Killing Spree (44 page)

At long last he was able to wipe his nose.

Ethan snatched a piece of glass off the floor, then braced himself against the wall, and carefully cut at the cord round his ankles. The guy had double-looped the cord here too. Once his feet were free, he used the shard of glass to slice a hole in the black plastic tarp outside the broken window.

He couldn’t expect to defend himself against this man who was almost a head taller than him and outweighed him by at least sixty pounds. Plus the guy had a gun—and in that knapsack maybe a whole arsenal. Ethan needed to find a way of escape. But as he peeled back a section of the dirt-coated tarp and peeked outside, he realized he couldn’t climb out the window. It was a sheer drop, with nothing to break his fall except some trees and bushes a hundred feet below. “Oh, shit,” he muttered. The place must have been built on a cliff.

He was about to start toward the sliding door, but then he remembered, and glanced down at the shattered glass around his bare feet. The bloodied shirt was nearby, along with the discarded rope. Ethan picked up a piece of the frayed rope. It was soaked with sweat, and almost stuck to his fingertips.

The plastic sheet outside the broken window flapped loudly. Past all that noise, Ethan thought he heard footsteps coming down the hallway.

Clutching the rifle close to her chest, Gillian inched alongside the house. She quickly wiped the tears from her eyes. She couldn’t think of anything right now except saving her son.

She’d managed to make a brief call to the police after dragging Jason behind the tree. He’d been shot in the stomach, but he was still breathing—a raspy, labored rattle. He’d barely opened his eyes to look at her.

She’d told Detective Wright where they were. She’d said Jason was shot, and they needed an ambulance. “The killer has a sniper’s nest on the second floor. And he has my son in there with him. You need to be very, very careful. The whole place could be rigged with explosive devices.”

“All right, Gillian, now just stay on the line,” the detective had told her. “Don’t try to do anything—”

She couldn’t just sit there and do nothing while her son was trapped in that place. “I’m sorry to do this to you again,” she’d said, switching off the phone. Then she’d retrieved the Winchester. Sprinting toward the house, she’d dodged bullets with practically every step. The closer she’d gotten to the mansion, the wilder his shots became.

Gillian realized that if she stayed against the side of the house, he couldn’t shoot at her unless he hung out the second-floor window. Past the loud fluttering from the tarp, she could hear him laughing up there. He stuck his head out and grinned down at her.

It was Chase, all right. Gillian fired at him. She’d never shot a gun in her life, and the force of it almost knocked her down. She didn’t hit anything. She only succeeded in hurting her shoulder with the recoil. He was laughing even louder now, a smug cackle.

She retreated toward the back of the house, out of his range. Gillian pulled aside the plastic covering to check every window she passed. All of them were locked. If Chase was true to his
Black Ribbons
counterpart, he’d fixed detonating devices to the front and back doors. Her only chance was climbing through a window. She had to move fast too. If Chase couldn’t take potshots at her, he’d turn his attention to Ethan.

The further Gillian crept toward the backyard, the more the ground dipped down. She glanced at the support beams holding up the back half of the house. There was no way she could climb them.

Gillian found a basement door near the rear of the house, but didn’t dare try it. Nearby, a tall aluminum ladder rested against a balcony off the first floor. The plastic covering had become loose in one section. As it flapped out, Gillian caught a glimpse of a partially open window—not far from the balcony’s ledge. Tucking the Winchester under her arm, she started to climb the tall ladder. A gust of wind came up, and the ladder wobbled, but Gillian kept climbing until she reached the balcony ledge.

Suddenly, she lost her footing on the last rung. In a panic, she grabbed at one of the ropes holding down the tarp. The rifle fell out from under her arm. Clinging to the rope, Gillian stared down at the weapon on the ground below her. It was all she could do to keep from crying. She managed to hoist herself up on the ledge.

Someone had left a few bricks at the corner of the ledge to weigh down the loose tarp. Gillian grabbed a brick, and then peered into the open window. All she could see was a murky blackness.

Setting a brick on the far side of the sill, Gillian reached inside the window and pulled herself in. Every sound she made seemed to echo in the huge, cold empty house. She retrieved the brick, and then glanced around. She couldn’t see a damn thing. For all she knew, Chase could be in the room with her.

The wind howled, and the tarp billowed out—allowing Gillian a momentary glimpse of her surroundings. She was standing in a living room, stark and modern with hardwood floors and a characterless fireplace.

Above her, she heard footsteps.

Suddenly, she heard Ethan cry out: “
No, no, no! Wait, please
—”

And then, a gunshot. Gillian froze.

“Gillian!”
Chase called in a teasing voice.
“There’s somebody up here who needs his mommy! Hurry on up, now. He’s hurt. We’re waiting.”

Trembling, Gillian blindly waved a hand in front of her and started toward the sound of his voice. She could barely walk, she was so unnerved. She kept hoping Ethan would cry out again; at least then she’d know he was still alive.

Eventually, her fingertips brushed against the wall and she felt her way toward the front hallway. In her other hand, she clutched the brick.

She began to see dim shapes and images. Gillian wasn’t sure if she was moving toward a light source, or if it was just her vision adjusting to the darkness. But she found the front stairs, which curved up to the second floor.

“C’mon, Teach,”
Chase called.
“Hurry up. Your little boy’s asking for you.”

Gillian started up the stairs. She glanced at the brick in her hand. It seemed so useless against someone with a gun.

“Ethan wants to see you before he dies, Gillian! He’s asking for you….”

Tears in her eyes, she continued up the steps to the second floor.

“I knew you’d find me eventually….”

