I Kill (63 page)

Frank had the massive body of Ryan Mosse in his sights. The desire to shoot him was strong, almost as strong as his desire to shoot Jean-Loup, despite the fact that the guy would risk his life
to save a dog or a retard, as Mosse put it.

‘I said, put down that gun, Ryan.’

‘Or what? You’ll shoot?’ he said with a short, bitter laugh, dripping with sarcasm. ‘Then what’ll you tell people, that you killed a soldier from your own country
to save a serial killer? Put down that flyswatter and learn how it’s done.’

Still aiming, Frank started moving as quickly as possible towards Pierrot. He had never found himself in a situation with so many variables.

‘Help, I can’t hold on any more!’

Pierrot’s mournful voice came from behind him. Frank lowered his gun and tried as quickly as possible to reach the point where Jean-Loup had been standing before. He felt the shrubs
pulling at him like evil hands reaching from the bushes, thorns tearing at his trousers, branches wrapping around his ankles. He kept turning his head to check on Ryan Mosse’s movements. The
soldier was still climbing cautiously down the hill, gun in hand, his suspicious eyes searching for Jean-Loup.

Suddenly, the bushes next to Mosse came alive. There was not the slightest warning. Whatever came out of the thicket was not the same man who had dived in for cover. It was not Jean-Loup but a
demon kicked out of hell because the other demons were afraid of him. He had a supernatural tension, as if a ferocious animal had suddenly taken over his body, giving him the strength of its
muscles and the sharpness of its senses.

Jean-Loup moved with agility, vigour and grace. With a powerful kick, the gun flew out of his adversary’s hand and landed far away, lost in the bushes. Mosse was a soldier, an
excellent
one, but the menace emanating from the man before him put them on the same level. Mosse, however, had one advantage over Jean-Loup. He could take his time. He didn’t care
about the boy hanging from the tree over the ravine and he knew that his opponent was in a rush to save him. That urgency was what he planned to exploit.

He didn’t attack. He waited, taking one step back for every step Jean-Loup took towards him. As he moved, Jean-Loup continued talking to Pierrot.

‘Pierrot, can you hear me? I’m still here. Don’t be afraid. Just a second and I’ll be there.’ As he reassured the boy, he seemed to lose his concentration for an
instant. And that’s when Mosse went for it.

Based on what happened afterwards, Frank was sure that it had been a tactical ploy by Jean-Loup to get Mosse to move. Everything happened in a flash. Mosse pretended to move to the left and
threw a series of punches that Jean-Loup fended off with humiliating ease. Mosse stepped back. Frank was too far away to make out the details, but he thought he could see surprise on the
captain’s face. He tried another couple of blows with his hands and then kicked as fast as lightning. It was the same move he had used on Frank the day they had fought in front of the house.
Only Jean-Loup didn’t fall for it the way he had. Instead of blocking the kick and turning away, exposing himself to his adversary’s reaction, he stepped to the side as soon as he saw
the foot coming and let Mosse throw his weight upwards. Then he dropped his right knee to the ground, slipped under Mosse’s leg in a flash, and blocked it with his left hand, pushing the
captain’s body backward. He gave a terrifying punch to his adversary’s testicles, simultaneously pushing him forward.

Frank could hear Mosse’s moan of pain as he fell. He was not even all the way down in the bushes when Jean-Loup was over him with a knife. He pulled it out so fast that Frank thought he
must have had it in his hand from the beginning and it was only just now visible. Jean-Loup bent over and disappeared in the bushes where Mosse’s body had fallen. When he got up, the animal
that he seemed to carry inside him was gone and the blade of the knife was covered with blood.

Frank was unable to see the final outcome of the fight because in the meantime he had reached the place where Pierrot was hanging from the tree, leaving Jean-Loup and Mosse behind him. He saw
fear on the boy’s face but mostly the disquieting signs of fatigue. His hands were red from the effort and Frank realized that he couldn’t hold on much longer. He showed him that he was
there and tried to reassure him, speaking calmly – though he certainly didn’t feel calm – to give him some confidence that everything would be all right.

‘Here I am, Pierrot. I’ve come to get you.’

