The House That Death Built (2 page)

This was not how it was supposed
to have gone.

But you can't make an omelet, blah
blah blah.

Rob Johnson looked at the two
people kneeling on the floor – a floor covered in wool carpeting that probably
cost a hundred bucks per square foot – and sighed. Things went wrong, that was
to be expected.

But did they have go wrong so
noisily
?

He nodded at Tommy Leigh. Like
Rob, the other man was dressed in black from crown to toe. Black sweater, black
cargo pants with extra pockets sewn on it – the better to take small sundries
that would fetch good prices. His face was covered by the same black balaclava
all of them wore.

But unlike Rob, Tommy was huge.
Six-foot-five, two-hundred-fifty pounds of muscle that was knotted so tightly
around his frame Rob often wondered how the guy didn't just implode.

Still, that wasn't what made the
big man so frightening. It was something that no amount of dark clothing could
disguise, something that no one could mistake.

It was madness.

Tommy's sanity held itself even
more tightly than his muscles – a straitjacket that, though sufficiently strong
to hold him back for the moment, grew ever more frayed, ever weaker.

Someday Tommy would burst free of
that jacket, and woe to anyone nearby.

His eyes told all of that. His
eyes that never stopped moving, even when he stared at something. The pupils
danced a spastic dance, a back-and-forth jig that made it seem like he was
always on the verge of jumping behind you and simply breaking your neck with
one massive hand.

Tommy leaped forward at Rob's
nod. Just waiting for the go-ahead.

The screaming had been coming
from the woman. He knew her name was Beth, but Rob hardly cared about proper
introductions. He just cared that she was screaming and screaming and now the
scream was a long, keening wail and then the wail turned into a shriek and then
–

Tommy's free hand – the one not
holding his favorite gun – reached out and almost casually swatted the woman.

She flew sideways, slammed into a
heavy armoire, and bounced off leaving a splotch of blood behind.

"Beth!" The man who had
been kneeling on the floor – Rob
did
know his name, it was "James,"
which struck him as a perfect name for a guy who lived in a place like this –
screamed and lurched toward his wife. Tommy's backhand turned into a cross
between a haymaker and a slap, and James went down as well.

He tried to crawl to his wife,
who was sobbing pitifully as blood ran down the side of her head.

He stopped when Tommy stepped on
his leg. Rob counted two distinct snaps as bone shattered. James screamed.

"Great, now they're
both
making noise." Tommy looked at Rob with eyes that clearly said he didn't
mind the noise. The freak probably
liked
it.

Rob pointed his gun at James,
then swung it over to Beth. "You two have one second before I blow you
both away." That was a bluff, but it worked. Beth's sobs petered into
restrained whimpers, and James bit back his pain. He was clutching at his leg,
a dark stain spreading through the gray sweats the guy had been wearing when
they tore him out of bed.

Rob sensed movement and turned.
Another black shape entered the room, pushing a teenage boy about seventeen and
a little girl who looked like she was probably twelve. The boy had his arm over
the girl's shoulders. Both were pale, terrified, but silent.

"Good." Rob nodded at
Kayla as she jabbed her prizes into the room, the muzzle of her gun nudging
first the boy, then the girl. "Anyone else?"

Kayla's eyes glimmered. The
similarity to her brother's gaze was unmistakable, though the particulars of
her madness were different. She was a sociopath – not that Rob had a problem
with that: sociopaths always acted in their own interest, and that was
something he understood.

Still, beneath that… there was
something just as terrifying – perhaps more so – as the mayhem that lit her
brother's gaze.

"No one," she said.
"Just the two kids, like you said."

Rob nodded in satisfaction. Was
about to tell Kayla to push the kids over next to their parents, but a voice
came out of the closet, cutting him off.

"I think I need help in
here," said the voice.

Rob sighed. He muttered a curse,
and Beth's sobs rose slightly, seeming to respond to his anger.

Tommy moved closer to the woman.
No doubt hoping he'd get to slap her again – or worse.

Rob nodded to Kayla. "Put
them over there," he said, gesturing to a corner of the room far from the
kids' parents. He turned to James and Beth. "You be good, now." He
pointed his gun at the kids. The little girl cried out, and the teen pulled her
closer. Still looking at the parents, Rob continued, "Or I'll start
killing people."

