Ridley Pearson - The Angel Maker

It was then that for some reason it occurred to her that this was in fact not a road at all.

It was a driveway.

The Keeper stood in the doorway, backlit by moonlight and a finger of fog that reached to the ground. Sharon had witnessed his entry several times, but only once before had he paused there like that, emanating a menace that even the dogs seemed to feel.

Sharon's eye stung badly. A hot, shooting pain bit into her side where the bandage covered her scar. Her neck was hot from the collar. Her ears were ringing.

Only a few short minutes ago she had been on the verge of being rescued, but she shrank from that hope now. The Keeper was too powerful. This young woman was no match for him, even though by the way they looked at each other there seemed to be a strong connection between them.

The dogs remained silent, though they continued to pace anxiously. The Keeper stepped inside and closed the door firmly behind him. He called, "Heel!" The guard dog obeyed, circling behind the man and sitting quickly by his side.

Sharon, who had lived through hundreds of dangerous incidents while out on the street, felt the impending threat that dog represented. "I'm sorry," the young woman mumbled, head down. Subservient. "But this isn't right," she dared voice. "I expected so much more of you," he said, his voice reverberating eerily in the steel building. Sharon felt invisible. He had yet to even glance in her direction. Instead, his full concentration remained focused on this other woman.

The Keeper continued, "You didn't do as I said. You have failed me."

"This is wrong, Elden," she countered.

For the first time Sharon could attach a name to this man, this monster. It was a strange name and somehow fitting. Strange to be fully prepared to kill a man whose name you don't even know. The needle warmed in her palm. "You could help me, you know. You could prove yourself. There's work to be done."

"You've gone way too far," she said to the cement. "It's over." She wouldn't look at him; she knew better than to look at him.

Sharon couldn't keep her eyes off him. He drew her into himself like a hypnotist. "Pamela," he said-and now this young woman had a name as well-"since when do you refuse me?"

The woman looked up at him.

Pamela's face felt hot. Her brain was like jelly. She wanted to resist him, but it was so difficult. She had worshipped him for so long, and now her anger, mingled with shame and fear, felt like spikes in the middle of her chest. Her emotions wouldn't stay focused for long; another wave of warmth would drive them away. "Who do you think you are?" she asked, clinging to a shard of righteousness. "A woman's life is at stake!" His face and neck reddened. Felix panted impatiently. "How can you say such things? Hmm? I suggest you consider your situation more carefully," he said, gripping the dog's collar. "Are you frightened? The police frightened you, didn't they?"

The police? Sharon thought. Was it possible?

Pamela stepped up to Sharon's cage and took hold of the lock.

"Open it," she said to him. "Get away from there!" Tegg warned in that sharp voice. He gave the dog's heavy collar a tug, and it came to its feet. "Give me the key. I'll do it," Pamela said, her voice shaking. "We can give her the electroshock, can't we? Some Ketamine and electroshock. We can leave her at a hospital, no one the wiser. We dismantle everything here and what's there to find?" It took every bit of her strength to address him like this. "You said it yourself: The police don't have anything. They're fishing is all. We can still do this, Elden. We can still get out of this."

"We most certainly cannot. I told you: There's a contract. There are things of which you have no idea. I have a plan! It's all settled." "Settled? It can't be settled. Give me the key."

"Of course I won't. Use your head."

Pamela picked up the shovel. "We can still save her, Elden.

Contracts can be broken." She felt as if she were dealing with a child. This wasn't the same man of even a week ago. "You're not well," she told him. "Away from there!" he roared.

She had chosen the wrong words. Her knees trembled. His strength was overwhelming, almost like a bright light you can't look at. She wanted to please him, to help him.

He stepped toward her. Felix followed. "Stand back," he ordered. Her heart sank, but she felt her feet refuse to obey. What was happening to her?

She raised the shovel and delivered another blow. To her joy, although the lock remained closed, the latch broke a rivet and the door came partially open.

Sharon felt the hair on her arms stand at attention. Freedom?

Was it possible?

The Keeper mechanically jerked his head toward her and shouted, "Stay right where you are!"

Sharon thought of the needle in her hand. She'd never managed to come up with a plan for the dog, but one step at a time, she reminded herself.

Pamela said, "How can you justify taking one life in order to save another? What sense is there in that?"

The Keeper's expression hardened. "What sense?" His shoulders went military and he shook his head. "Lift your shirt, Pamela."

He repeated, "Remove your shirt. Now! Don't question me, Pamela. Show it to me!" His tone was that of a doctor-clinical and authoritative. Pamela stunned Sharon by removing her jacket and unbuttoning her shirt, allowing it to hang open.

From that moment on, Sharon knew it was over. Pamela had given in. She was his.

Below her ribs was a five-inch scar. "Touch it for me," he instructed. Pamela shook her head in one last try at defiance. "No, I won't."

"Do it!" he thundered. Tears came to her eyes.

She reached down and traced the long scar with a quivering fingertip.

He nodded. "I saved you. Hmm? I delivered, when no one else was able. Let me tell you this, when one faces losing a young friend as precious, as individual as you, one becomes capable of things he never dreamed possible." He experienced one of those tics then-his head jerking, his shoulder lifting, his eyes squinting shut. Sharon had witnessed this once before. He straightened himself, like a man adjusting his tie, and continued as if nothing had happened. "I told you a little white lie, a little fib back then, because to do otherwise would have caused you undue anxiety and might have interfered with your recovery. Hmm? Do you remember asking me about where I had located your liver? Hmm? I may not have done the actual transplant, but I saved your life-you know that's true. The truth is inescapable, is it not? It is the biggest burden of all. Hmm? Did you sense the truth? I suspect you did. You must have thought at some point that it hadn't really come from a trauma patient … No, of course it didn't. But I protected you from the truth because I knew how it would hurt you."

Pamela sobbed and sank to her knees. She was mumbling to herself, but Sharon couldn't understand a word. "That's what I'm offering you now, you know. Protection. But you don't seem to see that. Protection from them: the police; your parents; your fears. But you must join me. Hmm? Not go against me. I can protect you. Believe me." "You lied to me?" she asked incredulously. "What did you think happened to Anna?" he asked.

Pamela covered her ears. The man raised his voice to her ear.

"Did it ever strike you as odd that Anna just up and disappeared at the same time you were seriously ill? You must have thought of that!" He said, "There was an accident-a fatal accident-and there she was." He pointed to the floor. "What was I to do? I tested her blood type, that's what! A godsend is what it was. She was your blood type … You live because another died, and yet you would deny it for someone else?"

"Nooooo!" she screamed. She came at him with the shovel raised high.

Sharon broke for the door to her cage. "Stop!" he commanded Sharon, his finger pointed at her ominously.