The boy was so tired that he couldn’t make the effort to answer. Frank looked around. He was standing exactly where Jean-Loup had been removing his belt when Mosse shot at him the first
time.

Why? For the second time, he wondered how Jean-Loup was planning to use the belt to save Pierrot. He raised his eyes and saw another trunk, about the same size as Pierrot’s, a couple of
yards above him. The leaves had long ago fallen off and the branches rose up like overturned roots growing towards the sky. Suddenly, he realized what Jean-Loup had intended to do. He acted
quickly. Removing his phone from his shirt pocket and unfastening the clip that held his holster to his belt, he placed them on the ground by Jean-Loup’s canvas bag.

As he slipped his gun into his pocket, he shivered for a second at the feel of the cold metal against his skin. He took his belt and checked on the strength of the leather and the buckle. Then
he slipped the end through and fastened it at the last hole so that he would have as large a leather ring as possible.

He studied the hill beside and below him. With any luck, he could reach the tree that was almost parallel to the one where Pierrot was swaying. He moved with care. Stepping sideways and grabbing
on to the bushes that he hoped had deep, solid roots, he reached the dried-out tree. At the touch of the rough bark, the image of the corpse they had found in the bomb shelter flashed through his
mind, but then a menacing creak from the tree substituted an image of his own body hurtling down into the ravine. What was true for Pierrot was also true for him. If the tree was pulled down or if
he lost his balance, he would not survive the fall. He tried not to picture it and hoped that the tree was sturdy enough to support both of them. He crouched down on the ground and leaned out,
trying to make the belt hang down as far as possible.

‘Try to grab on to this.’

Hesitantly, the boy removed one hand from the tree but rapidly returned it to the trunk. ‘I can’t reach.’

Frank had already realized that the length of Pierrot’s arms and the circle of belt were not long enough. There was only one thing he could do. He turned around to grab the tree trunk with
his legs and let himself hang upside down into the void like a trapeze artist, twisting around to support his chest and get a better view in order to direct Pierrot’s movements from above.
Holding the belt ring with both hands, this time he managed to lower it to the boy.

‘That’s it. Now, let go of the tree and grab on to the belt, one hand at a time, smoothly as you can.’

He watched Pierrot’s hesitant, slow-motion movements. Despite the distance, he could hear the boy’s breath, hissing with anxiety and fatigue. The tree he was hanging on to, bent down
by all the additional weight, gave a sinister creak, more chilling than before. Frank felt Pierrot’s weight entirely on his arms and legs wrapped around the trunk. He was sure that if
Jean-Loup had been in his place, he would have pulled the boy up without much effort, at least to the point where he could let go of the belt and take hold of the tree where he was hanging like a
bat. He hoped against hope that he would be able to do the same.

He started pulling upwards with his arms, feeling the violence of his effort together with the painfully massive flow of blood to his head. He saw Pierrot rise up inch by inch, trying to support
himself with his feet. Frank’s arm muscles were burning terribly, as if his shirt had suddenly caught fire.

The gun stuck in his trouser pocket gave in to the force of gravity and fell. Barely missing Pierrot’s head, it plummeted down and was lost in the ravine. Just at that moment, a noise came
from the trunk that sounded like a shot or a log crackling in the fireplace.

Frank continued pulling with all his might. In his effort to raise the weight that was growing heavier and heavier, the pain in his arms became unbearable. As each second passed, he felt as if
acid had replaced the blood in his veins. His flesh seemed to be dissolving and his bones, no longer protected by his muscles, seemed about to separate from his shoulders and plunge down, along
with Pierrot’s screaming body.

But Pierrot slowly continued to rise. Frank kept pulling him up, grasping the tree desperately with his legs, clenching his teeth, astounded by his own resistance. One second after another he
felt an overwhelming urge to let go, to release his hands and stop the agony, the burning in his arms. And the very next second, new strength came from some other part of him, as if reserves of
energy were stored in an obscure region of his body, a secret place that only anger and stubbornness could release.

Frank arched the upper part of his chest that was on the ground and managed to put the belt around his neck, transferring part of the weight to his back and shoulders. After testing the
resistance for a second, Frank let go and stretched out his free hands to Pierrot. With the little breath he had left, he told him what to do.

