Grave Instinct

SEVENTEEN

Inside the house, Jervis Swantor inched his way toward the master bedroom and bath, and looking into the bathroom, he found Lara, her head on a satin pillow and her eyes closed in a bubble-filled tub. “How's the water, sweetheart?” he asked in a chillingly calm voice.

“ Jervis, my God!” she replied, her eyes coming open in shock. “I

… I didn't expect to see you here tonight.” She recalled yesterday's visit from Sheriff Potter, asking after Jervis's whereabouts, and she'd thought then of vacating the place, but then she had James to protect her. “What do you fucking want, Jervis? What are you doing in my house?”

“ I have someone I want you to meet. We're all going for a nice cruise to Cancun.”

“ You're mad.”

“ I know. Now get up and come with me.” He jabbed her cheek with the barrel of his gun. “I said get up from there, you cunt!” he ordered.

She took in a deep breath of air, wondering if he'd harmed James and left him bleeding somewhere in the house. “Jervis, what the hell are you doing? What more can you possibly want from me?”

“ Only a little more, sweetheart. Now stand up and step out of there!”

She stood before him, clothed only in tumbling bubbles, still wondering what condition James might be in. She gasped again at the sight of the gun.

Outside the wind howled about, and she could feel a scream welling up from inside her, but she controlled it.

“ I'm surprised to find you alone. I thought you'd have had another man by now.”

“ What nonsense are you planning, Jervis? I always knew you were insane, but killing me? Everyone is going to know you were behind it.”

“ At this point, Lara dear, I really don't care who fucking knows that I had you killed. It's the way in which you're going to die that interests me.”

She reached for a towel and wrapped it about her body. “Don't tell me, you're going to make good on all those times you threatened to feed me to the alligators.”

“ Better… much better than that. I have a guest on the yacht I'd like you to meet.”

“ A guest… the yacht?” She unconsciously clutched at the towel she'd wrapped herself in. He yanked it off.

“ Down at the boathouse. We're going to go down there, you and me, just as we are. My guest won't mind.”

“ I mind! It's cold and wet out, and-”

He slapped her hard across the face, sending her to her knees, pushing the gun against the nape of her neck. “You never could follow simple orders, Lara. Do you want to die here, like this? Now, just do as I say!”

While on her knees, she saw a shadow of movement near the darkened doorway leading out into the hallway. She dared believe that James had come back to save her. But now Swantor pulled her to a standing position and ushered her ahead of him, the gun held to her back, coldly kissing it here and there. As they exited the bathroom, and went through the bedroom, she sensed it was true, that the shadow must mean that James was nearby.

“ I'm sure you've heard of the now infamous Skull-digger, sweetheart, haven't you? The serial killer who carves out people's brains and consumes them?”

“ What's that got to do with me?”

“ I told you… I have someone down at the boat who wants badly to meet you, sugar.”

“ What are you saying, Jervis?”

He urged her forward. “I intend feeding you to him, darling, and filming it when he carves open your head for that useless brain of yours. I'm going to film it, so that I can watch it over and over again.”

“ You are insane!”

They entered the hallway where she saw the silent phone off the hook, not even a dial tone. She recalled the two phone calls she'd not taken and momentarily wondered if either one of them had been from Potter over on the mainland, to warn her. “The sheriff was here only an hour ago, Jervis,” she lied, “wanting to know your whereabouts. They'll know it was you, Jervis.”

“ Old Potter! That's a laugh!”

When they arrived at the stairwell, a shaky hand came out of the shadows. Wielding a butcher knife, James Harris slashed wildly, cutting deeply into Jervis Swantor's forearm and wrist, causing him to drop the gun, which bounded down the stairwell. Swantor wheeled to his left, blood from his wrist spurting in all directions, coloring the walls. At the same time, dazed, his weight went forward and against Lara. She lost her footing and screamed, her body following the gun, tumbling down the stairs.

While Swantor fought off the naked man who'd leapt out at him, he heard Lara's scream and the sound of her thumping down a half-flight of stairs. She lay halfway between the third and second floor landings as the two men continued to struggle. Swantor held firmly to James's wrists, seeing that the other man had a knife in one hand and a bottle of Swantor's wine in the other.

