Snakes & Ladders (50 page)

Striker thought this over. ‘If Lexa or Gabriel or Dalia see them, they’ll take off and be gone again, and this time maybe for good.’

‘They can use plainclothes cops.’

Striker frowned. The talk had gone full circle, back to square one. A decision had to be made. He took out his phone, being careful to block the light of the screen with his body, and called 911. All he got was a dropped signal. He put the phone away.

‘No reception,’ he said.

The decision had been made for them.

He pointed to the southwest corner of the cabin. ‘Cover that. Scream if you need me and I’ll come running.’

Felicia just tightened her grip on her SIG and slowly made her way through the trees, around to the other side of the house. She’d barely been gone a minute when Striker detected a lone figure walking up the road: average height, long black hair, slender build.

Dalia
.

Striker watched her as she walked up the road towards the cabin, then crossed the yard. Even in the darkness, he could see that her face was tight and lost. Something was wrong; he could feel it.

The Adder stood outside on the frozen grass, his hot breath fogging up the cold night. Small bits of broken ice covered the toes of his runners, and the bottom of his pants legs were wet. In front of him, her upper body submerged face down in the freezing water of the lake, was the Doctor.

He looked down at her body and felt nothing. Because it was nothing.

Just a bad roll of the dice.

Behind him, the soft
swish
of a sliding door could be heard, and then there were footsteps on the deck. He didn’t bother to turn around. It was Dalia, he knew. Coming back again after running away – as she had done so many times before. Escape and return. Escape and return. Escape and return.

It was her life.

‘Gabriel?’ she asked.

Her steps came closer, and suddenly there was a gasp.

‘GABRIEL! Oh no! Oh no! Oh no! Oh no! What have you done, Gabriel?
What have you DONE!
’

She screamed and then screamed some more. He said nothing to her. He did not so much as look in her direction. And seconds later, he heard her run off. Somewhere around the house. In that moment, he had lost her. She was gone. And he would never see her again.

Go after her
.

It was a soft thought in his head, a whisper from the angels.

But he did not. He could not. For there were other plans now. And they were all that mattered. Running after Dalia would be changing the goal of the game – and that was the one thing that could never be changed. He had no choice in the matter; the rules were long written.

It was sad. On some deeper level, he knew this.

But what did that matter? He now wondered . . . had there ever been a choice? Perhaps it was always meant to be this way. Fated. Perhaps tonight’s game would even lead to his own death.

The thought was enthralling. If Death did come, he was prepared for it. He accepted it. He was
happy
for it. At last, his own time. His own Beautiful Escape. And he smiled because either way he would win this game – in the biggest release of his life when he freed Jacob Striker from this world, or in his own release from this torment. Either way, he was ready. Ready for the final throw of the dice. And why not? Nothing could last forever.

All games eventually came to an end.

It happened fast. One moment, Striker was trying to move to a better position in order to see what all the screaming was about; the next moment, he saw Dalia racing around the house. She plunged through the trees away from him.

A second later, Felicia went racing after the girl.

‘Stop!’ Felicia called. ‘Vancouver Police, Dalia! STOP!’

In one brief moment, both women were swallowed by the darkness.

Striker started after them.

He got only a few feet before coming to a hard stop. There was no doubt that whoever was inside the cabin – Gabriel, Lexa or both of them – now knew of the police presence. If Striker went racing after Dalia, then Lexa and Gabriel would be free to escape. Maybe this time forever.

He was torn.

Felicia needed him. But if he allowed Lexa and Gabriel to escape, there was no telling how many more victims they would kill. Maybe not here, but in another town. Another province. Another country. Everywhere Lexa went, she left a trail of death in her wake. And over the years, she’d programmed Gabriel into being the Adder. All in all, it made one thing clear.

‘They have to be stopped.’

At any cost.

Striker turned back towards the cabin. It looked smaller now. Secluded and empty. Almost all the inside lights were off, and from this new location, Striker could hear the
chug-chug-chug
of the generator running out back.

Where Dalia had run from.

Striker readied his pistol, then made his way around the lot towards the back of the cabin. He reached the corner of the house, raised his pistol and peered around the edge. Everything there was quiet and the lake was eerily still. Fog floated across the water and through the trees like a living beast, so thick that Striker could not see across the lake. Out there, across the thin ice, there was only a rolling mass of cold murky blackness.

But no Lexa.

And no Gabriel.

Striker rounded the corner and made his way towards the cabin. The sliding glass door was wide open and the kitchen light was on. He walked up the slippery wooden steps of the porch, came flush with the entrance, and looked around the area.

No one was there to be seen.

He stepped forward into the kitchen and listened to the sound of his shoes against the hard tiles of the floor. Slowly, cautiously, he made his way through the first floor, and then the second.

The place was empty.

They were gone.

Frustrated, he made his way back outside. He stood on the porch and shone his flashlight around the lake. At first he saw nothing.

Then he discovered the body.

It was a few feet out from the edge, where the ice thinned and turned to freezing lake water. As he closed in on it, he saw that it was lying face down. He crouched low, reached out with one hand, and grabbed hold of the arm. When he flipped it over, a sense of desperation filled him.

It was Lexa.

The Adder had killed her. He was spiralling out of control.

And he was gone.

The voices were back, the laughter and giggles echoing in his head. But this time, the Adder managed to control them. He had lost his most precious of all precious videos and he did not have the headphones he needed for his iPhone, so he could not even listen to the white noise.