Beth's whimpers completely
disappeared. "Please," she whispered.

Rob grinned. He liked it when
people begged.

Then, without another word, he
turned and went into the closet.

Aaron Purcill kept stifling the
urge to pull of his mask. Sweat had built up on his brow, been partially
absorbed by the cotton, and the two of them had combined to form a scratchy wad
of damp fabric that made it nearly impossible to concentrate.

Concentration was critical in his
line of work. So he wanted to rip the mask off his head and just do the job the
way it needed to be done.

He left the mask in place. Not
because this was how Rob wanted things, not even because doing so would protect
his identity.

It was for the family.

He heard them, first the parents
shouting, then the ugly noises that meant Tommy was probably utilizing his
favorite skill set. Then screaming.

And then silence.

The silence was the worst. The
silence meant that the kids were there. That Rob had made it clear what they
were there
for
.

Just like Rob had made it clear
to Aaron what would happen to them if they saw anyone's face, or if the job
went sideways.

And it was halfway to sideways
already. Maybe more.

Aaron kept his mask on.

But no matter how much he worked,
no matter how hard he tried, he could tell this one was going to be beyond him.

He tried for another moment, but
he was just spinning his wheels. Stalling.

Sweat finally dripped from the
sodden mask. A droplet found its way into his eye. It stung.

He wiped it away. And as though
taking his hand from the safe had removed his last bit of resistance to the
inevitable, he finally called out.

"I think I need help in
here."

He heard the familiar sound of
Rob's voice. Not the words, but the tone. Threats. And Aaron could just imagine
what the man was saying. "Move and die. Make a sound and die. Dick around
with me in any way and die."

Death everywhere. And Aaron
couldn't do anything about it.

Rob appeared in the doorway a
moment later, then moved into the closet. There was plenty of room for both of
them in here: the closet was bigger than most people's living rooms.

The space was divided neatly into
halves. The right held dresses, skirts, blouses. A line of shoes that ran
nearly the length of the closet. A set of drawers built into the wall that no
doubt held jewelry, underwear, socks.

The other side of the closet was
clearly the husband's. A long line of suits – the cheapest easily worth at
least ten grand – hung beside a dozen dress slacks organized by color. A tie
rack with ties that had names like "Stefano Ricci" and "Turnbull
& Asser." Shoes polished to a mirror sheen.

The end of the closet ended in a
wall bereft of hanger rods or shelves. The bare space served to highlight the
squat custom safe that hunkered between the parallel lines of clothing.

The safe was Aaron's job, and the
fact that he'd called Rob in meant the job wasn't done.

And that meant Rob was unhappy.

Rob looked at the safe.
Expecting, no doubt, to see the keypad pried away from the metal, the workings
exposed, some sort of safecracking magic being performed.

But there was nothing.

Rob just looked at Aaron. Not a
word. But Aaron could tell that the other man knew. Knew that this one was
beyond Aaron's skills. And that was going to cost him later.

He just hoped he could keep the
family alive. He was here –

(
Not by choice, dammit. This
isn't what I want – none of it.
)

– but that didn't mean he was happy
about any of this.

He couldn't stop the job from
happening, but maybe he could at least forestall any bloodshed.

"You can't break it?"
asked Rob.

Aaron shook his head. Wiped his
eyes as another drop was dislodged. "Not without the combo."

Rob turned on his heel and
marched out of the closet.

A scream resounded. Aaron had
heard screams before – enough to know that there are many different screams,
many different tales they tell. This one was a scream of fear that morphed into
wretched agony.

A moment later, Rob reappeared in
the closet, this time dragging the home's owner in by his hair. James was
nearly choking with pain and fear. A red trail slicked behind him, a dark smear
that turned to black in Aaron's red light. Blood on blood.

"Please," gasped the
man. One hand held to Rob's wrist, desperately trying to alleviate the pressure
on his scalp, while the other reached frantically for the source of the blood –
a leg so clearly broken that Aaron's stomach roiled.

Don't do this, Rob. Not this.
Please.

He didn't say the words. He
couldn't. But not letting them out just meant they were trapped in his mind,
bouncing back and forth in his skull, louder and louder.

