Steven James - The Bishop

There are many kinds of death, Sevren thought. Physical, spiritual, emotional, psychological.

And this would be the most fitting kind of all.

Sirens outside. “You hear that?” I called. “It’s over. There’s no way out of this. Let her go.”

“Throw her your gun.”

I eased forward slightly, but he yelled, “Take another step and she dies!”

How does he see me?

I studied the hallway. No mirrors. No windows.

Tessa had her teeth clenched. Eyes squeezed shut.

“I’ll give you three seconds,” he said.

“Sevren-”

“One.”

Do not relinquish your weapon, Pat. He will kill you both!

I scrutinized the hallway, in front of me, behind me. And saw a cell phone on the floor of the living room, behind me, propped against the wall, taking video.

He’s got another phone in the bedroom. He’s watching “Two.”

I flicked off my flashlight so he couldn’t see my movement, then sprinted toward Tessa, but Sevren yanked her backward into the room. Slammed the heavy oak door shut.

I grabbed the doorknob, tried it. Locked. Behind the door, I heard Tessa struggling, trying to get free. I backed up, raised my heel, smashed it against the door, but it held.

Sevren’s voice: “Kick that door again and I’ll start playing with your stepdaughter.”

My hands squeezed into fists, one tight around the grip of my SIG, the other around my MagLite. Inside of me, a terrible fire roared to life, one I did not want to put out.

There’s no other door to the room “Sevren,” I called through the door. I could hear movement, then a swishing sound that was probably the curtains being pulled shut. A small, gentle light flicked on, shimmered through the crack beneath the door. He set his flashlight down. “There’s no way out of this,” I yelled. “It’s over. It’s done.”

“I want you to tell her,” he said. “Who that is. Outside. Who Detective Warren shot.”

No.

Stall.

“We found the bomb, Sevren. We found your partner.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“No I’m not.”

“Prove it.”

“You used the metal tubes of the wheelchair. It was smart. Even if the lab guys had x-rayed it, the explosives wouldn’t have been visible. But we got to it in time.” I wasn’t sure about that last part.

A pause. “And my partner?”

“Chelsea Traye.”

Silence.

“She did specials on both the assassination attempt and the Gunderson facility. Then at the hotel on Wednesday she announced that the shooting was in the basement, but that was before Margaret revealed the location during the press conference. No one else knew where I’d been shot. Making the 911 calls in Maryland at the Styles’s house was sloppy. We matched her voice. It’s all over.”

No reply.

Keep stalling, keep stalling.

“It was Tessa’s email, wasn’t it?” I said. “You hacked in. Found out about her father. Then had Chelsea look into Lansing’s past. She had access to the archived footage of the assassination attempt’s coverage. You sent Calvin the note. You set this all up weeks ago.”

Silence from the room.

Long and dark.

Then he spoke, “I didn’t come here to kill your stepdaughter, Patrick. But I will if you don’t tell her who Detective Warren shot.”

But he just said you are going to watch her die- “Tell her!”

Time. Buy more time.

“Take off her gag so I can talk to her.”

A slight pause.

“Patrick!” she cried.

“I’m here, Tessa.”

“He’s just to my left! Shoot at my voice through the wall-Ow!”

I banged the door. “Don’t touch her!”

“Tell her now or the gag goes back on.”

The red-blue, red-blue of the approaching squads’ overhead lights flicked through the living room windows, washed through the hall.

“Tessa,” I said, “listen to me-”

She loves Paul. She wanted to hate him today, but she loves him.

I had an idea. One chance at this, that would be all. I backed away from the door. “That man outside…” I aimed my weapon at the wood beside the doorknob.

One chance.

One chance.

We give platitudes to soften the blow, to dull the pain, but that’s not what I was about to do. To help her I had to hurt her. I couldn’t think of any other viable option. I had to stop Sevren. I had to take him down.

“The man Cheyenne shot is…”

I would kick this door harder than I’d ever kicked anything in my life. Right next to the lock. Drive your heel in. Locate Sevren. Drop him.

I eyed down the barrel. “Tessa, it’s your father.” I waited. Waited.

C’mon, Tessa. Please.

“Paul?” A fragile, broken word.

“He’s dead. He was shot three times in the chest.”

“No.”

“Yes, Tessa.”

Louder. “No!”

“He’s dead. Your father Paul Lansing is lying dead in the back-”

This time she shrieked, “No!”

The word cut through the night like a terrible, terrible knife. The instant she screamed I fired into the wood beside the lock, even as I rushed forward and drove my heel against the door. It splintered, flew open.

In a fraction of a second I swept the room and saw Sevren in the corner, standing behind Tessa. His flashlight sat on the floor to my left.

Tessa stood between us. Sevren had the gun pressed against her temple, her hand beneath his around the grip, her finger against the trigger.

Oh no. Please no.

The curling red and blue lights outside seeped into the room through the closed curtains.

Backup.

I eyed down the barrel but I had no shot. Sevren held her head steady in front of his by squeezing a tight fistful of her hair with his right hand. What little I could see of his face was covered with brutal scars.

“Tessa,” I said softly, trying to sound calm. “Do not move your finger. No pressure at all.”

“That’s good advice,” Sevren said.

She had her jaw set, trying to be strong, but a tear was squeezing from her right eye. “Shoot him,” she whispered.

But he was squarely behind her; I couldn’t get off a shot. I edged forward “That’s far enough,” he said.

I paused. Still no shot. If I fired I’d either miss him or hit Tessa.

I heard officers pounding toward us down the hall. “Get back!” I yelled. “He’s got my daughter.” They paused. “There’s a woman outside, by the stone wall, she was shot. Get to her now!”

No movement.

“Go on!” I called. “Do it!”

“Tell them to clear the house,” Sevren said.

“You heard him, clear the premises!” At last their footsteps retreated. Sevren glanced at a phone propped on the bed, and my eyes followed his. The house lights were off, but in the flicker of police lights from outside, the screen showed the outline of one officer still crouched in the hall.

“Go,” I yelled to him. “You, in the hall. Now.”

Finally, he left.

“Detective Warren?” Tessa said, defeat and fear in her voice. “Is she okay?”

“I doubt it,” Sevren said. “I’m a pretty good shot.” Then to me, “I said set down the gun.”

I ignored him, told Tessa, “She’ll be all right.”

Rather than demand again that I set down my gun, he took a small breath. “So here we are.” The words seemed to writhe from his mouth. “Just the three of us. Just like in North Carolina.”

“No,” Tessa said with tight resolve. “That time you had a scissors sticking out of your leg.”

No, Tessa! Don’t provoke him!

“Tessa,” I said. “Shh.”

“You should be thankful, Patrick,” Sevren said. “I hear custody cases can be expensive. Detective Warren saved you a lot of time and money tonight.”