The Drowning Man (27 page)

Woods stood in his boss' office, itching to get back out on the road. At least Nathan Barlow had finally let an officer take him home to his family. They'd caught the shooter four blocks from the station, hiding in a parking garage. The nineteen year old had been given cash, a gun, and a description of Woods. Now, he sat sweating and shaking alone in the interrogation room, in need of whatever his drug of choice was. He'd picked Simon Hewett out of a photo lineup and though Woods knew the officer who'd questioned him was one of the city's best, he resented the hell out of his boss for not letting him have a go at the kid.

So he stood, waiting for the chief to dismiss him so he could get back to work, while another team worked the lead that had been called in earlier.

Finally, the wiry bald man rubbed his moustache and looked up from his desk.

“Let me have five minutes with him. Sir,” Woods added, trying one more time.

“With the man who just tried to kill you,” his boss said.

“He's a kid!”

The chief rubbed his moustache again. “Five minutes and Brewster goes in with you.”

Woods watched the kid’s eyes widen as he walked into the room and let the door shut behind him with a solid thunk. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms across his chest. Let the kid sweat it out for a while. Brewster stood silently in the corner of the room. Woods wasn't sure who he was keeping an eye on more, him or the kid.

The kid grew increasingly agitated as the minutes drug on, his hands shaking uncontrollably, his thin body shifting in the chair, nervous dark eyes darting around the room.

Woods pushed off the wall, sat down across from him and leaned forward. If this piece of shit knew anything about where to could find Simon and the Barlow girl, he
would
get it out of him. “Tell me your conversation with Simon Hewett. Word. For. Word.”

The kid swallowed hard once then the words rushed out. “He followed me home. Told me he'd help me get what I needed.” He paused, took a breath, and continued, looking down at his hands. “Said if I helped him, he'd pay me good. I didn't know you was a cop until later. When I followed you to the police station. But I was desperate, man.” He clenched his shaking hands. “The big guy, he wanted you out of the way. So he could end it where it should have ended in the first place.”

Woods leaned farther forward. “Say that last part again.”

The kid looked genuinely confused. “What?”

“About ending it.”

“He wanted to end it where it should have ended in the first place. Where you should have already died.”

Woods stood and ran for the door.

Trent stopped his truck a quarter mile from the driveway to Caroline's house and made his way on foot, keeping to the darkest shadows of the property. Simon might know he was coming, but that didn't mean he had to know the exact moment.

He stopped and looked up the road towards the darkened house from his nightmares. The front porch light was out. His heart hammered in his chest as his fingers reached for the front door knob. His breathing slowed. Whatever he found on the other side, there was an eerie calm in knowing that one way or another, this nightmare ended tonight.

Trent watched as if from a distance as his hand closed around the ice-cold knob and turned. It turned easily and the heavy door swung open. He eased it closed behind him and looked down that long, long hallway.

His lungs burned as they filled with water, his hands ached as they desperately pounded against the glass.

No. It wasn't real. Not this time.

Cold. He was so cold, he didn't think he'd ever be warm again. His clothes hung on his shrunken frame now, clinging to his wet skin.

Not real.

He shook his head, made himself focus.

“Simon,” he called out, already knowing which of the closed doors he was behind.

“Your boyfriend's here,” Simon hissed in Lora's ear. She felt her body sag, but Nicole stood next to her, her small body trembling from the cold and the fear. The tiny hand gripping hers gave her the strength to stay upright.

“I'm going to give him a chance to save
one
of you.” His voice pitched even lower, “I hope he doesn't pick you though, because you deserve to die. I'll make Trent watch. He'll be a better man for it. Of course, he may have to get a little wet in the process.”

“He never did anything to you,” Lora said.

“Oh, you both did plenty.”

“You'll never make it out of the city alive.” They were the words of a desperate woman, but she said them anyway.

“Who's going to stop me? Your partner?” He paused, rubbed his jaw. “Oh yeah, he's dead.”

Lora felt her last bit of composure crack. No. She had to keep it together. Grief would have to wait.

Trent took a breath, pushed the door open.