Incensed at this development, Swantor growled and sent his knee into the other man's testicles. Using all his strength, he brought James Harris up over the top of him and the railing, sending the other man out into thin air. The wine bottle hit the bottom first, followed by Harris's naked form, which had spiraled down to the marble foyer below, his head plopping open like the sound of a ripe melon. He'd held on longer to the knife, but it too had followed Harris down, and it had come to rest in his chest.

“ Son of a bitch,” Swantor cursed, rushing for his ex-wife, praying she hadn't been killed, while ignoring his bleeding arm and wrist. When he got to her, he found her breathing. “Oh, thank God. I so want you to meet the Skull-digger alive not dead, dear thing.”

He looked about for the gun, but it wasn't anywhere near her. It must be on the second-story landing. He hefted Lara into his arms and began the trek downstairs, looking for the gun. Outside, he could hear the winds gusting far stronger and louder than before. Lara started to come around, her eyes blinking. “Now, let's go see Dr. Kenyon… See if he appreciates you, Lara, as much as I do.”

She screamed again.

“ Go ahead, scream all you want. There's no one to hear you. Your boyfriend is dead, and it's off season, sweetums. No one on the island but us. It's as if God himself has ordained it all.”

“ Jervis… don't… don't do this,” she pleaded as he carried her down. “You can't do this.”

“ A little late for any further negotiations, dear Lara.”

A rain-soaked, dripping Grant Kenyon stood staring at the dead man lying in blood on the marble floor of the foyer where he had watched the man's flight from above. In the dark, he'd heard a struggle and screams, followed by the explosion of the wine bottle at his feet, splashing him with wine. The body and the knife followed instantaneously.

Obviously, Swantor had an unwelcome guest. Giant's pants legs and shoes were splattered with the mix of wine and blood.

He stared up into the darkness but could only see movement of shadows on the stairwell. In a moment, he overheard Swantor talking to the woman, referring to Kenyon. He caught only snatches of words, but he could hear her pleading with him.

Looking back at the nude dead man, Kenyon reasoned that had been the boyfriend.

Swantor was a dangerous man indeed.

He wondered if he should lie in wait, ambush the man and kill him outright with the bone cutter he'd brought with him-risk being shot-or just make his escape from this asylum. He wondered how much the authorities had been able to piece together about his and Swantor's connection, and decided they likely knew everything by now since SquealsLoud had shown them Kenyon on tape killing the New Orleans woman.

Now Swantor wanted to repeat the process with his ex-wife as victim. Grant-and especially Phillip-didn't like being used by Swantor for his malicious ends. Phillip had said it best: “We are not going to be remembered as someone else's puppet, Grant. That's what Swantor will have authorities believing, that he was in control of my-our-actions all along.”

“ The video will go a long way to prove that. Now that it's done, how can we change it?” Grant had asked Phillip.

“ We kill the bastard, so he can't spread his lies anymore. He can't be left alive after we're gone. Imprisoned, he would only have a forum to continue his lies about us.”

Grant was then startled to hear someone shouting, the sound coming in from the storm outside. “In the house, this is the Coast Guard! Open up! Show yourselves!”

Kenyon backed into the shadows. Swantor had arrived at the foot of the stairs, forcing Lara to her feet, holding out the gun he'd recovered. Mrs. Swantor stood frozen over the body at her feet, repeating the name “James” over several times before she screamed again.

“ Shut up!” ordered Swantor, tugging at her and pushing her out toward the rear of the house. Kenyon quietly followed them, going toward the kitchen and the rear exit where he had earlier found the unlocked door and entered. It appeared that Swantor meant to make his getaway there.

“ But there's no escaping me, Swantor,” he whispered to himself as he held firm to the bone cutter. Time was running out; the authorities were at the door. If Grant and Phillip were to kill Swantor, it had to be now and quickly.

Again the strong voice at the front door shouted. “U.S. Coast Guard! We're coming in!”

Thanks to Swantor, Grant Kenyon had enemies to the front of him and enemies to his back now. A flood of desperation, like an unchecked raging river, inundated Grant's and Phillip's every sensibility.

With one man standing at the rear of the house, Konrath and his other man marched up onto the front porch as they heard screams erupt from within. He had again ordered the door to be opened. No one responded to his second order accompanying with his pounding fist. The doors were ornamented with beautiful stain-glass windows. “We're going in, so break the glass. Break it in, O'Hurley,” Konrath ordered his hefty guard.

