The Victim (22 page)

She took the stairs two at a time and entered the front room of the yoga studio. There was a main desk where a woman sat, and two leather chairs in opposing corners.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked.

“Yes. How many people are here today?”

“Excuse me?”

Sarah ran to the window and looked down at the street. The two goons had finished talking with the bum and started across the parking lot toward her.

Options disappeared. Her hand gripped Waller’s gun as she walked back to the woman at the main desk. She pulled out the weapon and aimed it at the woman.

“I said, how many people are here?”

The woman screamed, put her hands to her face and pushed back on her swivel chair, her wide eyes not leaving the weapon.

“Focus, woman. Where are all the people?” Sarah asked. “In a class?”

The woman nodded, her hair falling out of her loose bun.

“Is there another stairwell out of here?”

She nodded again.

Sarah grabbed her arm, lifted her off the chair and pulled her through the double doors that led into the studio. She locked them behind her and a wave of heat hit her.

“Why is it so hot in here? Air conditioner broken?”

“Bikram,” the woman mumbled.

“What? Speak clearly.”

“Bikram yoga.”

She pushed the woman toward the students who sat cross-legged on the floor in rows, staring at her, sweat dripping.

“Everyone up,” Sarah yelled. “Now.”

The yoga students rose as one without using their hands.

“If you want to live, leave through the back entrance of the building. There are two men coming in the front right now that caused the killings at the mall downtown. If you’re caught here, you will die in a yoga studio massacre.”

They didn’t hesitate. As a unit, the students ran for the back corner, leaving their mats behind. Some whimpered and one woman panicked near hysterics. Sarah followed them to the rear and spoke to the receptionist.

“What’s bikram yoga?”

“Hot yoga.”

Sarah grabbed her shoulder and held her a moment longer. “Explain it.”

“We do twenty-six poses over a ninety-minute period at over one-hundred degrees.”

Everyone had cleared the stairs in front of them.

“Interesting.” But she was out of time for chatting. “Go down with your friends and call the police.”

“You want me to call the—”

“Yes. Ask for Detective Waller. Tell him where we are. I’m Sarah Roberts.”

“You’re Sarah Roberts …” the woman lunged as Sarah checked over her shoulder to see if the white-faced goons had made it to the yoga studio door yet.

The gun flew from her hands, hit the top of the stairwell and clanged over the railing, heading to the bottom. Sarah reacted, but it was too late. She shoved the woman hard, closed and slammed the door, locking it from the inside.

“Shit,” she mumbled. “Now what?”

She had nothing to defend herself with. The temperature in the room seemed to increase with each passing second.

Why the hell would people willingly do yoga at this temperature?

Maybe it was a good thing she didn’t have the gun. It would be too tempting to just shoot the idiots when they busted through the door. Vivian had told her to not shoot them.

Bring it on, then. I’ll play the victim.

Someone tried the doorknob across the room. Sarah found a chair, moved it to the center of the room and sat down to wait.

The police were on their way. She had them track her. Any minute Waller would barge in and arrest her pursuers. In the meantime, she would fight them off with whatever street fighting she knew, combined with what Aaron had taught her.

Someone banged into the door. They were trying to break the door down.

Five seconds later, after two more attempts, the door gave.

The two men stepped into the room, a needle in each of their hands.

“Hello, Sarah. It’s time. The Rapture is upon us.”

Detective Waller screamed into his radio as he came up behind a flatbed truck with his lights flashing and siren wailing.

“This can’t be Sarah. She wouldn’t be in a fucking truck.”

When the truck stopped at a red light, Waller got out of his cruiser and ran alongside. He pulled his sidearm as he got to the passenger side and jumped up to look inside.

The driver started in his seat at the sight of the weapon.

Waller shouted, “We thought you had somebody with you.”

The driver shook his head, wide-eyed. “Nobody’s here.”

Waller jumped down, but not before seeing a cell phone sitting in the middle of the empty flatbed.

“Shit.”

He ran back to his cruiser and got on the radio, telling everyone that they’d lost her.

His cell phone rang.

Dispatch was putting someone through who knew where Sarah was.

“Hello?”

“Yeah,” a girl said, clearly out of breath, almost hysterical. “She barged in, kicked everyone out and she had a gun and she …”

“Slow down,” Waller said. “Who are you?”

“I’m Debbie. I operate a yoga studio on Colborne on the second floor.”

“Okay, take a breath. Tell me what happened.”

Horns beeped behind Waller. He had flicked off the flashing lights and sat parked in front of traffic in an unmarked cruiser. He put his car in gear and pulled away.

“A girl walked into my studio, like three or four minutes ago, pulled out a gun and ordered me and my students out the back way. We’re all huddled in the alley.”

“Where?”

“I just told you,” she sounded exasperated. “Colborne Street, near Church Street. Yoga studio on the second floor.”

“Why call me?” Waller asked as he performed a U-turn and gunned his engine.

“She said her name was Sarah Roberts. She told me to call the cops. Then she used your name.”

“I’m on my way. Wait outside.”

“No problem. And I got her gun.”

That’s mine.

“Good. Keep it.”

He hung up and got on the radio, asking all units to converge on the yoga studio.

Sarah wouldn’t get away again.

“Before you do whatever it is you’ve come to do,” Sarah said. “Tell me why.”

