Kevin O'Brien - Disturbed

Chris carried his sister to the end of the driveway, and then lowered her down. He glanced up at the windows in the front of the house, but didn’t see any movement. He squatted down again to whisper to Erin. “I want you to run to the Hahns’. No one’s home, so you’ll have to hide in the playhouse in their backyard. Don’t come out until you hear the police sirens, and even then, make sure they’re here in front of the house before you let anyone see you. Okay?”

She touched the duct tape over her mouth, and nodded.

He gave his sister a kiss, and then tugged at the corner of the duct tape. “If you tear this off really fast, it might not hurt so much. But it’s still going to hurt, and you might cry — so wait until you’re in the playhouse. Be brave. You’re doing great so far, Erin. Now, go. . ” He turned her toward the Hahns’ house.

Chris watched his sister scurry toward Courtney’s place. The empty house was dark — except for one light on in the living-room window. He kept staring at Erin until she disappeared in the shadows.

He took out the cell phone and dialed 9-1-1. Waiting for an answer, he turned back toward the house. Molly and Mrs. Corson were still inside there with that maniac. He glanced up at the second-floor window and didn’t see anything.

Then he heard a loud, piercing scream.

“God, no, don’t!” Jenna Corson cried out behind the closed door of the guest room. “Please, no, wait. . wait. .”

A knife clutched in her hand, Molly paused in the hallway. Her head throbbed, and blood was smeared around her mouth. She had a cut lip from where he’d hit her.

While stashed in the darkened bedroom closet, she’d managed to find the knife she’d hidden and cut herself free. She’d heard him in the guest room, talking with Jenna Corson. She’d been unable to make out the words, but from their tone, it had sounded like they were having a normal conversation.

Once Molly had crept out of the master bedroom, the murmurings in the guest room next door had become clearer. Jenna Corson had been talking: “. . so actually, see, you’re doing me a favor. Just let me take the little girl, and I’ll go quietly. I won’t do a thing to stop you. In fact, you can take as long as you want with the other two. I’m in no position to contact the police — ever. Don’t you see what a wonderful opportunity this is for you to demonstrate your power? By letting me live, you show that you’re not a monster. You’re in total control. You’re calling the shots. We’re a lot alike, you and me. . ”

Molly had checked both Chris and Erin’s rooms and found the closets empty. She’d felt such relief, she’d almost cried. While in Erin’s room, she’d heard the man muttering something in response to Jenna’s proposition. For a few moments, she’d wondered what he’d said.

But now as she stood outside the guest room, Molly knew his answer.

She heard Jenna Corson screaming: “God, please, no! Wait. .”

Molly saw her chance to escape. But she couldn’t. Despite everything Jenna had done, Molly couldn’t just leave her there with that killer. In the next room, Jenna was shrieking. And in all probability, the soft, punching noise was the sound of his knife penetrating her skin.

Molly opened the door, and for a few seconds, she was so horror-struck she couldn’t move. Only the closet light was on, but it was enough for her discern the grisly scene in front of her. Jenna was squirming on the floor as he stabbed her. Her hands still tied in back of her, she writhed and screamed. Her poncho was covered with blood. Bent over her, the Cul-de-sac Killer was so enrapt in his work he didn’t seem to notice the hallway light. He didn’t seem to notice someone else had come into the room.

Molly suddenly snapped to. Rushing toward him with the knife, she thrust it in his back — just below his left shoulder blade. He let out a howl and twisted around so quickly the knife handle snapped off. The blade was only halfway inside him.

Wide-eyed, he glared at her. Dropping his bloodstained hunting knife, he turned on Molly. All at once, his hands were around her throat. She fought him off as best she could. She couldn’t breathe or scream out. He almost lifted her off her feet as he pushed against the wall. Molly struggled, clawing at his hands and face. But he was relentless. His stranglehold only became tighter until he was crushing her windpipe. She started to black out.

Suddenly Chris burst into the room with a baseball bat. The man let go of Molly and reached for his gun.

She fell down on the floor and gasped for air.

Chris swung the bat at him, slamming it against his arm. Molly heard something crack. The killer let out another howl. He swiveled around, and she glimpsed the blood on his pale blue shirt — trailing down from the blade sticking out of his back. His hand fumbled for the gun in his holster, but the way his arm dangled at his side, it looked broken. He backed toward the wall.

“Son of a bitch,” Chris cried, swinging the bat at him again.

The killer dodged it, and fell back against the wall. All at once, he froze. His eyes locked on Chris. A gasp came from his open mouth — along with a little stream of blood. He coughed, and more blood spilled over his lips.

In the distance, Molly heard a police siren. She was still too weak to stand and trying to get a breath. She rubbed her sore neck.

Her attacker listed forward. She could see the blood dripping on the wall behind him. As he turned his back to her, she noticed the blade was completely buried beneath his shoulder blade now. It must have been pushed in all the way when he’d fallen against the wall.

The baseball bat still in his grasp, Chris moved away from him.

The man braced himself against the wall as he slowly, painfully made his way toward the door. “You’re both dead anyway,” he wheezed, his back to them. He started to laugh, but he choked and coughed up blood again. It spattered on the wall. He turned slightly. With a smile on his crimsonsmeared mouth, he reached for the switch by the door and flicked on the light.

Then his legs seemed to give out beneath him, and he fell over dead.

With the room lit, Molly realized what he’d meant when he’d said, “You’re both dead anyway.” She realized Jenna Corson wasn’t there anymore.

Jenna had managed to slip away unnoticed. She’d left the torn linen restraints in a tangled heap on the bloodstained carpet. But the hunting knife the killer had dropped was gone.

Chris shuddered as he stared down at the corpse. “Erin’s safe,” he murmured. “Those — those sirens, I think that’s the police on their way. I called them. Are you okay?”

“Chris, she’s out there,” Molly whispered with a nod toward the door. “She has his knife.”

He glanced over at the door, then down at the carpet. He seemed to notice the drops of blood that marked a trail from Jenna’s shredded restraints to the guest room doorway.

The light had been on in the hallway earlier, but now it was off.

Molly crawled over to the dead man and pried the gun out of his holster. As she started to get to her feet, Chris came over and helped her up. He still held the bat in his other hand. Outside, the sirens were getting louder, and in the window, Molly could see the shadows of headlights and swirling red strobes. She patted Chris on the shoulder and then started toward the doorway.

“Jenna?” she called out, trying to keep her voice from quivering. “The police are outside, and you’re badly hurt. You’ll bleed to death if you don’t get some help. You can’t possibly get away. . ”

Before Molly realized what was happening, Chris brushed past her and stepped out to the darkened hall. She reached out to stop him, but it was too late. With the bat poised on his shoulder, he moved down the hallway and then hesitated. Molly hovered behind him.