James Patterson - Murder House

Justin travels west on Main Street toward Bridgehampton. Noah keeps his distance, considers even killing his lights, but he sees no indication that Justin knows he’s being followed.

If only he knew where Justin was going. If he knew that, he could—

Justin’s car slows near the cemetery. He puts on his signal for a right turn.

Wait.

Wait a second.

He’s heading for Ocean Drive. Sure. Of course. He’s going to that house.

And I know a shortcut. I can beat him there.

Noah veers off Main Street and drives his bike across the open field of the cemetery, taking a straight line instead of the right angle Justin is forced to take by driving on the streets.

Noah crosses through the south end of the cemetery and hits Ocean Drive before Justin has even turned off Main Street. With a good two blocks’ lead on Justin, he kills the lights on his bike and guns it forward, making sure he’ll arrive at the mansion at least a full minute before Justin.

He stops at a group of trees just off the street, very close to the mansion. He looks back, seeing the headlights of a car in the distance, heading his way.

He removes his gun and flashlight from his saddlebag. Then he ducks into the shrubbery across the street from the mansion and waits. Only moments later, the Jaguar pulls up in front of the mansion.

Justin gets out of his car without any sense that Noah is nearby, or that he’s been followed, jogging up to the mammoth gate blocking the driveway. He grabs it, then pushes it open and heads onto the driveway.

Noah creeps closer, obscured by darkness, in soft grass, watching Justin.

Justin jogs slowly up toward the dark house, looking at it. Looking, as well, at the old carriage house at the end of the driveway.

Noah crosses the street and hides behind the Jaguar.

Justin, at a crossroads, decides to head up the driveway, toward the carriage house. Noah slinks up to the gate by the curb and pushes it open as softly as he can.

A flashlight comes on, Justin illuminating the space in front of him.

Noah sees what Justin saw, the reason he chose to head up the driveway.

The door of the carriage house is wide open.

Justin starts jogging toward it, while Noah follows, moving at a slightly faster clip, closing the distance but taking care not to announce himself.

“Jenna!” Justin calls out in a harsh whisper. “Jenna?” He approaches the carriage house with caution, slowing his pace.

Then Justin disappears inside.

Noah reaches the doors and readies himself.

Noah peeks inside the carriage house.

Justin is shining his flashlight around. “Shit,” he says.

You don’t know what shit is, Justin.

But you’re about to find out.

Noah springs forward into the room. Before Justin can do anything more than turn around, Noah plows into him, sending him sprawling, crashing into the wall. Noah grabs Justin and throws him facedown on the cement floor, gripping his hair, shoving the gun into the back of Justin’s neck.

“Where is she?” Noah growls.

“Noah?” Justin manages, catching his breath. “Is that... you?”

“Tell me where she is, Justin, or I’ll kill you right now.”

His fingers tightly gripping Justin’s hair, Noah jerks Justin’s head upward and then down, hard, onto the cement floor.

“That’s me being nice, Justin. You wanna see me when I’m mean? This is your last chance,” says Noah. “Where is Jenna Murphy?”

“I don’t — I’m looking for her, too. I thought she might’ve... come here.”

Cool air to Noah’s right. He looks over, shines his flashlight over the trapdoor, wide open.

“Did she go down there?”

“I’m telling you, I don’t know.”

“Don’t bullshit me.”

“I’m not bullshitting you.” Justin’s voice weaker from the blow to his head. “What... what are you going to do to her?”

Noah presses the gun into the soft space beneath Justin’s skull. “You should be worried about what I’m going to do to you .”

“Don’t hurt her,” Justin says. “Please, Noah, just... don’t hurt her.”

Noah leans down, close to Justin’s face. “Justin, I can’t tell if you’re a liar or a fool.”

He cracks Justin’s head against the floor again. Justin goes limp with an abrupt groan.

Noah stands and shines his flashlight along the walls, over the carpenter’s desk. Some things hanging on the walls that could be helpful.

Then he shines the light back down on Justin, unconscious but still breathing.

He pats Justin down and feels something in the front pocket of his trousers. He removes a tiny gun, one of those old Saturday-night specials, a beat-up vintage .38 with a pearl handle.

“I think I’ll take this, Justin,” he says. He stuffs the little gun into his pants pocket, a nice complement to his own gun.

“I haven’t decided what I’m gonna do to you yet,” he says. “Let’s see how I feel after my nice, friendly chat with Jenna Murphy.”

I stumble through the door, the door through which Aiden Willis just escaped, away from the smooth marble onto something different, the floor broken and dirty. Once I’m clear of the doorway, I slam the door behind me.

And take a deep, delicious breath of oxygen.

The air is dry and stale, but I don’t care. I’m breathing again, on two feet again. I’m out of that awful room.

Come with me

I put one foot in front of the other, my legs unsteady but better, feeling better now.

“Aiden,” I try to call out, my throat and mouth so dry I can hardly speak.

A small room, it feels like, not open air. I’m reaching out for the walls when something slithers across my face—

I jump back and wave my hand around, connect with it again.

A string, dangling in the air.

I reach out, making my hand still, and the string falls back against my hand. I grip it and pull down.

A light, a single naked overhead light, comes on.

Hanging from the walls, medieval weapons. Lances, stars, battle-axes, cat-o’-nine-tails, maces. A full menu of torture devices.

I shudder but shake it off. I need to figure out a way out of here.

Three of the four walls are covered with this weaponry, but one wall is naked. Nothing hanging on it. Nothing but smooth wood.

Immediately next to it on the adjoining wall, a small button.

A buzzer?

With a trembling hand, I press the button.

I know, somehow, what will happen next: The wall slides open.

I drop to a knee, my weapon useless now without any bullets, and click on the flashlight.

A corridor. Naked walls, concrete floor.

The basement of 7 Ocean Drive.

Follow me

C’mon

“Aiden!” I call out, but I get no response. The hallway turns a sharp left into a giant room, just as dark as everywhere else in the basement. I shine my flashlight over the room, though the beam is weakening and I need to preserve the battery.

“Aiden!”

Boxes, old furniture, photographs and artwork — the kind of stuff in any basement.

And a staircase, leading up.

C’mon

Follow me

Be quiet

I approach the staircase slowly, not trusting my rubbery legs, my head throbbing like I have a hangover from being inside that room.

I take the stairs just as carefully, lightly touching each step before transferring my weight, unsure of the stability of this staircase.

When I reach the top of the stairs, the door is ajar.

Aiden must have blown through here a few minutes ago.

I take a breath and push the door open.

I turn the corner and shine the flashlight, the dwindling beam, over the open foyer of the house. The front door is straight ahead of me, across the foyer and the two ornate anterooms.