Don't Close Your Eyes (Stephanie Chalice Thrillers Book 1) (18 page)

The smash of Clovin’s hand across Hilary Glenn’s face summoned her back to the conscious world, but did not succeed at reviving her.
Again, his hand exploded across her face, again and again, until adrenaline forced her awake. Simultaneously, searing pain ripped through her wrists, arms, shoulders and back. Her trunk was painfully locked in spasm. Glenn’s eyes twittered open. Clovin stood beside her, the sickness of psychosis manifesting itself across his face.

Her position had not changed; nor would it until death blessed her with its arrival. Bound by her wrists, she dangled from a nylon rope, her toes hanging little more than an inch above the floor. As before, she knew that pleading was useless, but she tried nonetheless. She hadn’t been fed or given any water. She had no saliva to moisten her throat. Her voice was no more than a hoarse whisper. “Please let me down.” The floor was so close she could almost feel it. She ached for the pads of her feet to caress the surface. “I beg you.” Her dry, pasty eyes closed. There was no moisture available for her to produce tears.

“It’s so close, isn’t it, the cement floor beneath you? I could let you down but I won’t. Why should I? Why are you wasting my time? By the way, your dress fits you better than it did when I seized you. Too many social occasions, Hilary.” He pretended to whisper. “You’ve put on a few. Shame I don’t have a camera. You’re looking stylishly anorexic. Of course, you’ve been eating low-cal, now, haven’t you? Let’s see if I can smell it on your breath.” In his stocking feet, Clovin was still far taller than she was. He bent over and pretended to sniff her mouth. “That’s a new one on me. Help me out with this, Hilary. I’m not sure . . . oh wait, I know. You’ve been eating your trusted campaign manager. That’s it, isn’t it?” Hilary Glenn blinked her eyes sadly. She had nothing left with which to register the insult. She stared at her captor through tortured eyes. “You’ve been a very naughty politician, sucking off Mr. Wainright. Evan’s a—” Clovin grinned, “
was
a married man.” Clovin seated himself on the floor at her feet. “Now he’s a corpse.”

“Money.” It was the only thing left to try. She felt her shoulder joints tearing from their sockets. “How much?” she offered in a hoarse, muffled voice.

“You think I want money? You really are a stupid cow. That’s the way you’re accustomed to having it, right, Hilary? Men at your feet, anybody for a price? How does it feel to have absolutely nothing? Can’t you place the face?” Hilary squinted, but in her failing state, Clovin’s features seemed distorted and unrecognizable. “That’s right, we all look the same, don’t we? Faceless voters. You don’t give a shit who we are as long as you get elected. Next time you’d better be nicer to the Window Washers’ Union.” He searched her face and finally saw a spark of recognition. “That’s right, I was in your office. I cleaned your windows right after you and Wainright had gotten off on one another. Pity, isn’t it? Had you pushed me from the window instead of pulling me in, you wouldn’t be in the situation you are right now. How does it feel to know that the one time you acted in good conscience, you signed your own death warrant?”

Hilary Glenn’s voice was barely audible. “I’d spit in your face if I could.” She was overcome from the ordeal.

Clovin stood abruptly. “Sorry, Madame CEO, I couldn’t quite make that out.”

He turned until his ear was in front of her mouth, so he could hear her failing voice. “I’d like to spit in your face,” she repeated.

“You can’t, though, can you? The old bag’s all dried out.” He sniggered. “Would you like something to whet your whistle?” Clovin produced a dramatic smile. “How about it?”

Glenn narrowed her eyes, sneering until the total extent of her malice was focused on Clovin.

“No? Well, then I think it’s just about that time. We’ve been hanging around here long enough. Oops, sorry, bad choice of words, but I assumed there’d be people looking for you. Apparently no one gives a shit! I guess everyone’s figured out that New York State and the rest of the world would be far better off without you.”

Clovin waited until he could see the sadness register in Glenn’s eyes and then walked into the shadows. She tried to follow his movements, but her eyes burned from dryness and could not be kept open for more than a few seconds at a time. She could hear him though, tinkering with something in the shadow. Metallic sounds, sounds to dread. She then heard a small engine starting. Her body tensed with fear as the engine caught and began to race. She tried to manage some dignity as he emerged from the shadows, wheeling the power-paint compressor in her direction. He set it in place and then picked up the spraying wand and held it to her face. She began to retch from the intense odor of the petrochemical. Bile poured forth from her empty stomach and when there was none left, Clovin forced the wand into her mouth and pulled the trigger.