It was still there. In the middle of the room. The sight of the clear tank, still filled with water sent an ice-cold shiver of fear through his body. His eyes moved up and what he saw caused a wave of fear that took his breath away. It was even worse than his nightmares.

Simon stood on top of the platform, two of the people Trent loved most in the world in front of him. This time a handgun had replaced the shotgun, the muzzle moving from one of them to the other. Lora's face was pale. Nicole was trembling but calm as she clutched Lora's hand. Her mouth opened slightly when she saw him. At least they were both alive and unharmed. Caroline was the only one missing. Whatever the reason, he'd deal with the bitch later. Simon grinned as Trent took a step into the room.

“I’m going to give you a gift, Trent. A chance. Here they are. What will you risk? What fears will you face to save them? More importantly,
who
will you choose to save?”

Trent's gaze shifted back to Lora. For a brief moment, their eyes locked. She mouthed the words
I love you
, then, taking a step forward, she dropped down into the tank.

Simon cursed, then laughed. “Well, I
was
going to give you a choice, but it seems she decided for you.” He gestured at the floor in front of the tank. “I saved you a front row seat, though,” he said as he slid the panel on top of the tank shut.

No.
Trent had no idea if he'd shouted the word or if it was just in his head. Then there were no more words, just blind instinct as his feet pounded across the room towards the tank.

Simon aimed his gun at Trent from the platform with one hand while he pushed Nicole down the stairs with the other.

Trent grabbed Nicole as she half-fell, half-stumbled down the last few stairs. He steadied her with his hand. “Run,” he yelled, aiming her small body towards the open doorway.

“You took away my love, now I get to take away yours,” Simon yelled down at him.

“No.” Trent rushed towards the stairs. “I didn't kill Caroline.”

“You killed who she was.”

Trent saw Lora in the tank, saw her pounding against the clear walls, felt his own lungs start to fill with water. No. It was not going to happen again, not to her. He started up the stairs, two at a time. “Don't do this. Let me save her or I will kill you where you stand.”

Simon cocked his gun and looked down at him from the platform. “I don't think so.”

Trent heard a low animalistic growl escape his throat as he lunged up the remaining stairs. He felt a burning sting across the top of his left shoulder an instant before their bodies collided.

Slamming into Simon's chest was like hitting a brick wall. His teeth rattled with the impact. They wavered for a few seconds, then Simon's weight drug them both down. Trent's knee slammed against the side of the platform, as they went tumbling down the metal stairs.

The gun fell from Simon's hands, clattering to the ground and skidding across the floor.

Trent's head banged against the hard concrete floor. The pain took his breath away. Simon's weight on top of him forced the little remaining air from his lungs. His vision went dark. He blinked, fought through the pain and disorientation. Lora was dying. He had to save her.

He turned his head. The gun was halfway across the room, out of both of their reach. Trent tried to push him off, reached for the staircase. He had to get Lora out of that damned tank. Simon's hand slid off Trent's blood-slicked shoulder and he was able to shove him off. Trent scrambled on all fours, made it halfway up the stairs.

Below him, Simon slammed his big body against the staircase. Trent heard the creak, felt the metal structure shake, reached his hands for the top of the platform.

Simon rammed into the stairs again. With a final groan of protesting metal, the stairs dislodged from the tank and Trent scrambled to stay upright as they toppled over. He made a last desperate grab for the top edge of the tank, then spent a split-second flying through the air, before hitting the ground again.

Trent's left hip and thigh took the brunt of the impact and he managed to roll out of the way an instant before the metal staircase crashed to the ground where he'd hit. He rolled again and turned towards the tank. Lora's eyes were closed and she wasn't moving. He lurched to his feet. Tried to calculate how many minutes she'd been in the water.

Simon straightened and tucked the gun into his waistband. He moved forward and swung one of his massive fists at the tank. His fist hit and bounced off, causing a loud thud and a slight vibration up the side of the tank. Simon shrugged. “Unbreakable,” he said, as he shook out his hand and the echo of the impact faded. “She's dead, Trent, let her go.” He ducked his head and walked towards the door.

