Stirred (42 page)

“How about you?” Harry asked.

“Me?”

“Did you have a brush fire at the big dick corral?”

“Can we talk about something else?”

Phin jerked his body forward again, harder this time.

The bar stool moved forward almost a foot but then began to teeter. He shifted his weight back, balancing the chair out. Tipping over would be bad. He wouldn’t be able to get back up.

“I shouldn’t have talked about peeing,” Harry said. “Now I gotta pee.”

“Think of something else.”

“I can’t. I close my eyes and I picture Buckingham Fountain. Except all the water is yellow.”

Phin tried to ignore him. He scooted forward once more, gaining another half foot. His destination was the open door.

“My bladder is ready to burst. It feels like a basketball filled with urine.”

Phin continued to slide across the floor, until one of his chair legs hit a snag. He looked down, saw a tile was missing, leaving an indent. He scooted backward, intending to go around.

“Where are you going?” Harry asked. “The bathroom?”

“I’m going through the door.”

“Is there a bathroom through the door?”

“I don’t know. But maybe there’s something we can use.”

“You know what I could use?”

A muzzle
, Phin thought. But instead of speaking, he continued toward the doorway.

“A toilet,” Harry said. “I could use a toilet.”

“Can you do me a favor, Harry?”

“Does it involve me being quiet? Whenever someone asks me for a favor, that’s usually the one. I talk when I’m nervous. And when I’m trying not to wet my pants.”

Phin managed to get around the tile, but he was growing tired. Tired and worried. Sweat leaked down his face, stinging his eyes. He fought a growing sense of desperation. It was unlikely there would be anything beyond the door that could help them escape. Luther was too smart, too careful.

Phin shook his head like a dog, flicking off the sweat. He thought of Jack, of what horrors she was going through, and continued toward the doorway.

Mercifully, Harry had stopped talking and was imitating Phin’s movements, following him in the chair. For five minutes, they scooted and grunted and strained and sweated, and then Phin finally reached the doorway.

The office let out into a short hall, where a single, bare lightbulb hung from the ceiling. The floor was concrete, and the corridor ended in a staircase, which descended into darkness.

“What’s there?” McGlade asked from behind. “Tell me it’s wire clippers and a urinal.”

Phin didn’t answer. He slid his chair into the hallway, a plan forming in his head.

“Shit,” Harry said. “Are those stairs?”

“Yeah.”

“How many?”

Phin counted. “At least fourteen. I can’t see the bottom.” He scooted closer to the top of the staircase.

“What the hell are you doing, Phin?”

“These bar stools are too solid to break. But maybe they would break if they fell from a certain height.”

“So we’re going to fling ourselves down a flight of stairs, with no protection at all for our heads and bodies, with the hope that the fall somehow breaks these chairs and not our much more fragile bones?”

“Yeah.”

“Sounds good to me. You go first.”

Phin took another scoot sideways, one of the legs sliding over the edge and suspending itself in midair. Going down side-first seemed smarter than headfirst, though
smarter
was perhaps an inappropriate term.

Though, even if he was terribly injured, or even killed, it was better than being tortured to death by Luther.

“If you die, it won’t be in vain,” Harry said. “Your corpse will break my fall.”

Phin stared down, enveloped by vertigo. It wasn’t that high, but tied to a bar stool, staring down at that unforgiving concrete, he was finding it difficult to summon up the needed courage.

“Just duck your head, close your eyes, and pretend it’s a ride at Disneyland,” Harry said.

“Sure. Donald Duck’s Wacky Chair Roll.”

“Chip and Dale’s Crippling Plunge of Death.”

“Mr. Toad’s Instant Paralysis.”

“It’s a small flight of stairs after all,” Harry sang. “Now hurry up so I can have my turn.”

Phin took in as much air as he could and held it, tucked his chin to his chest, pictured Jack’s face, and gave the chair one more jerk.

