Kirke is standing. He has dropped his arm, now he knows hisshot hit true. He’s smiling. But he turns quickly and raises the silver pistol again in Simon’s direction, alive to this new threat.
‘Peter, I assume. How nice it is to meet you.’ Simon puts the Model 13 into his waistband. His voice is quiet, and lightly jovial; it seems to carry in the profound silence after the sound of the shot.
‘What?’ Kirke says, and his arm wavers. Emma almost feels sorry for him.
‘Why, I’ve heardsucha lot about you,’ Simon exclaims, eyes flashing. ‘And I see you’ve made the acquaintance of the delightful Miss Lewis.’
Her temples make a convulsive throb of pain and Emma gasps, pushes down through her hands, everything in her urging retreat. There’s a lightness in her center, like she’s been disemboweled.
‘She’s …’ Kirke seems confused. ‘She’s the one. The special one.’
‘Isn’t she, though?’ Simon makes a tripping laugh, wets his lips, takes a step closer to his quarry. ‘They don’t make them more special than her. And you’ve been searching for dear Emma all this time.’
‘I … I have.’ Kirke’s glasses glint in the low light. ‘I knew she was out there. I knew.’
‘Had to sort through a lot of dross to find her, though, hmm?’ Simon looks like he’s glowing, his skin and hair are so bright. His long, sculpted figure is like something out of a vision. He waves a careless hand. ‘Girls are everywhere, and none of them therightgirl. It takes so long to select them, and then they’re worthless. It’sexhausting.’
‘That’s it!’ Kirke seems suddenly energized. ‘You know what it’s like?’
‘Of course I know.’ Simon’s eyes are welcoming, beckoning. ‘I know what it’s like to be without the one you love. Without the one who cares for you, makes you complete.’
‘It’s awful,’ Kirke whispers, gulping.
‘It is.’ Simon nods sympathetically. ‘How long have you been alone, my friend?’
Kirke exhales, trembling, his voice sighing out. ‘So long.So long.I don’t think I can take it anymore.’
‘Well, now, there’s no need to yearn,’ Simon says softly, and his head lifts, gaze spearing through the gloom to find Emma. She shudders. ‘Oh, Emma, dear! So wonderful to see you again. Why don’t you come and join the conversation.’
There’s instruction in his voice, and command, and a sense of menace that Emma finds impossible to withstand. She wants to fight it, but her last energy is dribbling out with her blood onto the dirty floor of this shed.
And Kirke wants to press his advantage. He lifts the gun and aims it straight at her.
‘Yes, Emma.’ He looks triumphant. ‘Come here and join us.Now.’
Her stomach does a slow, sick revolution. She’s going to throw up. She’s going to cry. She has to move. With a monumental effort, keeping her eyes on the two men, Emma slowly clambers up the bricks and then up the edge of an old armoire until she’s standing. Her left leg is pulsing, it’s agonizing. She makes a choked noise.
But she will not let these two see her weep. She will not lose control again. She has to think. Has to use her wits. Maybe it’s hopeless, but she has to try. And if she’s going to die, at least she can die on her feet.
With the gun trained on her, it seems to take an age to plod closer to Simon and Kirke. She can put weight on her leg, but very little. And vitality is leaching out of her: she’s sweating, but it’s a cold sweat. Her hand is pressed over the belt, over the wound, but her jeans leg is wet with blood. Each step burns like hellfire. She leans on obstacles as she goes, finally reaches the pair. She ends up positioned between them, like a carcass about to be fought over by two wild dogs.
When she arrives at her spot, Simon steps in. He leans forward, and Emma recoils as he gets close enough to bite.
‘You smell of blood,’ he whispers.
But his eyes are glinting with amusement, and instead of an attack, he lowers his head toward hers. With a crawling shock of horror, she feels his lips touch her skin as he kisses her gently on the cheek.
Emma swallows hard. ‘Where’s Kristin? What did you do with your sister?’
‘Oh, Kristin is visiting with the young lady in the car outside.’ He straightens with a broad smile. ‘Now, turn around, Emma.’
She trembles. He puts his hands on her shoulders and maneuvers her to face Kirke.
‘Let me introduce you to my new friend, Peter.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
When Travis first wakes up, he’s pretty sure his head has been disconnected from his body. It’s so damn heavy. His brain seems to have ballooned to a couple sizes bigger than his skull.