‘Okay, just like what you did before. Let go of the belt, calmly, one hand at a time. Grab hold of my arms and climb up. I’ll hold you.’

Frank was not sure that he could keep his promise. Still, when Pierrot abandoned his grip and his weight was off Frank’s neck, he felt the relief like refrigeration running along his back,
as if someone had poured cold water on his sweaty skin.

He felt the desperate grasp of Pierrot’s hands on his arms. Slowly, inch by inch, clutching with frenzy at Frank’s body and clothes, the boy continued to climb. Frank was astounded
that he had so much strength left. The instinct of self-preservation was an extraordinary ally in certain situations, a kind of natural drug. He hoped that the strength would not leave him
suddenly, now that he was safe.

As soon as he was within reach, Frank seized Pierrot by his belt and pushed up, helping him reach the trunk. He eyes were burning from the sweat pouring down his face. He closed and opened them
again as he felt the cleansing tears well up and lose themselves in his eyebrows in that strange, upside-down weeping. He couldn’t see a thing. He could only feel the frantic movements of
Pierrot’s body rubbing against his own, which was now nothing but a single, desperate cry of pain.

‘Did you make it?’

Pierrot didn’t answer, but Frank suddenly felt free. He bent his head until it was almost touching the warm, damp earth. He felt, rather than saw, the belt slip off his neck and tumble
down to join his gun. Then he turned his head to avoid breathing in dirt along with the air that his lungs were desperately seeking. The pressure of the blood in his temples was unbearable. He
heard a voice from above, from behind his shoulders, a voice that seemed to come from an unbridgeable distance, like a cry from a faraway hilltop. From the state of torpor that had enveloped his
body and mind, Frank still recognized that voice.

‘Good, Pierrot. Now grab on to the bushes and come over here to me. Calmly. You’re okay now.’

Frank felt a wave of shock run through his suspended body and heard a new crackle of the wood as Pierrot’s weight abandoned the trunk. The dried-out tree probably felt the same relief he
did, as if it were alive rather than long dead.

He knew it wasn’t over. He still had to conquer the mental and physical lethargy that had overcome him with the knowledge that Pierrot was finally safe. He had no physical strength or
force of will left, but he knew that this was not the time to give in. If he allowed himself to feel that illusory relaxation for another second, he would not be able to straighten up and grab on
to the trunk.

He thought of Helena and her silent wait at the airport. He again saw the sadness in her eyes, the sadness that he wanted to erase if he could. He saw the hand of her father, Nathan Parker,
suspended like a claw over her. Rage and hatred came to him as a salvation. He clenched his teeth and gathered up all the energy he had left before it vanished into the air like smoke. He arched
his back and, throwing up his arms, forced himself up. His abdominal muscles, the only part of his body still unused, now burned with the stress.

He saw the dry wood of the tree trunk slowly approach him like a mirage. Another creak reminded him that, like any mirage, it could dissolve at any second. He forced himself to go slowly,
without abrupt movements, to avoid worsening the precarious situation.

His left hand finally gripped the tree, then his right. Somehow he managed to pull himself to a sitting position. The violent flow of blood as it started going down and resuming its normal
course made his head spin. He closed his eyes, waiting for it to go away and hoping that the two dried sponges that were his lungs would be able to contain all the air he was sending them. In the
comforting darkness of his closed eyes, his arms grabbed the tree and he sat there feeling the rough bark against his cheek until some of his strength returned.

When he reopened his eyes, Pierrot was a few yards from him, on level ground. He was standing next to Jean-Loup and had his arms around his waist, as if hanging in midair had given him the need
to grab on to something or someone in order to believe that he was really safe.

Jean-Loup had his left arm around the boy’s shoulder and a bloody knife in his right hand. For an instant, Frank thought that he was using the boy’s body as a shield, that he would
hold the knife at his throat and take him hostage. He pushed that thought out of his mind. No, not after what he had seen. Not after Jean-Loup had given up any chance of escape in order to rescue
Pierrot. He wondered what had become of Ryan Mosse. And at the same time, he realized that he didn’t give a damn.