F. Paul Wilson: Haunted Air

The horror of it pushed bile to the back of Gia's throat. "And you were awake... through it all?"

"No. I was drugged. But I know what was done. So don't tell me what's me and what's not. You may think you know me but you don't. I was a happy girl. I had my whole life ahead of me, endless opportunities. Now I have none."

"I'm sorry, Tara. But still..."

"The Tara you saw in those pictures is dead. Long dead. She died under that knife." She pulled open her blouse to reveal the empty bloody cavity of her chest. "The new Tara is heartless!"

Gia stumbled back a step. "But I never hurt you. Why do you want to hurt me?"

"I don't. I don't care about you. It wants you dead."

"It? What it?" All Gia could think of was Jack's Otherness.

"I don't know. I only know it brought me back to kill you."

Kill her... dear God, someone, something wanted her dead.

"Why?" What had she ever done?

"I don't know and I don't care. I'd be happy to leave you alive just for spite. All I want is your baby."

"But you tried to kill me, bury me like... like Charlie."

Gia bit back a sob. Oh, God, poor Charlie.

"I did. But then I realized that if you die here with your baby, you'll keep it. I'll never have it then."

"But the baby's just a clump of cells now. What would you do with-?"

"It would be mine! I would have something of my own then! I have nothing now!" Tara inched closer. Her voice edged toward a whine. "Come on, pretty lady. You can have another. Just let me reach inside you and squeeze, just once. You won't feel a thing. Then you can go."

Her hand darted forward but Gia slashed at it with the cross and Tara snatched it back.

"It's not fair!" Tara screamed. "You can have all the children you want and you won't give me one! I hate you!" She stepped back and cooled her mood like turning a switch. "All right. You won't put down that cross? Fine. I know a way to take it from you."

Tara disappeared, then popped into view a dozen feet away. Gia stood tense and ready, holding the cross before her, watching for a trick. Then she noticed movement to her left... Charlie's hands jutting up from the dirt... limp and cold and splayed when she'd left them... the fingers twitching now... stretching, clenching... rising from the earth...

16

Lyle jumped at what sounded like the cry of an enraged animal from the adjoining room. He heard the dining room table go over and then saw Jack fighting off a huge man swinging a poker. He glanced at the sap in his hand. He could help. In fact he damned well better help.

As Lyle started toward the fight, Bellitto shot out a leg and caught his ankle. Lyle stumbled but before he could regain his balance, Bellitto kicked him in the leg. Lyle went down and felt a blaze of pain in his back. Another kick. But how-?

He looked around and saw that Bellitto was up, standing over him, his face suffused with rage. Muffled screeches pushed against the tape across his mouth, air whistled through the flared nostrils above it.

He aimed another kick, at Lyle's stomach this time, bat Lyle rolled and took it on his flank, groaning with the pain. He swore he heard a rib crack.

The next kick was aimed at Lyle's head and connected. The room went into a spin...

"You!" Minkin screeched though his bared and clenched teeth. "You don't know how I've prayed for this moment!"

Jack's back pressed hard against the floor. The edge of a broken plate cut into his shoulder blade as Minkin straddled him, his huge hands wrapped around Jack's throat, thick thumbs trying to crush his larynx.

Jerk. Allowed himself to be distracted by the fax. The surprise attack plus his lack of conditioning over the past month had left him at a disadvantage. Managed to kick the poker out of Minkin's grasp, but during the close-in fighting that followed, the big man had put his greater size to full advantage.

Hoped his neck muscles held out. So far they'd resisted the pressure from Minkin's thumbs, but weren't going to outlast him. Kicked and twisted but the bigger man had him trapped under his weight. His Glock was out of sight, couldn't get to the Spyderco in his pocket or reach the backup .38 strapped to his ankle.

Vaguely aware of thuds, shouts, scuffling from the other room. Lyle?

Head felt swollen, as if about to explode. Running out of air. Minkin wasn't. Bastard had air to spare.

"So... this is the thief who strikes in the dark from behind... who cut up Eli and robbed me of a piece of my memory... this is the tough guy who thought he'd kill Eli and take over the Circle." He grinned. "You're not so tough. In fact, you're a puny piece of shit!"

Tried to peel the fingers away but couldn't get any leverage on them. Jabbed his own thumbs toward Minkin's eyes-kept the nails extra long for just this sort of situation-but his reach fell short.

Minkin laughed. "That won't work, little man."

Needed help. Where the hell was Lyle?

Shaking off the pain and dizziness, Lyle did the only thing he could: roll away.

But Bellitto followed. Though his hands were still taped behind his back he didn't need them. His feet were more than making up for them, landing one vicious kick after another. Lyle tried to use his sap against the flying feet but couldn't put any meaningful force behind his swings.

In desperation he pivoted on his hip and lashed out with a kick of his own. It caught Bellitto on the calf and that slowed him. Buoyed by this tiny victory, Lyle kicked again, harder this time. His heel connected with Bellitto's shin.

As the man stumbled back Lyle struggled to his hands and knees-Christ, he hurt all over-and lunged. He got a grip on one of Bellitto's ankles and yanked it up.

With no hands to use for balance Bellitto went down hard. Lyle was up and over him then. He still had the sap and didn't hesitate. Bellitto raised his head, Lyle knocked it down. It stayed down.

Lyle stood over the semi-conscious man and looked at the sap in his hand. He'd wondered if he'd be able to use it on a fellow human being. No problem. Of course, Bellitto didn't necessarily qualify as a fellow human being.

Then he heard a taunting voice from the next room. It wasn't Jack's. Hefting the sap, he left Bellitto and moved toward the dining room.

"You should see your face," Minkin said. "A lovely shade of purple."

Jack had given up trying to reach Minkin's face or shake him off. Neck muscles were giving out, dark spots clustering on the periphery of his vision, multiplying...

Flailed his hands about on the surrounding floor looking for something, anything to use as a weapon.

"Oh, and by the way... here's something to take with you into the Great Beyond. I was listening... I heard you... it appears you know the DiLauro woman and her little girl... you even know the lamb's first name. What a coincidence... what a lovely coincidence. Eli never lets me play with the lambs before they're sacrificed, but I'm going to make an exception with this one. Oh, yes, I'm going to have great fun with your little friend 'Vicky' before she's sacrificed."

Strength just about shot. Groping fingers of right hand touch something. A handle. Knife? Please, a knife, even a butter knife. No. A fork. Still... grab tip of handle with fingertips.

Light fading. Raise left hand to claw weakly at Minkin's face. Not even close.

"That the best you can do?" Minkin laughed and brought his face closer so that Jack's fingertips brushed his cheek. "Here, pussy-man. I've got an itch. Scratch right there."

Right hand up and jabbing the tines into Minkin's left eye.

"Aah! Aah! Aah!"

Abruptly the pressure let up and Jack could breathe again. Vision cleared as he choked down lungfuls of air. Minkin loomed above, still straddling him, making sounds of pain and shock as his big hands fluttered like Mothra-class butterflies around the fork protruding from his eyeball, afraid to touch it, afraid to leave it there.