Drawn Into Darkness(75)

Belly down on the thin carpet to peer under the sofa, Quinn heard rather than saw Forrie stand up and prowl around the room. After a moment he called, “Is this it?”

Quinn sat up to look. “Yes.”

“It was facedown on the floor under some of the so-called movies.”

Quinn got up from the floor; Forrest came over to him with his find; but as Forrest reached out to hand it to him, a loose sheet of yellowish paper fell out to drift downward like a feather.

As it landed on the floor, Quinn felt recognition hit him like a fist in his gut, punching a wordless cry out of him.

At the same time Forrie exclaimed, “That’s Mom’s handwriting!”

Quinn grabbed the sheet of paper off the floor, but his hand shook so badly that he had to lay it on the back of the sofa to read it. Forrest crowded next to him. Standing shoulder to shoulder, neither of them made a sound as they read:

Dear Forrest and Quinn,

Dear sons, please remember life has not been kind lately so this news is not terrible to me. I have encountered a man who needs to kill me. He promises to do so as quickly and painlessly as he can. By the time you receive this, I should be dead. This is my last will and testament in which I divide all my belongings equally between you. There is much I want to say but cannot, except that I wish you long and wonderful lives.

With greatest love,



Mom



“Oh, my God,” Quinn whispered, and for the first time in his life it was really a prayer. He could not seem to see properly, but he felt Forrest start to shake, then heard him making urgent noises that were not words. He turned to put his arms around his brother.

Forrest returned the hug for only a moment before he stiffened and said, choking, “No. No, or I’ll lose it.” He pulled away. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“Where?” Quinn barely managed the single word.

“I don’t know. Anywhere. I can’t stand this place. Come on!”

Robotically Quinn followed Forrest out the front door. Forrest dived into the driver’s seat of the rental car and called, “Where are the keys?” Without giving Quinn time to respond, he all but screamed, “Where are the damn keys?”

Quinn pulled them out of his pocket and handed them over, then got into the passenger seat; blinded by tears, he felt in no condition to drive. But a grinding sound from the starter and the way the car lurched forward told him that Forrie was not likely to do any better.

“Whoa,” Quinn managed to say, “take it easy,” as the Chevy Aveo jolted and swerved onto the road. “Where are we going?”

“I don’t know!” The car veered wildly.

“Forrie, pull over. You’re going to wreck.” Quinn grabbed the wheel with one hand and tried to clear his flooded eyes with the other so he could see to steer. He got them off the road, and Forrest put his foot on the brake; they were not going to die after all. The car rolled to a stop in front of a blur of fuchsia.

• • •

“Don’t scream or I’ll slit your throat,” Stoat said, dead quiet in my ear.

He needn’t have warned me. My fright reaction is to stiffen like a Barbie doll, and sometimes I hate myself for that. I couldn’t have screamed if I wanted to. I could barely breathe.

“I’ll do your skinny neck same way I done Justin.” With his disgusting lips close to my ear and the smell of his frankly rank breath reaching my face, Stoat nattered on in a hoarse, almost hypnotic whisper. “It ain’t as easy as they make it look on TV. It ain’t like sawing a log. You got to put the point of the knife here—”

He demonstrated, reaching clear to the other side of my head to jab at the sensitive skin of my throat. I closed my eyes, but his voice went on. “And you got to stab it in deep, two, three inches.” I felt the knife tip break the skin and thought crazily, he’s giving me a hickey. The bastard’s hugging me and giving me a knife hickey. How loverly. “Then you got to kind of pivot it in there, deep, so’s you get the jugular and the windpipe and the carotid and whatever. It ain’t just a cut, like this.” He slid the knife blade across my throat, and I could feel the blood trickle. “You got to do it right.”

To my utter surprise I opened my eyes, felt my mouth moving, and heard my own voice speak quite calmly. “You did that to Justin?”

“Sure thing.”

“How did you make him hold still for you?”

“Well, I had to shoot him first.”

“Oh, I see.” I nodded as politely as if I felt no knife at my neck, then amended, “No, I don’t see. If you shot him, why didn’t you just finish him that way?”