Assault.
There was no other way to describe the action taken in the attempted apprehension of Zachary Clovin at the Brooklyn Navy Yard, the site where he had been working. There was no subtlety, no stealth, and no ingenuity. Of the five million feet of under-roof construction, ninety percent of the Brooklyn Navy Yard had been renovated and subsequently rented by commercial tenants. Only ten percent remained, as yet unimproved, leaving a mere five hundred thousand square feet of decrepit, rotting, rusted, and highly compartmentalized space for the FBI and NYPD forces to search and secure.

Storm clouds had come. The FBI and NYPD forces assembled in the pelting rain: hundreds of agents, at least twenty personnel transport vehicles, tactical units, helicopters, emergency lighting, and electric generators. The area to be covered resembled Anzio after the war: crumbling walls, debris, rusting metal pipes, rotting water-damaged materials everywhere.

Ambler and Lido stood side by side as the agents under Ambler’s command filed past them into area one. The half million square feet had been broken up into ten fifty thousand square-foot parcels for the purpose of permitting a thorough and comprehensive search. All tactical personnel had been issued protective headgear and boots. They had all been cautioned as to the building’s dilapidated and unsafe condition.

“Looks like a goddamn rabbit warren,” Ambler grumbled. “Son of a bitch could be anywhere.” He stumbled over a stack of discarded railroad ties. “This won’t be easy.”

Teams of techs transporting portable lighting systems moved ahead, illuminating the dark vastness one area at a time.

“Can’t see shit,” Lido extolled. He had a large Mag-lite in his left hand. “Got about ten thousand of these?”

Ambler smirked. “Better off blowing the roof and waiting ‘til morning. Some of my less than gifted fellow agents might get lost and never find their way out.” He lifted his radio, holding it horizontally below his mouth. “Johnny Biz, how long before you get the disco ball lit?”

A squawk came over the handheld radio, followed by the voice of Special Op, John Byzantine. “Give me ten minutes, Ambler. I don’t want my men hurt while they set up in the dark.”

“Hurry it up, will ya?” Ambler checked his watch. It was almost midnight. “I don’t want this asshole slipping through our fingers.” He turned back to Lido. “I’ve got an effective area of containment around the perimeter. My three priorities are safety, lockdown, and apprehension, in that order. If you’ve got a particularly bright and innovative idea you want me to ignore, tell me now.”

Lido smirked. “What a piece of work.” Disregarding Ambler, Lido gazed around at the foreboding structure as quadrant by quadrant became illuminated. “Look at this place,” he remarked. “It’s the land time forgot. Hard to believe.”

“What is?” Ambler asked while directing traffic ten paces away.

“My grandfather worked here during the war. This place used to go twenty-four/seven. They built the Iowa here. In its day, it was the most powerful warship in the world.”

Ambler turned and squinted over the top of his glasses. “Are you kidding me or what? I’m trying to apprehend Clovin, or haven’t you noticed? So, if you’re finished with the history lesson, why don’t you give your partner a call and see where the hell she is.”

Lido summoned up an insulted look. “Yes, Master. The least you could have done was buy me dinner. I’m starving.” He pulled out his cell phone. “No signal.”

“In the Mobile Command Center.” Ambler pointed in its general direction. “They’ve got some rations in there and you can reach Radio Free Europe on their equipment.”

“Radio Free Europe? Now who’s living in the past?”

“I’m busy here, Lido,” Ambler replied lightheartedly. “Just go call the missus.”

~~~

Twain glanced out through the rain-pummeled taxicab window. Night had fallen on the city like a gloomy pall. Storm clouds had made the night even blacker than normal. There were so many thoughts whirling through his mind. He was on his way to meet Chalice. He couldn’t wait to see her and tell her what he had learned, and yet, the knowledge had to be imparted carefully. Twain wondered how she would take such awful news. Chalice was a strong woman, but how strong could anyone be?

He was rather proud of his discovery. It was his insight that had led Chalice to Zachary Clovin. He had wanted to see Chalice earlier in the day, but her schedule was impossible. It was all bottled up inside of him, just waiting to be uncorked.

Worthwhile information often comes from the most unexpected sources. Pruett, the redneck grease monkey, had proven invaluable. Twain glanced at his companion, who was out cold, snoring with his face against the fogged side window. Twain had to smile. Pruett liked to talk. The sad tragedy of the Clovin family was still vivid in his mind. Julia, Zachary Clovin’s pregnant wife, and their son had been trapped in their burning home. Julia and her unborn child were pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital. Zachary Clovin had been away on a construction project and was never questioned in regard to the suspicious fire. And then, there was the bombshell about old Doc Howls—no wonder the town treated his widow as if she had leprosy. Twain checked his watch. They were almost there. He couldn’t wait to see Chalice. He began rehearsing what he was going to say. Chalice had told him that her time was short.

