Lisa Miscione - Twice

“Nathaniel!” he yelled suddenly, shattering the silence like a thunderclap. “Lola!”

He felt better, like he’d taken control of the night. Until a dark form appeared in the door of the only shack still standing. He took a step back, unlatching the safety on his gun. The figure stepped into the light.

“Put down the gun, Detective,” she said.

Ford McKirdy sighed, strangely comforted by the sight of the gun in her hand. At least she was human.

“I can’t do that,” he said. “Where are the children?”

“The gun or the children die,” she said, her voice dead and flat. She reached into the darkness and pulled Lola out of the shack by the hair. The little girl shrieked, her face a mask of fear. Nathaniel leapt out after her, clinging to her legs.

“No-no-no-no-no-no,” he cried, his little voice broken by sobs.

She thrust the gun to Lola’s temple. “You think I don’t mean it? You think I give a shit about either one of these brats?”

Lola shrieked again and Ford felt like someone had a hand over his heart and was squeezing without mercy. He inched closer to Annabelle and saw that she was as frightened as the kids; Ford could see it in her shifting eyes, hear it in the quaver of her voice. Lola started a quiet whimper and Nathaniel joined in. He could see tears in Annabelle’s eyes, too. Christ , he thought, they’re all children .

“Annabelle, listen to me,” Ford said, his voice soft and coaxing. “It doesn’t have to be this way.” His voice was steady, but his mind was racing, turning over his options. If he didn’t put the gun down, Lola could be dead. If he put the gun down, they all could be.

“Yes, it does. Don’t you see that? It always had to be this way. Before I was even born she had this whole thing planned. I never even had a choice.

“It’s my destiny ,” she went on, practically spitting the word. “You think the Rosses are cursed? They got nothing on me.”

“You have a choice now,” he said rationally. “Let’s all walk away from this together. I can help you, Annabelle. I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t mean it.”

He wanted her to see a way out, but he wasn’t sure she could hear it. She was in a black place and he could see something dark in her expression; he was afraid it was a loss of hope. More than menace, more than terror, it was the most dangerous thing you could see in an adversary’s eyes.

“You can’t help me. No one can,” she said. His heart pumped, hearing the echo of Julian Ross’s words. “He’s come for all of us.”

“Who has, Annabelle? Tell me and I can make it all stop.”

The night was filled now with the sound of the children crying. The three of them were before him, lit by the orange glow of the fire, the fear in each of their eyes burning bright and wet. There was a moment when he saw her expression shift, when he thought he’d reached her. It was the last thing he saw before he felt a terrible pressure on the back of his head and a curtain of darkness fell before his eyes.

Jed could hear them coming for him, hear their clumsy steps on the metal stairs he had just descended. So he crouched in the darkness and waited. He’d left his flashlight up above, not that he could use it. His eyes had adjusted to the new level of blackness and he felt comfortable in the cold air. Light did, unbelievably, travel down here and the eye found it after a few moments of adjustment.

He sighed and his voice echoed throughout the cavernous space, a maze of walkways below electric mains and who knew what else. A giant mess of veins hung suspended from the ceiling, stories of ledges and narrow walkways connected by ladders. He had gone as far as he could go before he realized that there was no other exit. Now he hid at the uppermost level of the final chamber connecting to the stairway. There was a ten-story drop below him. He was trapped, but he was in the catbird seat. He’d see them before they saw him and he had three bullets left.

He was disappointed in Lydia Strong. He never imagined her to be such a foul-mouthed bitch. When he’d looked into her eyes he’d seen only hatred and anger, not the connection he’d imagined them to have all these years. His plan had been thwarted, but it might not have worked anyway. He’d wanted her to see him kill her love and her only friend. He’d hoped that in her grief, she’d turn to him. But he had the sense now that she might still have rejected him even if she’d had nothing left. There was that defiance to her. It was not an attractive quality in a woman.

He was uncomfortable and shifted. In doing so, he knocked some unseen piece of debris and it fell loudly, bouncing off metal, clanging, and then hitting the floor. A silence followed and Jed McIntyre held his breath.

The three of them stopped in their tracks on the stairway at the sound. The flashlight Lydia held in her hand flickered dramatically and recovered, though the light was dimmer still. Figures .

Lydia opened her mouth to talk, but Rain put a silencing hand on her shoulder. He motioned for them to follow; they tried to be as quiet as possible moving toward the sound. After a moment, he took the flashlight from Lydia and turned it off, laying it on the stairs beside them. They were plunged into blackness and it took a few minutes for their eyes to adjust.

Following Rain, they turned off the stairwell into a cavernous chamber, a maze of walkways crisscrossing across the height of it, some ten stories tall or more. Lydia’s eyes scanned the catwalks.

“I can hear you breathing,” said Rain suddenly, loudly, and his voice echoed off the concrete. They were answered by silence. Rain moved in close to Jeffrey and whispered, “I’m going to draw his fire. When he shoots, you’ll be able to see where he is.” Jeffrey nodded and Rain moved toward one of the ladders and started to climb. He moved quickly with grace and strength.

“You better stay where you are,” came a voice from high above them. But Rain kept moving; he was already at the third level.

A shot rang out and the blast from the gun revealed Jed’s position, high and in the far corner of the room. He was trapped like a rat, and from the tone in his voice, he was starting to realize it. He was not getting out of this room a free man.

“You’re trapped, McIntyre,” said Lydia. “And you only have two rounds left.”

Lydia surmised that Rain was still out of Jed’s range, but he wouldn’t be for long. Jeffrey and Lydia started up after him. When Rain was on the fourth level, Jeffrey opened fire in the direction from which Jed’s shot had come. He let three rounds go. Judging by the sparks and the sharp sound of the ricochet, it sounded like two of the bullets hit concrete or metal. But the third shot… she couldn’t be sure. The darkness around them seemed to hold its breath, and all three of them crouched low in their positions waiting for return fire. But none came. For a brief second hope bloomed in Lydia’s heart that Jed McIntyre was dead. It was an ugly feeling and she was ashamed of it; but she felt it nonetheless. After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, a low groan came from above them.

“Hold your fire,” McIntyre said. “I’m hit. I give up.”

Lydia and Jeffrey exchanged a skeptical look.

“Throw down the gun, McIntyre,” said Jeffrey. “Then we’ll talk.”

“I can’t move,” he said, his voice rasping and just a little too pathetic.

Rain had reached the top level and was approaching the prostrate form they could now see above them, as they, too, drew closer.

“Be careful, Rain,” said Jeffrey.

His words were drowned out by the firing of the Smith and Wesson. Lydia and Jeffrey watched, helpless, as Rain staggered back toward the railing before falling over the side and landing with a sickening thud on the next level.