Gillian followed the sound of his voice and moved toward a bedroom. A faint light showed through the doorway. Stepping into the room, Gillian saw the light source: a flashlight on the floor. It lay beside a big, army-camouflage-pattern knapsack.

“Come on in, Gillian.”

She turned toward Chase. But he was just a shadowy outline, standing over something on the other side of the bedroom. It took her a moment to see that he had his sniper’s rifle pointed down at Ethan. Shirtless and barefoot, her son was lying on his side on the hardwood floor. It looked like his ankles were bound, and his hands must have been tied in back of him. His jeans were all sheared at the sides. Then she noticed the black ribbon tied around his neck. He was shivering.

He’s still alive
, she thought.

“Toss in that Winchester, Teach,” Chase said. “Gently now.”

“I dropped the gun climbing into a window downstairs,” Gillian said, a tremor in her voice. “All I have is this.” She lobbed the brick into the center of the room. She took a step toward them. “Ethan…”

“Hold it right there, Mommy,” Chase said, jabbing at Ethan with the barrel of his sniper’s rifle.

“I’m all right, Mom,” Ethan whispered.

“You didn’t think I’d really shoot him, did you?” Chase asked. “C’mon, Gillian, you should know better than that. As long as he’s alive, you’ll cooperate. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, I’ll do whatever you want. Just please let him go.”

Chase backed away from Ethan. But he still kept the rifle pointed at him. He was moving toward the large knapsack on the other side of the room, near a sliding glass door. “You got yourself all messy for nothing. You didn’t have to go through any windows, Gillian. I left all the doors open for you.”

“I thought—” She swallowed hard. “I thought you might have copied the
Black Ribbons
killer, and set detonating devices at all the entries.”

He snickered. “Oh, I did. I set up several. I just didn’t switch them on.” He squatted down by the open knapsack and reached into it. He took his eyes off her for only a few seconds. “And now they’re switched on.” With his foot, he nudged the backpack until she could see a mechanism in there with a tiny, glowing green light. “I’ve become quite a demolition expert—as you’ll soon find out. You called the police, didn’t you?”

“How do you plan to get out, Chase?” she asked, gazing at the sniper’s rifle pointed at Ethan.

“I have an escape route, a window to the side yard. My car is parked in the driveway two doors down. The people who live in the house are in Paris right now.”

“The police will see you.”

“Not when I’m controlling the fireworks, Gillian. I’m saving the bigger blasts and the higher body count for when I’m leaving here. They won’t notice me.”

She bit her lip. “Listen, Chase, let’s you and I go someplace. You don’t need to kill all these people. It’s just me you want. Just switch that—
that thing
off. Leave my son here. You and I can take your escape route—now, before anyone gets here. We can—”

“Oh, Gillian,” he groaned, shaking his head and clicking his tongue against his teeth. “That tactic never works for
anyone
in your books. What makes you think it’ll work now? I should be insulted. Besides, we’re not going anywhere until you change out of those dirty clothes.” He picked up the flashlight and shined it in her face. “There’s a closet in back of you—to the right.”

Turning, Gillian stepped toward the closet. She hesitated, and then opened the door. He directed the flashlight toward the large walk-in closet. “Oh God,” she murmured.

Only three items hung in the closet—each one on its own hanger: a dark blue blazer, a madras kilt, and a white shirt with a Peter Pan collar. The saddle shoes were on the closet floor, the white knee socks neatly rolled up inside them.

“Put on the uniform, Gillian,” he whispered.

Gillian turned toward him, and shook her head.

“Do it,” he said. All at once, he raised the rifle, pointed it toward Ethan and fired.

Gillian screamed. She saw Ethan recoil. The bullet missed him by inches.

“NOW!” Chase barked. “I want to see you naked. I don’t want anything between you and the uniform.”

Shaking violently, Gillian pulled her sweater up over her head. She had a T-shirt on beneath it. Chase was playing with the flashlight—directing the beam across her torso. Gillian stole a glance toward Ethan, curled up on the floor. His eyes locked with hers. Then, in the darkness, she saw one of his hands move out from behind his back. A piece of rope fell off his wrist. He uncrossed his feet, and the cord stayed tied around just one ankle.

“Keep going,” Chase said to her. “Never mind about Sonny Boy seeing you naked. He won’t be carrying around the emotional scars for very long.”

Gillian slowly pulled up her T-shirt, and took a step closer to Chase, drawing his attention away from Ethan. Chase followed her with the flashlight. Gillian pulled the white T-shirt over her head. She was wearing a bra, but modestly clutched the T-shirt to her breasts. She swept her hair back from her face.

Chase sighed. “Oh, yeah, c’mon, keep going. That’s right….”

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Ethan carefully, silently, get to his feet. Gillian wandered toward the other side of the room. The flashlight followed her every move. She took another step. Something crunched under the heel of her shoe.

Suddenly, the flashlight’s beam was at her feet. Shards of glass were illuminated on the hardwood floor. Then the beam seemed to bounce up and reflect on glass fragments still lodged in the broken window.

“What the hell?” Chase muttered. He started to turn the flashlight toward the spot where he’d left Ethan tied up on the floor.

Ethan charged him.

When the man had returned to the bedroom, he’d found Ethan lying on the floor. Ethan had the loose rope wrapped around one wrist, which he crossed over the other. He’d pulled the same trick with the cord coiled around only one ankle. The man had quickly scanned over him with the flashlight, and said something like,
“You’re working up quite a sweat there, kid.”

Obviously, he hadn’t noticed the broken window. And he couldn’t have seen that Ethan had been lying on top of his wadded-up shirt. It was protecting him from the sharp piece of broken glass on the floor underneath him.