~~~

Lido put on his hard hat, ignited his Mag-lite and reentered the structure. Two FBI agents were posted at the door. Both carried assault rifles. Recognizing Lido, they waved him through.

Lido followed the voices until Ambler and his team were in sight. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” Ambler confirmed.

Lido stopped in his tracks and began sniffing. He had picked up a distinct odor. Looking around, he spotted an observation room one flight up. “Hey, you check up there?”

Ambler came running back. Both men aimed their beacons at the shadowy doorway. “That’s next,” Ambler reported. He turned his beam on the wrought-iron stairwell. “Let’s make sure it’s structurally sound before it collapses with us on it.” He turned away. “Hey, get one of the structural guys to . . . Hey, Lido. Don’t be a—” Lido tugged on the railing, testing it as only a foolhardy New York City detective would. “That’ll come down on top of you. Watch it!”

Lido shook his head, dismissing Ambler and began taking the stairs two at a time.

“Shit!” Ambler swore and reluctantly chased after him. Ambler scurried up the staircase and stopped short right behind Lido. “You’re an asshole!”

“Shush. What’s that?” Lido strained to listen. Seconds passed as he tried to recognize the sound.

Ambler aimed the beacon at the floor. “Here’s a clue, Sherlock.” The floor was an inch thick with bird guano. “You’ve got a keen nose for bird shit.” The ceiling was twenty feet high. He cast his beam at it, illuminating part of the otherwise pitch-black room. Thirty pigeons were perched on a rafter above them.

“No, that’s not it. Smells like a body shop in here.” Before they could look around, lightning flashed outside. Silhouetted by God’s frenetic strobe was the dangling figure of a woman. “Goddamn it,” Lido yelled. The room went black.

Ambler hollered down the stairs, “Lights! I need ‘em and I need ‘em now!”

Lido and Ambler approached the figure slowly. As they did, the odor of petrochemical grew stronger and stronger. They both covered their noses as the fumes grew overwhelming. Ambler’s eyes began to water. A second lightning bolt flashed, illuminating the room as if it were daylight. “What the—” Ambler strained to keep his eyes open, fighting the intense fumes to take advantage of the split second’s light.

“Where the hell are those beacons?” Lido screamed. “Merciful God.”

Lido studied the figure with his searchlight as lithium lamps were set up around him. “Hit it,” one of the techs yelled. A generator rumbled to life. The lights faltered and then grew brilliant.

“Cut her down,” Lido cried. “Cut her down right now!” It took a moment until they could get a ladder into position. “What’s on her? What the hell is that?”

“Break some windows!” Ambler screamed. “Get some fresh air in here.” Two agents picked up old chairs and shattered the windows in the room. Wind gusted in, eradicating some of the odor. Intense rain entered the room at an angle. Thunder boomed as the agents cut the rope that bound the corpse by her wrists. They began lowering her carefully to the floor.

“Is that her?” Lido asked, shaking his head sadly. “Jesus!”

Ambler moaned. “Yes.” Hilary Glenn’s body settled on the floor.

“Ambler, over here,” one of the agents called out. Ambler and Lido hustled over. “It’s a power sprayer.” A fifty-five gallon drum labeled GE-40 lay empty at its side.

“Son of a bitch,” Ambler swore. “The bastard. He used it on her.” Paint had dried thick around her mouth. Even after curing, it was apparent that the paint had been sprayed into her mouth, pooled there and then poured out. “He suffocated her, just like the rest.” Lido leaned over, examining the sarcophagus. “Oh shit!” He turned white.

“What now?” Ambler barked as he scrambled to Lido’s side.

“It’s not . . . Oh shit, it is.”

“What?”

“Around her neck.”

“Oh no!”

