Lisa Gardner - The Survivors Club

David rushed to the open window. He stuck out his head in time to see a woman's shadowy figure scramble to her feet and run across the lawn.

No, no, no. It wasn't possible. Meg should be hurt. She couldn't just get away like that. She was his, his, HIS.

David raised his gun to fire. Just as a second shape suddenly materialized from behind the closet door.

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

David whirled around. “Meg? What the-”

She caught him in the side with her shoulder and they both went smack against the wall as Griffin roared into the room.

David was tangled. He had to get to his feet, find his balance and regain control. He got one hand around Meg's neck and shoved her brutally aside. Just in time to encounter Griffin's fist.

David's left cheek exploded. He went down hard, registered the new threat in the room and rolled left. He came back up with his gun, squeezing off one wild shot before Griffin had his hand in his massive grip and started twisting his arm behind his back.

David cried out at the sudden pain. Then he grew royally pissed off. This was not according to his plan! This had not been part of his equation!

He went still, sagging forward and letting the sudden impact of his weight drag Griffin off-balance. They both fell forward. David rolled clear first and sprang up onto his feet. This time he had out the hunting knife. That was better.

He went for Griffin's ribs, just as his old friend and neighbor threw up his arm. David sliced through Griffin's shirt and had the satisfaction of drawing first blood. He danced back, watching Griffin rise thunderously to his feet. Griffin didn't appear to have a gun anymore. He had probably run out of bullets on the staircase, then thrown down his gun in disgust. Griffin always acted on impulse. All the better for David.

“I've learned a few things since we last met,” David said, bouncing around on the balls of his feet, flashing his knife. He'd lost track of Meg. He decided it didn't matter. What could a girl do?

“Needlepoint?” Griffin drawled.

“I'm not going back, no fucking way. I'm going to kill you, then I'm going to take out every goddamn cop along the way. I've already racked up at least six today. What's a few more?”

“I think you should take the car in the driveway,” Griffin said, circling warily. “You know, Viggio went to a lot of trouble to set it up just for you.”

“Shit! He rigged it, didn't he? Well, that just curdles my cheese. I'm the one who told him where to go on-line for the bomb-making guide, you know. Without me, that low-level turd would be nothing. ”

David leapt forward, slashing at Griffin's unprotected thigh. Griffin, however, saw him coming, stepped neatly left and slammed him with a fresh uppercut to his left eye. David's head snapped back. He saw stars but didn't go down. Instead he spun away and worked to regroup. Griffin was bigger, all right. But David was smarter, and better armed.

Griffin didn't lunge again but just kept circling. He appeared strangely calm, almost curiously patient.

“Without you, Viggio could've been the College Hill Rapist forever,” Griffin said. “No one could ever rat him out-like you were planning on doing.”

“I wasn't necessarily going to turn him in. What do I care if he's running around this state terrifying college coeds? I sort of considered him a going-away present for you, Griff. Your job would never be boring. Now I'll just have to kill you instead.”

“So you keep saying.”

“What the fuck are you doing, Griffin? Where's the rage, where's the holy war? Don't you remember what I did to Cindy? Do I have to tell you again what her last moments were like?”

“Cindy died surrounded by the people who loved her. We should all be so lucky.”

“I told her every little detail. ”

Griffin didn't say anything. David frowned. He didn't like this. Where the fuck was Griffin's rage? He needed his old friend's anger. He fed on Griffin's rage. Griffin's beautiful, dark, mind-fogging hate, which always lured the oversized detective into doing something stupid.

“She tried to close her eyes, Griffin. I held her eyelids open with my fingers. It's not like she could fight me.”

Griffin still didn't say anything. He appeared to be looking behind David at the doorway. David whirled around sharply, saw only the shadowed hall, then had to quickly twist again before Griffin jumped him from behind.

“What you looking at?” David demanded. He was getting the heebie- jeebies again, feeling his control of the situation slip away, though there was no logical reason why.

“I'm not looking at anything.”

“There's no one left, Griffin. I shot your stupid friend, the skinny one, Waters. 'Fraid you can't break his nose anymore, Griffin. He interrupted me in the basement, so I killed him.”

Griffin remained silent.

David waved his knife. “Do you hear me! You're all alone! I killed your friend, I tormented your wife. I murdered ten kids and you didn't do a thing . And now, my good friend, I'm out of jail . Yep, you helped me with that, too. Welcome, Great Sergeant Griffin. Welcome, the aspiring criminal's best friend.”

“Where's Meg?”

“What?” David drew up short again. Something was wrong. None of this was going according to the usual script. He had sweat on his forehead. And he felt… he felt strangely tired. All this effort. He was putting on a good show. What the fuck was up with his audience?

“Where is Meg?” Griffin asked again, circling, circling, circling.

“Meg's irrelevant.”

“You think?” Circling, circling, circling.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you haven't exactly gotten away yet, David. Think about it. You went to a lot of trouble to get out of prison, only to become trapped in your former home. That's a lot of running, I would agree, but not much progress.”

“Shut up.”

Griffin shrugged. “If you say so.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” David screamed. “Goddammit, yell at me! ”

Griffin didn't say a word. Just circled, circled, circled.

And David… And David… Something went. In his head. Behind his eye. He felt a little pop, as if all of his homicidal fury had just exploded like a neutron bomb. And then his arm was above his head. And then he was running, because he had to kill Griffin. He had to kill this man with his calm face and steady voice and knowing, knowing eyes. Goddammit, after all of this planning, he deserved a better audience.

David screamed at the top of his lungs. He charged forward…

And Griffin pulled his gun out of the small of his back and shot him point-blank in the chest. Pop, pop, pop. David Price went down. He didn't get back up again.

Thirty seconds later, Fitz stepped into the room from where he'd been sheltering Meg in the hall. He approached David's body while Meg peered in cautiously from the doorway. The detective leaned down, discovered no pulse, and looked back up at Griffin.

“That was expertly played,” Fitz said grimly.

And Griffin said, “I learned from a master.”

He came out of the house, Meg and Fitz in his wake. Ambulances had arrived, their lights blazing, their sirens piercing. Funny how he had never heard their approach. In the bedroom, his world had been small, just comprised of David and the lessons of his past. Now it was lights, camera, action.

Jillian came around the house, fresh from her cameo as a fleeing Meg Pesaturo. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair was a long, tangled mess, her clothes were stained with blood. He thought she had never looked better. She glanced at him once, her chin up, her gaze curiously open and proud. Then Meg was flying into her arms and she was holding the girl close, stroking her hair.