Greg Iles - True Evil

"Lisa!" he cried. "Can you hear me?"

She didn't respond.

"I know you can hear me. Rip the tape off your hands. You've got to do it before you pass out. You've got to save us, baby."

Still no response.

Rusk heard shifting body weight. Relief coursed through him. "Rip the tape off your mouth! Use your teeth! Come on, honey, do it!"

More movement on the floor. Then he heard the blessed sound of adhesive coming loose. A low, inhuman moan filled the study.

"Lisa? Are you loose? Do your feet! Honey, can you hear me?"

Now the sound of tape coming loose was continuous. Rusk flashed back to the high school autumns when he'd had to unwind what seemed miles of tape from his ankles after football games. Lisa was doing almost the same thing now. Soon she would be free. He was surprised at how little he felt the loss of the diamonds compared with the joy of surviving and the prospect of getting Lisa medical attention.

"That's it, honey. He didn't think you had it in you, but I knew you could do it."

The ripping stopped, replaced by the sound of heavy wheezing.

"Get up, sweetheart. Get up and get me loose."

The woman who stood up on the other side of the desk was almost unrecognizable. An hour before, Lisa Rusk had been a woman of rare beauty who had glided through life without trauma of any kind. Her eyes had shone with the complacent bliss that could only exist in the young. But the woman standing across from him now looked like a refugee from a war zone, someone who had been dragged through the pit of hell and violated in ways unknown and unknowable. Her pupils were pinned against globes of white shot with blood. Her mouth hung open as from a mindless stupor, and her left breast swung free, smeared with blood and yellowish fluid.

"Lisa, can you hear me?"

Her mouth closed and opened three times, but no sound emerged.

She's in shock, Rusk thought desperately. Holy shit. "Cut me loose, Lisa! I've got to get you to the hospital. There's a pocketknife on the end table by the sofa. The one I got for a wedding present."

A flicker of recognition in her eyes? Yes!

She turned toward the sofa. Then, with the slow tread of a zombie, she walked toward the end table. She bent down. But when she came up, she was not holding the pocketknife. She was holding the golf club.

"Lisa? Get the knife, honey. That's a golf club you're holding."

She looked down at the putter as though unable to identify it. Then she said softly, "I know."

As she walked toward the desk, Lisa lifted the putter high above her head. Then she swung it in a long, roundhouse arc. Strapped immobile to the chair, Rusk could only tense as the flashing silver club smashed into his cranium.

Alex let go of her mother's limp hand and quietly left the hospital room. She had sat there for the best part of an hour, talking quietly most of the time, but her mother's face had not even twitched in response. Margaret Morse's sedation was deep, and justly so. She had reached the point where an ending was better than continuing-or it would have been, were Alex in the same situation.

Alex's hospital slippers hissed along the floor as she passed the five doors that separated her mother's room from Chris's. Her head throbbed incessantly. The ER doctors had given her over-the-counter Tylenol, which hadn't even dented the pain that accompanied her concussion. To her surprise, she found Chris awake when she entered his room. As she leaned over his bed, she saw tears on his face. She took his hand.

"What's the matter?"

"I just talked to Mrs. Johnson."

Fear awakened in the pit of Alex's stomach. The same fear she felt when she thought about Jamie.

"Ben's pretty upset," Chris went on. "Thora hasn't called him, and he's picked up from my voice that there's something wrong."

Alex laid her hand carefully on his arm. "You need to know some things."

His eyes instantly became more alert.

"Will overheard Thora telling Andrew Rusk to call off the hit on you."

Chris started to rise from the bed, but Alex pushed him back with ease. It frightened her to realize that he had become so weak so fast. She squeezed his hand. "It's time to arrest her, Chris."

Confusion filled his eyes. "She tried to call it off?"

"Only because she knew you were onto her. Frankly, I think she needs to be arrested for her own protection. She's a threat to Rusk and Tarver. They might kill her just to keep her quiet. And not only that."

"What else?"

"I'm worried that in her present state, Thora might be a threat to Ben."

Chris's eyes widened. "I don't think she'd physically hurt him."

"Given the pressure she's under? She could be suicidal. What if she decided to take Ben with her?"

He shook his head. "I don't think she'd…hell, I guess I'm the worst person to ask. I've been completely wrong about her so far."

"Thora's sick, Chris. But you didn't know that. You couldn't."

"I'm a doctor. I should have seen some clue."

"We're all blind when it comes to people we love. I've done the same thing myself."

"Who would take care of Ben if Thora's arrested?"

"Mrs. Johnson?" Alex suggested.

Chris shook his head. "I'd rather Tom Cage and his wife do it. Tom will know what to do if things get crazy."

She nodded. "I'll call him for you. You lie back and take it easy."

"I don't want Ben to see his mother arrested."

"I know you don't. And I don't think he will. But the alternative could be a lot worse."

Chris stared up at her with ineffable sadness. Alex had only seen sadness like that on the night James Broadbent confessed his feelings to her. After working closely with her for three years, Broadbent had become convinced that Alex was the love of his life. He was no wide-eyed boy, but a highly decorated FBI agent of forty with a loyal wife and two children. In a voice cracking with pain, Broadbent had told Alex that he could never abandon his family, but neither could he go on without telling her about his feelings. Because he couldn't endure being close to her without possessing her, he'd planned to put in for a transfer the next week. But he never did. Two days after his confession, James Broadbent was dead.

Alex leaned down and laid her cheek against Chris's pillow. "I know it looks hopeless now. But you're going to have a life again. You're going to share it with Ben, too."

Chris raised his hand and touched her face, careful to avoid the scars. "I can't see it right now. I want to…but I can't."

"I can. As clearly as I see you now."

He closed his eyes.

After a moment of debate, Alex climbed onto the hospital bed and lay beside him. If Chris noticed, he made no sign. She had thought they would both feel better if they lay together, but as she stroked his still-burning forehead, she was struck by the certainty that he would not live through the night.

Eldon Tarver pulled the Dodge pickup he'd been saving for his final escape up to the Union 76 truck stop on I-55 South. Ten seconds after he parked, his passenger door opened and Judah sat heavily on the front seat. Judah had a small backpack on his lap. As soon as he closed the door, he opened the pack and took out a small capuchin monkey. The capuchin had a face like a human infant's. It looked up at Eldon with anxious eyes, then buried its face in Judah's huge chest.

"Please don't be mad," Judah said.

Tarver was furious that his brother would disobey him and sneak the monkey out of the lab, but there was likely no harm done. The capuchin hadn't yet been used as a test animal, nor had it shared any cages with sick animals.

"Nobody saw the monkey?" Eldon asked, idling a few yards away from the building.

"Naw." Judah smiled. "She didn't make one peep."