If his truck was closer, and he could get to his tools there might be a chance. Without the stairs, there was no way to get to the top of the tank. But Trent knew without looking again, that Lora was floating motionless in the water, that she'd already been under too long to still be alive.

He whirled towards Simon. The son of a bitch just stood in the doorway, calmly tapping the gun against his thigh. “You're better off without her, you know.”

Trent stared at him, shock and anger flooding his senses. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, what he was seeing on Simon's face. The guy actually thought he was doing Trent a favor. Trent took a step towards him, then turned back towards the tank one last time. He stood, scanning the water. There was no movement inside the tank. No ripples. No bubbles. He felt his throat close.

“I'll let you say your goodbyes,” Simon said with a satisfied smirk, then walked out into the hall.

Tears blurred Trent's vision. Nicole was safe. His brother still had his family. At least he'd managed that. Fury burned in the pit of his stomach and his hands fisted. It wasn't over. Not yet. Not while Simon and Caroline still breathed.

Simon turned back around as Trent ran down the hall towards him. He smiled, dropped the gun, and opened his stance as though welcoming a long lost brother.

Trent didn't slow. Their bodies crashed together again. This time Trent had enough momentum to knock Simon to the ground. The big man hit the floor hard, the air whooshing from his lungs. Trent took the opportunity to draw his fist back and land a solid punch to Simon's right eye.

Images flashed through Trent's mind. The first time he'd been led down this very same hallway at gunpoint. The endless drowning. Caroline's face. The fear in his niece's eyes. Lora's body floating in the tank. He smashed his fist again and again into Simon's face, his stomach, anywhere his fists could reach.

Breathing hard, he focused on the bloody pulp that was now Simon's face. The smile on his split lips made Trent pause, right fist in midair. The man was insane.

Simon grunted and with one heave, threw Trent's body off his then slowly got to his feet, shaking himself off.

Trent's head throbbed from the impact with the floor. He made a grab for Simon's legs, sending the big man crashing back to the floor inside the nearest doorway.

He crawled forward as Simon grabbed for his arm, and they rolled across the carpeted floor. Trent gasped as Simon pounded down on his injured shoulder.

Simon lurched to his feet again, blood dripping from his split lip. He cocked his head to the side, then looked down at Trent. “Come on, get up,” he taunted.

Trent knew there was no way he could beat Simon in a physical fight. Not on an ordinary day. But on this day, he didn't care what it took, didn't care if he lived or died. All that mattered was that this man standing in front of him who had cost him nearly everything he had, did not leave this house alive.

He channeled the rage, used it to propel him across the room, his hands reaching for Simon's throat. Simon sidestepped him, grabbing Trent's arm as they reeled around off-balance. The room spun once. Twice. They hit the oversize picture window and 400 pounds of male crashed through the glass and went flying through the air.

Simon's body hit the ground first and his eyes glazed over for a split second. Trent seized the advantage, his hands clamping down hard on Simon's throat. He lifted Simon's head, pounded it against the frozen ground. Once. Twice. The big man kicked his feet and scrabbled in the snow for purchase. Trent held on.

Simon raised one huge hand, hit Trent in the left temple. Trent saw white explosions of light, squeezed down even harder.

Simon's face reddened. This time he raised both hands, wrapping them around Trent's throat, his thumbs digging into Trent's windpipe, cutting off his oxygen supply.

Trent turned his head from side to side, trying to ease the pressure, but he didn't move his own hands. He looked down and their eyes locked, unblinking, neither afraid to die.

Trent's vision started to dim, but still he looked down into Simon's eyes, satisfied that the last thing he saw on earth would be Simon dying at his hands.

Without warning, Simon's head jerked once, then the left side exploded in a spray of blood and bone across the white snow.

The pressure around his neck eased and Trent fell backwards into the snow. He rubbed his throat with one hand and held himself up with the other as he gasped in a breath. He heard the crunch of footsteps, saw the dim shadow of a man highlighted by the rising sun, standing over him. Through the ringing in his ears, he heard a voice, forced his gaze upward, meeting the dark eyes of Detective Justice Woods.