It did not matter.

A new sense of control filled his body. Electric. Empowering. Like ice water in his veins. Ever since breaching the line – ever since killing the Doctor – a sense of invulnerability had filled him. He was unstoppable.

Completely, utterly, one hundred per cent
unstoppable
.

And he nearly laughed out loud as he realized that.

He moved slowly through the wooded grove. Speed was not necessary. What mattered here was silence. Stealth. Besides, there was little point in running through the forest blind. Broken ankles were bad for the killing business.

As he walked steadfastly, thoughts of Jacob Striker filled his head. The big detective had looked so determined back at the cabin, so intense and powerful. The Adder had watched him from the shadows, impressed.

It had been foolish to do so – he should have been gaining as much ground between them as he could. But something about the detective intrigued the Adder. The man had a magnetic presence.

Like a tar pit sucking him down.

He headed straight north and, when he found the proper trail, increased his speed towards Green Lake. That was where Striker would eventually find him. It was a certainty. Because the Adder knew something important that no one else had known – not Detective Striker or Detective Santos or even the omnipotent Doctor herself. He knew where Larisa Logan had been hiding.

And he was determined to get there before Striker.

‘Felicia!’ Striker called out.

It was the tenth time he’d screamed her name, but to no avail, and now he was beginning to panic. He made his way back to the main road. Once there, he tried her cell again. The signal was weak, but the call went through, and it was picked up on the second ring.

‘Jacob?’ she asked.

‘Jesus, you scared the shit outta me. Where the hell are you?’

‘I’m back in the village. She ran here. But I’ve lost her.’

He was angry now. ‘I didn’t know if you were dead or lying in the forest somewhere. I’ve been looking everywhere for you!’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘And Gabriel?’ She asked the question almost tentatively.

‘Gone. He killed Lexa.’

Felicia made a shocked sound. ‘My God.’

‘He’s spinning out of control, Feleesh. Gone right off the deep end. And he knows we’re here after him. No point in hiding that any more. Call the Feds. We need more units. We got to catch this guy before he escapes. I’ll meet you back in the village. By the flag pole in the centre square.’

‘Okay. I’ll call the Feds right now.’

‘And, Feleesh. Be careful on this one. We’ve lost sight of them, but that doesn’t mean they’ve run off.’

‘I can take care of myself, Jacob. Just get here.’ The line went dead and Striker started hiking back towards the cruiser. He’d gone less than ten feet when his phone vibrated again. He snatched it up, expecting to see Felicia’s name on the screen, but instead he saw that he had another text message. The send time was only a minute ago. He opened it up, saw Larisa’s name, and read the text:

He immediately typed back.

After a moment, she responded:

He received no response, so he typed back:

Striker waited for a long moment, so long he thought Larisa had ended the conversation. But finally a text came back:

Striker got a bad feeling from her text. He recalled her PRIME files, remembered her emotional instability. He typed back:

No response.

Nothing again.

Striker sprinted back down the trail to the cruiser. Once there, he punched the address into Google Maps and located it. He started the engine. Hit the gas. And left a trail of dirt and gravel in his wake.

Old Mill Road was only minutes away.

Striker drove so fast he almost lost control of the cruiser on the icy gravel. When he reached Old Mill Road, he floored it. The road was narrow and old, unpaved. Tall rows of cedars and Douglas firs bordered the road, blocking out any of the weak moonlight that managed to struggle through the heavy blanket of fog.

The road was a strip of blackness.

He spotted a house at the end. Even in the pale glow of the cruiser’s headlights, the place looked ramshackle. Old. And dark. All the lights were off and the front door was wide open.

Striker wasted no time. He jumped out of the cruiser, taking out his flashlight and pistol at the same time.

He reached the front door, used the frame for cover, and flashed his light inside. Everything was dark and still and empty. He hit the light switch, but nothing happened. And he realized there were no sounds coming from the generator.

‘Larisa?’ he called out. ‘Larisa, it’s Jacob – are you here?’

When he received no response, he made the decision. There was no more time for delay. Flashlight illuminating the way, gun aimed ahead, finger alongside the trigger, Striker stepped into the darkness.

He moved quickly, not allowing himself to slow for even a second. He made his way out of the small foyer, through the living room, kitchen, den and then the bedroom.

But there was no sign of her.

He took the stairs into the basement more slowly, keeping his body tight to the wall. When he reached the bottom and his shoes touched the hard concrete of the cellar floor, he scanned the area around him and spotted a long narrow hallway. There was a doorway to the right and one straight ahead at the far end of the hall.

The doorway on the right was open; the one at the end was closed.

Striker moved forward to the first doorway. He stopped and aimed his flashlight into the room, illuminating all four corners.

And that was when he found her.

Slumped in a chair at the far end of the room was the woman he had been searching for these last three days.

‘
Larisa!
’ he said.

He moved forward through the darkness. Came to within ten feet of her. And stopped hard. Her head was turned down and her eyes were half open. Dangling from her right hand was an empty pill case, and at her feet was a DVD case with the name
Sarah Rose
on it. Striker gently placed two fingers against her neck and felt for a pulse. She was warm, but he could feel no beating of her heart.

‘Please, Larisa,’ he said. ‘Please.’

He was running out of time.

Desperation flooded him. Striker took out his cell to call 911; it rang on him before he could even dial. He stuck it to his ear.