For a terrible moment he hung motionless, suspended on two chair legs, gravity undecided about the pivot point. Then, in agonizing slow motion, he pitched forward down the stairs.

He quickly lost his breath in an involuntary yelp of pure terror, and then his right shoulder came crashing down against the concrete. Before he could register the damage, his feet went up and over his head. There were thumps and cracking sounds, groans of metal, and one of his legs came free. But the stairs, and momentum, weren’t finished with him, and he went into a second cartwheel.

A blow to the head made everything dizzier. Phin cried out once more, from pain and fear, helpless in the throes of gravity, and the stairs spat him onto the floor, where he skidded to a stop on his left side.

There was a great silence, the ringing in Phin’s ears echoing into nothingness. He tried to wiggle his fingers, but didn’t feel anything. Too numb.

Or maybe paralyzed.

“You alive?” Harry yelled from the top of the stairs.

“Yeah.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Not one bit,” Phin lied.

“It looked like it hurt. You break anything?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you free?”

Phin tugged his arms. Both were still bound to the chair.

“No.”

“You see a bathroom?”

“I haven’t looked.”

“Okay, here I come.”

“Harry! Wait!”

But McGlade had jerked his chair over the edge of the stairs and began his tumbling descent, yelling as he fell. Energized by the fear of getting crushed, Phin kicked out both of his legs, realizing they were free, and pushed away from the bottom stair, frenzied to get out of Harry’s way. McGlade’s yells became high-pitched screams as he initiated his first cartwheel, his stool crumpling from the impact. Then he skidded down the last few steps headfirst, the screams continuing even after he hit the floor, mere inches away from Phin.

“AAAAAAAAH!”

“McGlade!”

“AAAAAAAAH!”

“McGlade!”

“AAAAAAAAH!”

“Harry! Shut up! It’s over!”

The screaming stopped, and McGlade looked frantically around, finding Phin.

“I wet my pants,” Harry said.

“Are you hurt?”

“I’m still pissing. I can’t stop.”

“Harry, are your hands free?”

Phin heard some shifting and a clang of metal on stone.

“I’m still going. Oh, the indignity, Phin. The indignity…” His voice trailed off.

“Goddamn it, McGlade! Are your hands free?”

“You might want to back away before the puddle reaches you.”

Phin gave up. He shifted his body, wincing at all the new aches and pains, and managed to turn onto his knees. Forcing himself rigid, he snapped the seat off the chairback. His arms were still tied to the armrests, but he would be able to walk.

“Lemme help,” McGlade said. He stood next to Phin, using his free hand to jam a broken metal chair part under Phin’s wrist. With a quick twist, he broke the plastic zip tie.

“Thanks, McGlade. I could hug you.”

“Don’t. I’m not done peeing yet.”

He handed Phin the metal rod, and then waddled off, bowlegged and squishing. Phin finished freeing himself and then sighted down the hallway. It ended in a metal door. He walked to it, wincing at the pain in his ribs, his shoulder, his right knee. The door was locked, but the frame was set in damp, crumbling concrete. Using the chair legs, it shouldn’t take more than a few minutes to get out of there.

“Help me out, Harry.”

“Almost finished. It’s like a dam burst.”

“You’re still going? How big is your goddamn bladder?”

“Almost as big as my prostate. Do yourself a favor and don’t live past forty-five.”

Phin let out a short laugh. “Look on the bright side. At least you don’t need to find a bathroom anymore.”

Harry’s face darkened. “Phin, let’s get serious for a second. We’re friends, right?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ve faced a lot of bad stuff together.”

“What is it, Harry?”

“I will give you twenty thousand dollars if you trade pants with me.”

Phin smiled. “Get over here. Bring a chair leg. Let’s kill that son of a bitch and go save Jack.”

I
startled myself awake, ready to fight Donaldson, or Luther, or anyone dumb enough to get too close.

But I quickly realized I was alone.

Alone with one corpse.