The ugly one stepped closer. Nausea and fear crept through her. She had an urge to shove her hand into his throat hard enough to collapse his trachea so he would die squirming like a landed fish on the floor, but she controlled her impulse to violence. Vivian knew better. Sarah had to trust the process. Things would play out without her killing anyone.

But one touch from either one of these two men and she would die. Choices, choices …

“The time is upon us,” Ugly said from three feet away. “End times. As the Bible has predicted. We were given the opportunity to Rapture the good ones, the people God has asked to come home. After all that you’ve done, Sarah, you need to go. It is your time.”

“Are you Simon Peter?” she asked.

He faltered and looked at his partner. Then back at her. “How did you get my name?”

“Same way you get the information your brother Matthew gives you.”

He looked genuinely stunned. “You know about Matthew, too?”

Her mind raced with possible escape plans, ways to run. Could she get seriously hurt going through the front window?

“Vivian told me.”

Sarah wiped her forehead as sweat collected and rolled into her eyes. She had to keep her eyes clear to watch Simon. Simon’s partner wiped his forehead too, wetness appearing under his arms.

But Simon wasn’t sweating. He didn’t look hot at all. The tips of his ears were red and his face had gained some color, but he wasn’t sweating one drip. The lights in the yoga studio were bright enough to see perspiration.

“You really are something,” Simon said. “But it is time to go.”

“Can I have a word with God before you
Rapture
me?” Sarah said with a mocking tone.

Simon nodded. “Very well.”

To delay them, waiting for Waller to bust in, she decided to lie. They were here to send her to wherever you go when you’re dead because she was one of the
good
ones.

She so lied.

“I’d like to ask forgiveness for the man I killed unnecessarily two years ago.”

“What?” the partner asked. “You killed someone?”

Sarah nodded. “May I continue?”

“Make it quick,” Simon said. He turned to his partner. “And don’t interrupt, Brother Philip.”

“I’m sorry for all the wrongs I’ve committed for my personal gain. For those children in the school bus I killed. Even though the man who wanted them dead had nothing to do with me, I just needed his drugs. I’m sorry for those three innocent women I murdered in their sleep only so they wouldn’t find out about the affair I was having with their husbands—” She stopped abruptly as Simon stumbled on his feet. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Are you almost finished?”

The sclera of Simon’s eyes had turned red and he still wasn’t sweating. His ears were dark red now, and his face had taken on even more color. Compared to Philip, Simon was as arid as a desert, where Philip was soaked in the one-hundred-plus heat. The sweat dripped down Sarah’s back, under her arms and down her neck.

“I’m sorry for all the pain and suffering I’ve caused over the years,” she continued. Then she met Simon’s eyes. “Actually, there are too many murders for me to count. Maybe we should move to the next step. I wouldn’t want to delay you.”

She was ready. Waller would walk in at any second now. They were mere seconds away from ending this. She was prepared to go for the groin, the neck, the nose. Wherever she could to destabilize them. She’d been in situations like these before and walked away. Vivian couldn’t be wrong. She would walk away again.

“Okay,” Simon stepped forward and almost fell. He stopped, shook his head, and started toward her again.

Philip grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

“Brother Simon, we can’t do this.”

Simon stopped and turned to face his partner. “And why’s that? It’s too hot in here. We have to do this and get me outside.”

“But, Simon, she has confessed to horrible things. How could God want her? The Rapture is about sending home the good ones. That’s all you’ve been preaching. This goes against everything you’ve said.”

“Then she’s lying because she’s good. But it doesn’t matter. We were sent here to Rapture her. That’s all we’re supposed to do.”

“No,” Philip shouted.

Simon turned to look at him. This was Sarah’s chance. She felt it and got ready to move. Then someone pounded up the stairs by the broken door.

The cavalry had arrived. She stayed where she was, with Simon and Philip between her and the door. The last thing she wanted was to get hit by a stray bullet meant for the two assholes in front of her.

“Why are you being like this?” Simon asked.

“Simon, you preached about the good ones. It is abundantly clear that Sarah Roberts isn’t a good person. She has killed children. She has killed women for personal gain. We have the wrong person. There’s no way I will be a part of randomly killing people.”

“Then I’ll have to ask you to wait outside.”

“No. I will not—”

Simon moved fast. Sarah had to wipe her eyes again. When it was over, Philip had a syringe sticking out of the side of his neck. He stumbled back, away from Simon, clutching at his neck, horror in his eyes. He dropped to his knees, shook around the shoulders and fell backward. His body was wracked with convulsions for a few seconds, and then his head lolled to the side as his body stopped shaking. He lay still in death.

Simon watched her.

“You’re next,” he said, holding a syringe high in the air.

“Freeze!” someone shouted behind him.

For all the heat and the wavering on his feet, Simon was fast. He jumped behind Sarah, crouched low and held the needle to her neck. She had tried to smack at him, but missed. She pulled away from the small pricking sensation of the needle on her neck, but could only go so far.

“Step away from the door or she dies,” Simon yelled.

Parkman raised high enough over the broken door in the corridor to take the situation in and then dropped below it.

“There’s no escape. Let her go. This can only end badly for you.” He popped his head up again, then stood and gingerly stepped through the broken door, a two-fisted grip on his gun. “Don’t make me shoot.”