Dean Koontz - The Voice of the Night

“Are you coming?” Colin asked. “Or are you afraid to really do it to her?”

Roy slowly climbed the steps.

Colin backed away from the head of the stairs to the open door of the room where Heather waited.

Roy stepped into the second-floor hallway.

The two boys were no more than fifteen feet apart.

“In here,” Colin said.

But Roy stayed against the far wall and moved toward the door of the room opposite the one where Colin wanted him to go.

“What are you doing?” Colin asked.

“I want to see who else is here,” Roy said.

“No one. I told you.”

“I want to see for myself.”

Keeping one eye on Colin, Roy shone his light into the room across the hall. Colin thought of the cardboard box he had left in there, and his heart began to pound furiously. He knew the trick would be exposed and the plan ruined if Roy saw the bottle of ketchup. But the box must not have looked out of place among the other trash that littered the floors of the rotting mansion, for Roy didn’t go into the room to investigate it. He moved on down the hall to see whether the rest of the second floor was deserted.

Colin waited in the doorway until Roy had looked in all the other rooms.

“No one,” Roy said.

“I’m being straight with you.”

Roy started toward him.

Colin backed into the bedroom and went quickly to Heather. He stood beside her.

She looked as if she might scream in spite of the gag in her mouth. Colin wanted to smile and reassure her, but he didn’t dare; Roy might step inside and see the exchange, and then he would realize they were in collusion.

Roy entered cautiously. Shadows danced out from his moving flashlight beam. When he saw the girl, he stopped, surprised. He was only fifteen feet away, and he was blocking the only exit; this was the moment of truth. “Is that …?”

“Yeah,” Colin said thickly. “You know her? Isn’t she something?”

Roy looked her over with growing interest. Colin saw the boy’s eyes lingering on the curve of her smooth, sleek calves, then her knees, then her taut thighs. For a minute Roy didn’t seem capable of lifting his gaze from those slender, shapely legs. Then he finally looked up at her ruined blouse, at the swell of breasts that were partly visible through the torn material. He looked at the ropes, at the gag in her mouth, and at her wide, frightened eyes. He saw that she was genuinely afraid, and her fear pleased him. He smiled and turned to Colin. “You did it.”

Colin knew the trick had worked. Roy couldn’t conceive of Colin and Heather setting a trap all by themselves, without adults to back them up. As soon as Roy had seen that they were alone in the mansion, that there were no reinforcements waiting in another room, he had been convinced. The Colin he knew was too much of a coward to try anything like that. But the Colin he knew no longer existed. The new Colin was a stranger to him.

“You really, really did it,” Roy said.

“Didn’t I tell you?”

“Is that blood on her head?”

“I had to hit her pretty hard. She was unconscious for a while,” Colin said.

“Jesus.”

“Now do you believe me?”

“You really want to fuck her?” Roy asked.

“Yeah.”

“Then kill her?”

“Yeah.”

Heather protested through her gag, but her voice was weak and unintelligible.

“How will we kill her?” Roy asked.

“You have your penknife with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Colin said, “I’ve got mine, too.”

“You mean-stab her?”

“Just like you did the cat.”

“With penknives, it’ll take a long time.”

“The longer the better-right?”

Roy grinned. “Right.”

“So are we friends again?”

“I guess we are.”

“Blood brothers?”

“Well … all right. Sure. You’ve made up for what you did.”

“You’ll stop trying to kill me?”

“I’d never hurt a blood brother.”

“You tried to hurt me before.”

“Because you stopped acting like a blood brother.”

“You won’t throw me off a cliff like you did Steve Rose?”

“He wasn’t my blood brother,” Roy said.

“You won’t squirt lighter fluid on me and set me on fire like you did Phil Pacino?”

“He wasn’t my blood brother either,” Roy said impatiently.

“You tried to set me on fire.”

“Only when I thought you betrayed our oath. You didn’t want to be my blood brother any more, so you were fair game. But now you want to uphold the oath, so you’re safe. I won’t hurt you now. Not ever. In fact, it’s just the opposite. Don’t you see? You’re my blood brother. I’d die for you if I had to.”

“Okay,” Colin said.

“But don’t ever turn against me again like you did before,” Roy said. “I guess a blood brother ought to be given a second chance. But not a third.”

“Don’t worry,” Colin said. “We’re together from here on out. Just the two of us.”

Roy looked down at Heather again and licked his lips. He put one hand on his crotch and rubbed himself through his jeans. “We’re going to have fun,” Roy said, “and this little bitch is just the start of it. You’ll see, Colin. You understand now. You understand how it’s us against them. We’re going to have a barrel of laughs. It’ll be a real popper.”

Conscious of the tape recorder, his heart exploding as Roy took a step toward Heather, Colin said, “If you want, some night we’ll go back out to the junkyard and push that old truck down on the tracks, in front of a train.”

“Nah,” Roy said. “We can’t do that any more. Not now that you’ve told your old lady about it. We’ll figure something else.” He took another step toward Heather. “Come on. Let’s get that gag out of her mouth. I have something else I’m aching to put between her pretty lips.”

Colin reached behind his back and pulled the pistol from his belt. “Don’t touch her.”

Roy didn’t even look at him. He moved toward Heather.

Colin shouted: “I’ll blow your head off, you son-of-a-bitch!”

Roy was stunned. At first he didn’t comprehend, but then he saw Heather shrugging off the ropes that bound her wrists, and he realized that he had been tricked after all. The blood left his face, and he was white with rage.

“All of this was recorded,” Colin said. “I’ve got it on tape. Now I’ll be able to make someone believe me.”

Roy started toward him.

“Don’t move!” Colin said, jabbing the pistol at him.

Roy stopped.

Heather removed her gag.

“You all right?” Colin asked her.

“I’ll be better when we’re out of here,” she said.

To Colin, Roy said, “You creepy little bastard. You don’t have the guts to shoot anyone.”

Brandishing the pistol, Colin said, “Take one more step, and you’ll find out you’re wrong.”

Heather had frozen in the act of disentangling her legs from the ropes.

Everyone was perfectly silent for a moment.

Then Roy took the step.

Colin pointed the gun at Roy’s feet and squeezed off a warning shot.

Except the gun didn’t fire.

He tried again.

Nothing.

“You told me your mother’s gun wasn’t loaded,” Roy said. “Remember?” His face was split by a rictuslike grin of fury.

Frantically, desperately, Colin squeezed the trigger again. Again. Again!

Still nothing.

He knew it was loaded. He had checked. Damnit, he had seen the bullets!

Then he remembered the safeties. He’d forgotten to switch them off.

Roy rushed him, and Heather screamed.

Before he could flip the two small switches on the gun, Colin went down under the bigger boy, and they rolled over and over again on the thick carpet of dust, and Colin’s head banged hard against the floor, and Roy backhanded him across the face, swung once, twice, three times with fists like blocks of marble, hitting Colin in the ribs and then in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him, and Colin tried to use the gun as a club, but Roy seized his wrist and wrenched the weapon out of his hand, used it as Colin had tried to use it, swung it, struck Colin alongside the head, twice, and blackness welled up, a welcoming, warm, velvety, immensely appealing blackness.