Donaldson was gone, and Steve lay in pieces, an expression of anguish frozen on his dead face.

The only one with a gun was Luther, so I quickly pieced together what had happened. Not liking his little horror show interrupted, Luther had taken Donaldson out of the game. Since Luther had left me alone, I could guess there was more for me to see and do.

How many circles in Dante’s hell?

Nine.

I’d only seen six.

Enough for a lifetime.

I placed my palms on my stomach, pressing, trying to feel some movement in response.

There was none.

I rubbed harder, panic jolting through me, wondering if somehow, with all the stress, with the eclampsia, the baby had—

There. She pushed back.

Thank God.

I rubbed my finger along the bulge and felt her tiny little hand.

“It’s okay,” I told my little girl. “We’re going to be okay. We’re going to find your daddy and—”

“Good, you’re awake. It’s time to get moving.”

I reflexively touched my earpiece.

“I’m done being the lead character in your sick little drama, Luther.”

“But there’s still so much to see. So much to learn. Get up and go through the door. You’ve got an old friend waiting for you.”

“I’m also done listening to you and your bullshit.”

I began to tug on the earpiece, felt my skin start to tear.

“Jack, don’t you dare—”

It abruptly pulled free, stinging like hell, warm blood dripping down my neck. I chucked the earpiece into the water, gave the camera the finger, and got to my feet.

The doorway led to dark, concrete hallways that forked just ahead, and I stumbled along, tired, thirsty, hungry.

Angry.

Very, very angry.

Too many people had died so this maniac could…

Could what? Show me how powerful he was?

Frighten me?

Teach me the value of life?

I already knew the value of life. And seeing it wasted didn’t make me value my own even more.

I may not have maternally bonded with my unborn child yet, but I had time for that.

I may have been treating the people in my life poorly, but I had some damn good excuses.

I may have been acting selfish, but I was entitled. I’d done a lot of good in this world. I’d taken a lot of bad people off the streets. And all I’d gotten in return were sleepless nights, guilt, and a lot of my friends and family hurt.

Truth told, I didn’t like myself very much.

But that didn’t mean I was lost.

Right?

I stamped my feet, which were cold and wet and losing circulation. Part of me wished I hadn’t thrown away the earpiece. While I was sick of Luther being in my head, he no doubt would have told me which direction to go.

Then I heard it.

Voices.

Singing voices.

One of them familiar.

I followed the sound, trying to determine direction in the dark with all the echoes. The corridors were like a labyrinth, turning, splitting, dead-ending. It was slow going, but I made steady progress, the volume increasing until I turned down a hall with a door at the end.

I opened it, getting blessed with the third verse of “Michael Row Your Boat Ashore,” stepping into cold muck, and seeing—

“Herb!”

“Jack!”

He was chained to the wall, one of those horrible explosive collars padlocked around his neck.

I hurried over for a quick embrace. He was even colder than I was, his hands tied behind him, but it was the warmest hug I’d ever received.

“Are you okay?” we both asked at the same time. It was followed by a mutual chuckle, which felt so good in the face of so much bad.

“Phin and Harry?” I asked.

I felt my friend’s shoulders go limp. “I don’t know. Haven’t seen them. Haven’t seen anything.”

I held Herb at arm’s length. “What do you…oh, Jesus. Herb…”

For the first time I noticed his eyes. Red.

Swollen.

Sewn shut.

“Got any Visine?” he asked.

I hugged him again, tighter this time. I needed to get him—both of us—out of there. I checked his back, saw his hands were bound with zip ties.

“My shoelaces,” Herb said. “They’re five fifty.”

I nodded, kneeling into the freezing muck and spending a hard minute unlacing his shoe. The cord Herb used for laces was parachute line with a minimum breaking strength of five hundred and fifty pounds. When I had the cord free, I forced an end between his wrists, against the plastic, and then rapidly pulled the ends back and forth, essentially using it as a friction saw.