtracker (15 page)

"
What do you
want
?
"
moaned Steve.

"
Redemption,
"
the man said softly.
"
Happiness. That second chance I was talking about. All the things you stole from me.
"

"
What did I
steal
?
"
whimpered Steve.

"
Everything,
"
said the man.
"
You stole my life. You sneaked up on me and took everything away.
"

"
What do you...think I...took
?
"
gnashed Steve.

"
I
'
m returning the favor,
"
the man told him, his voice growing colder.
"
I
'
m taking everything from you.
"
He paused for an instant, said nothing; when he spoke again, his voice was very close to Steve
'
s right ear.
"
Your hands were just a downpayment,
"
he cooed sadistically.
"
We
'
re not even close to being even yet.
"

Steve felt hot breath in his ear, snapped his head around to get a look at the attacker. By the time he did so, the man had retreated out of his range of sight. Steve let his head fall forward, and he wept.

"
What
'
s the matter, boy
?
"
the tormentor asked icily, roughly shaking the chair.
"
Don
'
t you want to pay up?
"

"
Please,
"
wailed Steve.
"
Don
'
t
do
this to me!
"

"
Listen,
"
clipped the man.
"
Why don
'
t you just take this like a man? If you
are
a man, that is.
"

Caught by a storm of pain, an amplified wave cresting up from his arms, Steve crushed his teeth together and held his breath. Involuntarily, he stiffened, pressing his body into the chair.

"
You
aren
'
t
a man, are you
?
"
the attacker asked tauntingly, and then he laughed.

"
I
'
m dying,
"
rasped Steve.
"
I
'
m
bleeding
to death!
"

"
Well, of course you are, silly,
"
clucked the man.
"
Did you just now figure that out?
"
Laughing loudly, he swatted the top of Steve Kimmel
'
s head.
"
Boy! I knew you were a little slow, but this is ridiculous!
"

Steve was beginning to feel cold, and he shivered. He wanted to scream again, but he knew that would only make things worse. With awful certainty, he realized that he was probably going to die soon.

Despite the bleak outlook, Steve knew that
he had
to keep pleading with the mysterious attacker. Maybe, it still wasn
'
t too late; maybe, if Steve said the right thing, he could convince the guy to spare his life...and if he could get an ambulance to the house quickly enough, he could still survive. Maybe they could even save his
hands
,
pack them in ice and reattach them.

Like a destitute man huddling over a lottery ticket, praying for an unlikely miracle, Steve gathered himself around his feeble hopes. Closing his eyes, he focused on the tiny seeds of possibility, tried to will them to grow.

"
Look,
"
he gasped, speaking only with great effort.
"
Why don
'
t you...tell me why you
'
re doing this. I swear...I really don
'
t know.
"

"
You want an explanation?
"
The stranger paused, and Steve could hear him shuffling behind the chair.
"
Too bad,
"
he said finally.
"
You won
'
t get one.
"

"
Why
?
"
pressed Steve, shivering violently, feeling ever colder.

"
Because you didn
'
t give me any explanations when you ruined me. Fair is fair, don
'
t you think?
"

Gently, the stranger flicked a finger against the back of Steve
'
s head. Expecting another beating, Steve lunged forward, flinching from the blow which never came.

"
You know,
"
said the man, his tone low and bitter.
"
You
'
re already ahead of the game. At least I
'
m giving you a warning that I
'
m going to kill you. You never gave me a warning.
"

"
Who
are
you
?
"
grated Steve.
"
At least tell me who you are.
"

The attacker chuckled menacingly, drummed his fingers on the back of the chair.
"
Santa Claus,
"
he said.
"
I know you
'
ve been bad, so instead of giving you presents, I
'
m going to take things away.
"

His meager hopes shrinking with each dark word from the stranger
'
s mouth, Steve closed his eyes.
"
Please,
"
he groaned.
"
I don
'
t want to die. Whatever I did wrong...I can fix it. I can...help you...make up for it.
"

"
Hah
!
"
barked the man, his voice suddenly erupting with anger.
"
You
can
'
t
help
me! You can
'
t
fix
it! It
'
s too
late
for that!
"
With an inarticulate cry of rage, he drove his fist like a hammer against the side of Steve
'
s skull.
"
You
missed
your chance to
help
me!
"

"
Please
!
"
shrieked Steve Kimmel, tears rushing from his eyes, his face contorted with agony.
"
I
'
ll do anything!
"

"
The only thing you can do to
help
me,
"
growled the man,
"
is
die
!
It won
'
t make up for what you
did
,
but at least it
'
ll give me a good laugh!
"

"
No
!
"
Steve wailed pathetically.
"
Don
'
t let me die!
"

Breathing heavily, the attacker paused for an instant; when next he spoke, his voice was calmer, if no less malicious.
"
I
'
m stopping you, you miserable piece of shit. You got away with it once, but I won
'
t let you do it again.
"

"
I don
'
t know what you
'
re talking about
!
"
screamed Steve.

"
Your arms,
"
said the stranger.
"
Do they hurt very much?
"

"
Yes
!
"
cried Steve.

"
Would you like your hands back
?
"
asked the man.

"
Yes
!
"
Steve howled brokenly, delirious with pain.

"
Here you go, then,
"
said the tormentor.

Lobbed from behind the chair, a bloody, severed hand landed in Steve
'
s lap. As he screamed and jolted in his bonds, another hand dropped, bounced from his knee to the hardwood floor.

"
There,
"
snarled the man.
"
Don
'
t say I never gave you anything.
"

Steve screamed some more. Gaping at the hand in his lap, he wailed like a maniac, like a boy who has lost his mind. The stranger let him screech for several minutes before he grabbed Steve
'
s throat and choked off the sound.

When Steve had subsided, the man released him, gave him a parting swat on the scalp.
"
Okay,
"
he said, moving behind the chair.
"
The party
'
s over. I
'
ve had a hell of a good time...I mean, you can
'
t
imagine
how much I
'
ve enjoyed this...but it really is getting late. Time flies, doesn
'
t it?
"

"
Please,
"
moaned Steve, his head collapsed forward, chin dropped to his chest.
"
Call...an ambulance...please...
"

"
Sorry, no ambulance,
"
said the stranger,
"
but I
'
ve got the next best thing. It
'
s a sure cure for the way you
'
re feeling.
"

Steve felt something bump the back of the chair, and he heard a hollow, metallic bong. He heard something being unscrewed, like the cap on a bottle of soda.

"
Here you go,
"
said the man.
"
Just what the doctor ordered.
"

With that, a cold, pungent liquid sloshed upon Steve, pouring freely from above. It gushed over him, soaking his hair and sweatsuit, falling from his head in a glittering stream. The smell of the stuff made him gag as his body was doused; immediately, he knew what it was.

Gasoline.

"
This
'
ll fix you right up,
"
the stranger crowed cruelly.
"
A little of this, and all that pain
'
ll be gone in a flash.
"

As the liquid flowed over him, Steve wanted to scream, but he
didn
'
t
have the strength. The shower fluxed and shifted, moving to inundate every bit of his body.

"
There,
"
the man said finally, dumping a last trickle on his victim
'
s head.
"
That should be just enough to do the trick.
"

"
Please,
"
whispered Steve.
"
Please don
'
t do this. Whatever you think I
'
ve done...I
'
m sorry.
"

"
Don
'
t say you
'
re sorry,
"
the stranger said briskly.
"
Just say goodbye.
"