A quick shower was just what I needed.
I was in and out in ten minutes, hair dripping-wet. It was a jeans and T-shirt kind of night, wet and dreary. Besides which, I wasn’t going to go rolling around the old Brooklyn Navy Yard in a Chanel suit. Oh, for the record, I trashed the polyester dress the minute I got home.

Lido and Ambler had come up big. They had tied Clovin to United Encasement Systems and then to their project at the Brooklyn Navy Yard. My boys were there, on the scene and ready to rock and roll. I’d be with them in thirty minutes if I only knew where Saint Christopher was hiding. I couldn’t remember where I had mislaid it. It had been missing for a couple of days. I wondered if Lido had noticed. You’d think things like this wouldn’t happen to a detective, but as you can see for yourself, they do. I’m sure it will turn up in the most unlikely place.

I eased into western boots, reached for my sidearm and came up empty. “What the hell?” I was really getting upset with myself. Something about the day must have put me on the fritz. I had gotten close to Clovin, but not close enough. The scumbag was still walking the streets, still a free man, stalking women who had had the backbone to do something meaningful with their lives. It felt as if I was still in his apartment visiting the shrine of psychopathic lunacy. To be so close to him, to feel his evil around me, must have set my mind off balance. I walked back into the bathroom. Nothing.
Damn!
An uncomfortable feeling crept over me. I felt as if someone was messing with my head.

~~~

Lido and Ambler ran out into the pouring rain. “Get a chopper,” Lido ordered. “It’s the fastest ticket.”

“Choppers are down for the storm. We’ll have to four-wheel it,” Ambler shouted.

“Shit! It’s twenty minutes with no traffic.” Lido was talking to the wind. Ambler had already grabbed a car and fired it up. He pushed the door open as he screeched to a stop alongside Lido. Lido jumped in and they were off before he could pull the door shut. Lido righted himself as Ambler turned off Cumberland Street. He pulled out his cell phone and hit the
send
key
. Chalice’s number was still on the phone’s display.

~~~

I heard my cell phone ringing in the bedroom. “Christ! Now what?” I raced out of the bathroom. I was reaching for the phone when . . .

~~~

“Shit! No answer!” Lido howled.

“Try it again, maybe she’s in the can,” Ambler grumbled.

Lido hit the
send
key
again—four rings and the switchover to voice mail. “Come on, Stephanie. Pick up the damn phone.” Lido turned to Ambler. His forehead was creased with worry. “I don’t like it. I spoke to her fifteen minutes ago. She said she was going to change and come right down.”

“I don’t like it either. Better call—” Lido already had 911 on the line. He had identified himself as an officer, given his badge number, and called in the signal thirty, which meant officer in need of assistance.

~~~

“They said you were smart, but I’m not impressed.”

The object of all my intense loathing manifested itself in front of me. Zachary Clovin was in my apartment, in my bedroom, confronting me.

“In fact, I think you’re a fucking ignoramus,” he ranted as he paced in front of the window, glaring at me.

My first thought was to tell him that I didn’t give a rat’s ass what he thought, but that wasn’t prudent, not right now. “It would be wise for you to surrender. Let me take you into custody and the sentencing will go better for you.”

“Ha!” he roared. “Sentencing? There’ll be no sentencing. Not by you. Not by judge and jury. I will proclaim sentencing on you, you stupid, stupid child. You don’t even know who I am.”

I was glad the bed was between us. I was unarmed and certain that he was responsible for me being so. He was manic. I could see it in his eyes, his twisted features and his cold detached stare. Zachary Clovin looked to be around sixty. He appeared trim, fierce, and powerful. I assessed by his jerky, abrupt movements that he had a hair trigger. I was trained in hand-to-hand combat, but knew that it would be smarter to talk him down if I could. “You’re Zachary Clovin. We’ve been looking for you, Mr. Clovin. You’ve been a naughty boy.”

“Boy?” he raged.

Oops!

“I’m not the child here,” he swore. “You’re the child.”

Yeah, right, whatever, and my father can beat up your father.
“I suggest you surrender now and avoid additional problems. I’ll make a phone call and have a unit down here in three minutes.”

Clovin grinned at me, a creepy chilling grin. He put his hands together for me.
Son of a bitch.

“Take me in, Detective.”

