Harlan Coben - The Innocent

The gun, Matt thought. Get your gun.

Charles Talley reeled back a fist. Matt could see it. Again he tried to move, tried to at least turn away, but the electrical voltage must have stopped certain brain synapses from firing. His body simply wouldn't obey.

Talley punched him in the bottom point of the rib cage.

The blow landed against the bone like a sledgehammer. The pain burst through him. Matt, already falling, dropped onto his back.

He blinked, his eyes watering, and looked up into the smiling face of Charles Talley.

The gun… get the damn gun…

But his muscles were in spasm.

Calm yourself. Just relax…

Standing over him, Talley had the cell phone in one hand. He wore brass knuckles on the other.

Matt idly wondered about his own cell phone. The one on his belt. Cingle was on the other end, listening. He opened his mouth to call out to her.

Talley hit him again with what must have been a stun gun.

The volts raced through his nervous system. His muscles, including those in his jaws, contracted and quaked uncontrollably.

His words, his cry for help, never made it out.

Charles Talley smiled down at him. He showed him the fist with the brass knuckles. Matt could only look up and stare.

In prison, some of the guards used to carry stun guns. They worked, Matt had learned, by overloading and thus disrupting the internal communication system. The current mimics the body's own natural electrical impulses, confusing them, telling the muscles to do a great deal of work, depleting energy.

The victim is left helpless.

Matt watched Talley pull back his fist. He wanted to grab his Mauser M2 and blow the bastard away. The weapon was just there, in his waistband, but it might as well have been out of state.

The fist headed toward him.

Matt wanted simply to raise an arm, wanted to roll away, wanted to do anything. He couldn't. Talley's punch was aimed straight for Matt's chest. Matt watched as it moved as though it were in slow motion.

The knuckles smashed into his sternum.

It felt as if the bones had caved in on his heart. Like his sternum was made of Styrofoam. Matt opened his mouth in a silent, anguished scream. His air was gone. His eyes rolled back.

When Matt's eyes finally regained focus, the brass knuckles were heading toward his face.

Matt struggled, but he was weak. Too weak. His muscles still wouldn't obey. His internal communication network remained shut down. But something primitive, something base, was still there, still had enough survival instincts to at the very least turn away from the blow.

The brass knuckles scraped off the back of his skull. The skin burst open. Pain exploded in his head. His eyes closed. This time they did not reopen. From somewhere far away he heard a voice, a familiar voice, shout, "No!" But that was probably not real. Between the electrical currents and the physical punishment, the brain's wiring was probably conjuring up all sorts of strange delusions.

There was another blow. Maybe another. Maybe there were more, but Matt was too far away to notice.

"TALLEY? You in there? We need to talk."

Cingle Shaker perked up when she heard Matt's voice through the cell phone. The sound wasn't great, but she could make out enough.

"Please open up, Talley. I just want to talk to you, that's all."

The reply was muffled. Too muffled to make out. Cingle tried to clear her head and concentrate. Her car sat double-parked by the front entrance. It was late. Nobody would bother her.

She debated heading inside now. That would be the smart play. Matt was on the fifth floor. If something went wrong, it would take her a while to get up there. But Matt had been fairly adamant. He felt his best chance was to brace this Talley guy alone. If she was spotted before they talked, that would only complicate matters.

But now that there was a muffled voice, Cingle could be reasonably sure that Talley was not in the lobby. In fact, from her vantage point, nobody was in the lobby.

She decided to head in.

Surveillance was far from Cingle's forte. She was simply too noticeable. She had never been a Rockette or dancer of any sort- yes, she'd heard all the rumors- but she had given up trying to dress herself down years ago. Cingle had started developing at a young age. By twelve, she could pass for eighteen. Boys loved her, girls hated her. With all the years of enlightenment, that was pretty much the norm.

Neither one of those attitudes bothered her much. What did bother her, especially at that young age, were the looks of older men, even relatives, even men she trusted and loved. No, nothing ever happened. But you learn at a young age how longing and lust can twist a mind. It is rarely pretty.

Cingle was just about in the lobby when, through the phone, she heard a strange sound.

What the hell was that?

The lobby's glass doors slid open. A little bell dinged. Cingle kept the phone pressed against her ear. Nothing. There was no sound, no talking at all.

That couldn't be good.

A sudden crashing sound came through the earpiece, startling her. Cingle picked up her pace, ran for the elevator bank.

The guy behind the desk waddled out, saw Cingle, pulled in his gut and smiled. "May I help you?"

She pushed the call button.

"Miss?"

There was still no talking coming from the phone. She felt a chill on her neck. She had to risk it. Cingle put the phone to her mouth. "Matt?"

Nothing.

Damn, she'd put on the mute button. She'd forgotten about that.

Yet another strange sound- a grunt maybe. Only more muffled. More choked.

Where the hell was that damn elevator?

And where the hell was that mute button?

Cingle found the mute button first. It was on the bottom right-hand corner. Her thumb fumbled before touching down. The little mute icon disappeared. She put the phone to her mouth.

"Matt?" she shouted. "Matt, are you okay?"

Another strangled cry. Then a voice- not Matt's- said, "Who the hell…?"

From behind her, the night man asked, "Is something wrong, miss?"

Cingle kept pressing the elevator call button. Come on, come on…

Into the phone: "Matt, are you there?"

Click. Silence now. Absolute silence. Cingle's heart beat as though trying to break free.

What should she do?

"Miss, I really have to ask you-"

The elevator door opened. She jumped inside. The night man stuck his arm out and stopped the door from closing. Cingle's gun was in her shoulder holster. For the first time ever in the line of duty, she pulled it out.

"Let go of that door," she said to him.

He obeyed, taking his hand away like it didn't belong to him.

"Call the police," she said. "Tell them you have an emergency on the fifth floor."

The doors slid closed. She pressed the five button. Matt might not be happy about that, about getting the police involved, but it was her call now. The elevator groaned and started ascending. It seemed to move one foot up, two feet down.

Cingle held the gun in her right hand. With her finger off the trigger, she repeatedly pushed the five button on the elevator console. Like that would help. Like the elevator would see that she was in a hurry and pick up speed.

Her cell phone was in her left hand. She quickly redialed Matt's cell phone.

No ring, just his recorded voice: "I'm not available right now-"

Cingle cursed, pressed the end button. She positioned her body directly in front of the crack in the door so as to get out of the elevator in mid-opening and as soon as humanly possible. The elevator buzzed with each floor, a signal for the blind, and finally came to a halt with a ding.

She hunched over like a sprinter starting in the standing position. When the doors started sliding open, Cingle pried them apart with both hands and pulled herself through.