Don't do this, Rob.

Don't.

Not this.

NOT THIS.

Rob dragged the wounded man the
rest of the way into the closet. Tossed him beside Aaron.

"Combination," said
Rob. His voice was low, deadly. A gravelly rasp that seemed to spring from the
rough edges of his flashlight's illumination. A sound born from the edge of
shadow, thrust darkly into light.

James blinked. No longer
screaming now that he wasn't being yanked bodily along – but clearly so far
into pain and terror that Rob's words weren't registering.

The fact that Aaron had needed
help was bad.

If help didn't come, things would
get a hell of a lot worse.

He reached for James' shoulder.
Aware suddenly that, though James wasn't screaming, screams still tore the air.

His wife. His kids.

Stop this, Aaron.

I can't. I
can't
.

He shook James lightly. Barely
more than a fast twitch, but the other man's eyes whipped over to him as though
he had just administered a painful beating.

"Please," said James, a
whisper so low and ragged Aaron barely heard it.

"I just need the
combination, James," said Aaron. He tried to keep his voice calm, though
he felt a tremble at the edge of his words.

It wasn't supposed to happen this
way. Rob said there'd be no violence.

Rob says a lot of things, Aaron.
And precious few are true.

Just get through this. Get
through this, and get home to Dee.

James was staring blankly at him.
Aaron wondered if the man was just…
gone
. Knew that if he was, the job
would change from a robbery to a bloodbath.

"James!" he put a snap
into his words, trying to walk a thin line between so soft the man wouldn't
hear him and so hard the man would simply retreat further into himself.

It worked. James' eyes – which
had been focused on a nowhere point a few inches in front of him – turned to
Aaron. "What?" said the man. His voice cracked, dry and jagged.

"I just need the
combination, James," said Aaron. "We just want whatever's in here,
and then we go. You and your family will be fine."

James stared for a long moment,
and Aaron was about to repeat the instructions when the man's hand reached for
the safe. Shaking.

He entered several numbers on the
keypad. Then his hand jerked as a scream sounded from the other room. This one
younger. The scream of a little girl.

James' finger spasmed. He hit a
button, and the safe clicked. A red light appeared on the LED screen above the
keypad.

The screams kept on.

Rob didn't seem to hear them. He
only had eyes for the safe. Only had ears for the sound of the box opening and
giving up its treasures.

Or, in this case, locking more
tightly.

Rob pressed his gun against James'
temple. "Don't screw with us, James. Open the safe.
Now
."

The man tried again. This time
his finger jerked on the second number, bouncing with the sounds of his
daughter's screams.

Aaron watched in dread as another
red light joined the first. Listened as the little girl's screams rose and rose
and then were joined by the sudden shout of her mother.

Rob looked like the sounds of the
missed guesses were driving him over the edge. Aaron thought he might just blow
James away in that moment.

Not that. Dee would never forgive
you. No matter what happened before, that would be too far, too much.

"Rob. Rob!" Rob was
nearly as hard to reach as James had been – not because of fear this time, but
because of rage. The gang's boss knew as well as Aaron did that this whole job
had turned to ten pounds of shit in a five-pound bag.

Rob didn't take failure well.

"Rob," said Aaron
again, this time managing to coax the other man's attention to him.

"What?" The word barely
made it through clenched teeth.

"Maybe we could quiet down
whatever's happening out there," he said, motioning to the space beyond
the closet door.

Rob's glare intensified for a
moment.

He's just going to kill them all.
And me, too.

Oh, Dee, I'm so sorry.

"Rob, if we don't get the
right combination on the next try, the safe goes into a lockdown mode and
there's no way to open it –
no way
– for twelve hours." Aaron
looked at James, who was once again staring into nothing. Then back at Rob.
"Please. Just have the others cool it out there."

Rob stared at him. Stared so long
that Aaron wanted to just run.

But where to? Rob's gun was
twitching back and forth between him and James. If Aaron ran, he didn't doubt
that Rob would blow him away without a second thought.

And even if he made it out of the
closet? The screams that still shattered the silence were noisy testament to
how bad things were out there.

"Please. Please, Rob. Just
quiet them down."

The gun moved.

Now it was trained solely on him.