Джеймс Суэйн - The Man Who Cheated Death

In her mind Jan could still see the dinghy rocking in the waves. “I know,” she said into the phone without thinking.

She shouted a warning to Li. Kevin stood in the open doorway, his massive frame teetering on an imaginary tightrope. He fell face-first into the foyer, and Li could do nothing but jump back, his lethal hands and feet out of striking range as Osbourne entered the house brandishing a pistol.

Dressed in a wetsuit, Osbourne fired two silent shots, and Jan saw Li reach out and pluck the first dart a few inches from his face, his fingers moving faster than lightening. The second dart imbedded in his wrist, and the man Jan had considered her greatest security asset collapsed to the floor.

“He’s here, Harry,” Jan said, placing the phone on the kitchen counter.

Osbourne danced over the two bodies, his tiny laughter claiming victory. Pulling another pistol from his dripping wetsuit, he ripped off his headgear and threw it to the floor. Then he looked down the hall at Jan, his face a freakish mixture of elation and fear. Strange noises left his throat, like an animal.

For an instant Jan could not move. Osbourne had a sophisticated looking automatic, while her .9 was in her purse in the living room. If she made a run for it, he would have a clear shot at her back. That was not the way she wanted to die.

Jan waited for him to make his move. His popping eyes drifted past her face, and she felt the muscles in her legs twitch. He was giving her a chance to run for it, as if shooting her in cold blood wasn’t sporting enough. No, Jan thought; she had to make him come to her, and close the distance between them. If he came within striking range, they would be on even terms.

Bending over, Osbourne struggled to pull Kevin’s stiff body into the foyer, then shut the front door, locking it in the process. Jan continued to stare before what was happening made sense to her.

He had not seen her .

Dropping behind the counter, she peeked around the corner. He was heading toward her, pointing his gun at the shadows. He was as scared as she was, and she decided to tackle him the moment he got in range. Her heart skipped a beat as she heard a pair of feet came bounding down the staircase.

“Hello, little girl,” Osbourne said.

Crystal screamed.

“No, don’t back up...,” he said. “I’ll shoot you.”

“ Oh God ,” Crystal cried.

“Walk slowly down the stairs,” Osbourne said. “That’s it. Very good. Did you study ballet?”

“Yes,” Crystal said evenly.

“I thought so. Beautiful movement. Come here... closer.”

“Don’t touch me!”

“I said, come here!”

Jan heard Crystal whimper, and guessed he had gotten his hands on her. Their voices were coming closer. Now she had to have her gun. Stay put, she told herself. Think.

“Where is your mother?” Death said.

“Who cares?” Crystal snapped back.

Jan bit her lip; don’t goad him, Crys, she thought fearfully; you don’t know what he’s capable of doing.

“I asked you a fucking question,” he said.

Crystal screamed, and Jan started to jump until she saw Osbourne’s reflection in the oven door. He was holding Crystal by the hair like a caveman, and had shoved the barrel of his pistol into her face.

“I can shoot your eye out without killing you,” he whispered into Crystal’s ear. “Think of how that would feel.”

“Noooooo...,” Crystal sobbed. Her cries did not sound real, and Jan thought; she’s only pretending to be scared. But why?

“Where is your mother?” he repeated.

“She’s not my mother,” Crystal said defiantly. Then, “Jan’s with my dad. They went downtown to the theatre.”

Jan peeked around the corner. It was a beautiful line, but would he buy it? Osbourne had pinned Crystal against the refrigerator, his knee between her legs, his gun still in her face. Jan’s eyes met Crystal’s, and saw her mounting fear.

Hang on, Jan silently told her.

“Why didn’t she stay?” Osbourne said. “I thought she was protecting you.”

“ Jan doesn’t care a goddamned bit about me, ” Crystal said, her face inches from his. “ She never has! She just wants my father’s money. She’s a bimbo.”

Crystal began to blubber shamelessly, and Jan rooted her on, the months of private drama coaches and constant playacting around the house finally paying dividends. Suddenly Osbourne noticed the phone on the counter. Picking it up, he held the cradle to his ear, listening.

Finally he said, “May I help you?”

A moment later he was bellowing with laughter.

“Hello Detective Wondero,” he said. “You’re too late, once again.” He shoved the receiver into Crystal’s face. “I have someone here who would like to say hello.”

“Oh God, you’ve got to help me,” Crystal half-screamed into the mouthpiece. “Jan and my Dad are at the theatre and this crazy man... he’s going to kill me! ”

With that Crystal feigned hysteria, her body a quivering mass of fear. In the reflection, Jan saw Osbourne slip his gun beneath his waistband, and draw a curved hunting knife from his belt. She cautiously crept around the counter on all fours.

“Wondero, listen closely,” Osbourne said. “The next sounds you hear will be death. The one with the small d.”

He put the phone down, the receiver facing him. As he brought the knife up to Crystal’s throat, Jan stood up and grabbed a metal skillet off the counter, and smacked him in the back of the head. He crumbled, dropping his knife, and Crystal pulled free.

Osbourne crouched helplessly on the floor, trying to ward off Jan’s vicious blows.

Picking up the phone, Crystal said, “We got the bastard!”

Then she hung up, and dialed 911.

With a well-aimed blow, Jan split Death’s forehead open, his blood staining the tiled floor. The night before Vincent had told her of his out-of-body journey while buried alive, and of the lost souls he’d met in some nether world. He had described them at length, as if they were real.

“Their faces look so tortured,” her husband had said. “All those poor, brutalized women and girls. And I keep thinking: what did any of them do to deserve a punishment like this?”

“They were born female,” Jan had said.

Female. The weaker sex. Little girl. That was Osbourne’s license to kill: because they were there for his taking.

He crawled on his belly across the tile floor, begging Jan to stop as she repeatedly sent her right instep up between his legs into his crotch. He was wearing a hard plastic cup, no doubt from experience. Undaunted, Jan kept at it, having once been able to break plywood boards with this kick.

She cracked the cup on her third try. Her next kick caught nothing but flesh and turned his cries into screams of pain; he curl up protectively in a ball, and Jan kept at it, kicking him in the back and head whenever Osbourne showed signs of life.

“The police are coming,” Crystal said, watching her inflict punishment. “Come on, Jan, you’re going to kill him...”

“That was the idea,” Jan said, hearing a rib break. She sized him up for another kick and thought: this could take forever. Once the police arrived, her chance would be gone.

“Get my gun,” Jan said. “It’s in my purse on the couch.”

“But—” Crystal said.

“I said get it!”

Crystal began to cross the living room when Osbourne’s eyes popped open, and he sprang to his feet. With the rip of Velcro, he removed a jet black bayonet from the leg of his wetsuit. Standing in a deep, painful crouch, he tossed the bayonet from hand to hand. As Jan came at him, he advanced toward Crystal.

“I’ll cut her in half,” he threatened, the bayonet slicing the air. “Stay away from me, you vicious bitch. I should have killed you when I had the chance.”