My handcuffs were looped over the back of my jeans. I had them out at once. Clovin looked straight on as I circled around the bed toward him. I could see his eyes register my position peripherally, like a crocodile ready to snap. “Put your hands behind you, Mr. Clovin,” I instructed. I just couldn’t get his expression out of my head. It tore at me.
He’s insane
, I told myself.
Stay sharp
.

I was behind him now, constantly assessing my surroundings in the event he decided to make a move. The first cuff ratcheted like a vault around his wrist. The second one was coming down when he began to pull away. I put my knee in his back which forced him facedown on the bed, but his strength was unreal. He sprang backward and smashed my head into the bedroom wall.

I could hear my cell phone ringing as I slipped in and out of consciousness. Clovin was fast, catlike. He was behind me in a second. I could feel his arms, like a boa constrictor’s, encircling my waist, welding me to his rigid body. His arms continued to tighten, squeezing the air from my lungs. “I smothered you before, Sheryl, but you refused to die. How many times do I have to take your life, sweetheart? Just one last time, baby. Just one last time.”

I felt myself slipping away. My head was swimming and my extremities felt like lead. I drove the heel of my boot into his instep with every ounce of force I could muster. He yelped painfully. I put my feet against the bed’s frame and slammed Clovin back into the wall. His grip weakened. I drove my elbow into his ribs and broke free, tearing myself from his grip. His nails dug into my arm as I broke away, tearing the flesh. A stream of blood ran down my arm and into my hands. “Fuck you, freak,” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “You want to kill me? I’ll see you in hell.”

Clovin recovered quickly. He shook his head and whipped it back in my direction. “I’ve suffered since you were born. You’ve taunted me since you were an infant, always laughing at me, manipulating me, and stealing your mother’s love from me. I won’t suffer anymore. I destroyed my home because of you, everything I had. I burned my wife and son. Dear merciful Jesus,” he screamed, “show me salvation.” His eyes searched for heaven. His hands were clenched. “I’m sorry, baby. I’ve got to end this. This time I’m going to finish it; I’ve got to stop your evil. Only the devil could raise a pregnant mother from the ashes. Only the devil could compel her to walk miles to deliver. Only the devil could reincarnate itself in such an exotic guise. You’re the devil, Sheryl, evil and corrupt.”

What the hell was he talking about? He started to advance toward me. There was no time to ruminate now. I grabbed an empty vase and hurled it toward his head. He ducked and the vase crashed through the window. The hysterical cry of an RMP’s electronic wail breached the apartment. “You’re finished, Clovin. Hear that? You’ll be in a padded cell before midnight.”

“Nooooo,”
he cried as he sprang toward me. He came down on top of me which knocked me off my feet. I threw punches at his head, good solid blows, but he was completely unaware of them. He forced his hand over my mouth. I tried to pry it free, but he was too strong.

“The old bastard, Howls, tried to carry your secret to the grave, but I forced it from him.” Clovin pushed down harder on my mouth. He was ready for the kill. “Stephanie Chalice, Sheryl Clovin, lives I created, lives I can take. With your death, I’ll silence Sheryl forever.”

“What?” Suddenly a face appeared before me, the face of the young girl I had seen in his apartment. Oh shit, the asshole thinks I’m his daughter. Go for the groin, I thought. Nerve impulses raced to my knee. Clovin cringed as I made contact. He released involuntarily and rocked painfully onto his knees.
Sorry, Dad.
Just then, the door splintered behind us.

Clovin looked up. He seemed confused, dismayed, and frightened. “Richard?” he bellowed.  

Who the hell is Richard?

A shadow of horror covered his face as the second wild beast entered. Richard or whoever the man was, stormed into the room. He began to stalk Clovin, moving purposefully in his direction, and then suddenly stopped. He must have felt my eyes on him as I pulled myself off the floor because he turned to face me. He froze momentarily. His mouth gaped. His eyes softened as he stared at me in disbelief. Tears streamed down his face. In the next second he was back on course. “No, Father, not again!” Richard screamed.

They locked in a death grip, each bent on the other’s destruction. They were like crazed titans, smashing wildly around the room. Richard slammed Clovin into the wall, putting him through the Sheetrock. I heard bones crack as Clovin’s arm bent back behind his head. He looked at Richard and began to tremble violently. In the next instant, Clovin’s leg went up behind him and smashed Richard in the groin, breaking his grip. Richard clutched himself as he staggered backward.

Clovin pursued his wounded opponent and backed him toward the shattered window. “You were in cahoots,” he swore, as if he had been blessed with a revelation. “The two of you were always together, two demon seeds vowed to their father’s destruction.” He scalded me with his eyes.

So now what? I’ve got a brother too?

“The devil and her apprentice,” Clovin accused. He seized Richard by the shoulders, forcing him toward the window. “Don’t you see, Richard? Sheryl is the devil.”

I saw my automatic on the floor by the bedpost. I retrieved it and fired a round into the wall above the window. Clovin spun at the sound of the blast. “Sorry to break up your little reunion. Back away from the window, you two clowns. I’ve had enough of your shit!”

Clovin turned toward me, but suddenly Richard’s hands were around his throat. Clovin began to gasp as Richard choked the life from his father’s body. Clovin’s eyes bulged. His mouth opened in search of air, but found none. I wanted to appreciate this bitter irony. I wanted this thing named Zachary Clovin to be extinguished by someone’s hands, suffocated in the same way he had killed five innocent women, but I knew I couldn’t allow it. “Let him go, Richard.” I leveled my automatic at him. “Let him go. Now!”

It was the elbow in his gut and not my command that broke Richard’s deathlike grip. Richard wheezed as the air was driven from him. Clovin was at his throat, driving him out the window. I fired another round into the wall, but this time it had no effect.

I wanted to fire at Clovin, but didn’t want to hit Richard. “Shit!” I stuffed the .45 into my jeans, rushed up to Clovin and rabbit-punched him in the kidney. I saw the spasm rack his body, but he never broke his grip on Richard’s throat.

They were halfway out the window. In a moment, the law of gravity would step in and supersede those of the state of New York. I grabbed Clovin by the throat and tried to pull him off, but he was intent—possessed with a madman’s strength. I saw the panicked look on Richard’s face as he began to topple out, eight stories from oblivion and going fast.

My eyes dilated with astonishment. Twain was at my side. “Grab Richard,” I screamed. Twain’s gloved hand shot out like a harpoon, grabbing Richard by the wrist. I snatched my automatic and shot Clovin in the leg.

Clovin’s head rotated back in my direction, but he held fast. He was intent on sending his adversary to his death. I put a second bullet in his other leg, and he went down.

Clovin turned to me. “Moloch,” he screamed. I was familiar with that word. He was calling me the devil. The wild-eyed monster shuddered, winced and stumbled, but somehow got back up on his feet.

He put one lifeless leg in front of the other. “Jesus Christ!” I bellowed. Someone needed to tell this asshole it was time to lie down. I had him framed in my sights, squeezing down on the trigger.

“Stephanie, don’t!” Twain screamed.

My head spun in Twain’s direction for a split second. In an instant, Clovin was back in my sights. “What?” Twain was losing the battle with gravity.

“He’s your father!” Twain screamed. His head and torso were almost out the window.

“My what? No he’s not!” I snapped. I began to tremble. My father? I turned just as Clovin sprang toward me. I stepped aside. Resentment fired the first round. Hatred squeezed off the next three, a perfect grouping that pierced each compartment of his frozen, psychopathic heart. How could this thing have been my father?
Never!

Clovin’s eyes rolled upward as the bullets punched him into the wall. He collapsed face first on the floor in front of me. I was tempted to spit on him, but the sight of Twain and Richard going out the window preempted any further display of contempt.

Twain was fighting to keep Richard from going over, but Richard was Twain’s match in size and weight, and the pendulum, it seemed, had tipped in their disfavor.

I sprang forward a second too late. Richard’s scream filled the air and then trailed off into the night. I trained my ears, but never heard the thud. Twain was out the window, hanging onto the sill with one hand. I knew I wasn’t strong enough to pull him back in, but I hoped I could help him enough so that he could shift his weight and do the job himself. “Give me your hand,” I yelled.

I leaned out and saw Twain’s panicked eyes searching for mine. He was so large and powerful, but he was paralyzed by the situation. “You can do it, Nigel. Just give me your other hand.” He reached for me. I saw his eyes follow until his hand was just an inch from mine. His glove had come off while trying to save Richard. His eyes jumped to my hand and then he froze. “What the—”
Why’d he stop?
And then I understood. The fear in his eyes had grown a hundredfold. My hand was covered with blood. “Come on, Nigel. Take my goddamn hand.”