It took the butt of O'Hurley's rifle to break the glass and scatter the metal parts wide enough open for O'Hurley to reach his meaty fist inside and maneuver the lock. They then rushed in, fearful of what they might find and stopped cold as both stared at the naked dead man with the knife through his chest, lying akimbo like some oversize rag doll on the bloodstained marble foyer.

“ Is it Swantor or Kenyon?” Joe Konrath wondered aloud, his voice echoing up the stairwell.

“ I think we should stay together, Mr. Konrath, sir,” said O'Hurley.

“ Yeah… yeah, right. It's obvious this man's body came from up there,” replied Konrath, pointing.

“ Someone did a hell of a number on this guy, sir. Stabbed him through the chest and threw him headfirst,” said O'Hurley, his gun pointed as he wheeled about the room.

Konrath radioed to his man around back. “Watch yourself, LaPlante! We have a dead man on the inside. You see anything your location?”

LaPlante and O'Hurley had been chosen for this mission due to their marksmanship. The guardsman replied, “Found a dead dog, sir, but otherwise it's an all clear, sir. Nothing but the wind and rain.”,

“ Keep your eyes open, LaPlante. We've definitely got a murderer running around here someplace. Possibly has taken a female hostage.”

“ I heard screams, sir. I'm on the alert.”

“ Hold your position.” Konrath stepped back to the front door and saw the two agents coming up from below, Sorrento and Coran. Maybe we ought to get more men up here, Mr. Konrath, so we can canvas each floor methodically,” suggested O'Hurley.

“ Help's on the way. Those two agents are right behind us, which means both front and back exits are covered.”

“ Then we concentrate on the lighted rooms upstairs.”

“ Turning on lights as we go.”

They started up the stairwell, guns in ready position.

SWANTOR held his ex-wife in the shadows, his hand over her mouth in the kitchen, listening to the intruders. When he heard them going upstairs, he ushered Lara toward the back door, keeping his hand tightly over her mouth. Still bleeding from his wrist, Swantor forced Lara through the door, and seeing someone in a yellow rain slicker with a rifle outside, he shoved Lara out into the storm.

The guardsman rushed to save the nude woman, relaxing his carbine rifle in order to tear off his yellow rain slicker, placing it over her shoulders. The guard failed to see Swantor, who opened fire and killed him just as he placed the raincoat over the woman's shoulders. The single shot sent the man to his knees where he momentarily clung to Mrs. Swantor before going to his belly. This sent an array of shrill cries up from Lara Swantor, enough to overcome the wind.

Swantor then raced out to her, grabbed her and covered her mouth with a palm still covered in blood that had spilled from his wrist.

“ That bastard boyfriend of yours cut me good,” he said into her ear, feeling feint from the blood loss. “Now let's get to the boathouse. Mr. Kenyon's waiting on us. Don't want him to grow impatient.”

Just as he said this, he heard a new roar in the wind and instantly felt something bite into the back of his skull. He turned to come eye-to-eye with Grant/Phillip Kenyon, realizing as he fell dead that somehow Kenyon had gotten free. His last thought was of not finishing his film.

“ Oh, thank God you've stopped him!” cried out Lara Swantor, whose eyes only now met Kenyon's. She saw a strange lust in the man's pupils, and she saw the still whirring bone saw. Instinctively, she pulled away. “You're Kenyon. You're the Skull-digger!” She turned and ran in the slippery mud, fleeing him.

Kenyon grabbed up Swantor's gun when a shot rang out, and he felt the bullet bite off a piece of his ear. He rushed at Mrs. Swantor as she attempted to get away, still wearing the open yellow raincoat. He caught her, grabbed her by the arm, and dragged her toward a steep drop-off at the rear of the house. Kenyon then shoved her down the gully and watched as the yellow raincoat made an easy visible target.

From below in the gully, Lara Swantor felt a cold desperation infiltrate her mind along with the chill to her body-and, as she rolled down into the depths of the black swampy area in this backwater ravine, she recalled how often Jervis had warned her of alligators on the prowl all along here. How he meant to feed her to them one day. Apparently, he had found a human alligator to do the job for him.

Grant dropped into the ravine as well, a second bullet from an upstairs window whistling directly at him, striking his right forearm and sending him rolling down the gully after Mrs. Swantor.

The second bullet had gone clean through him, leaving pain but little blood.

He picked himself up and rushed after Mrs. Swantor, his bone cutter in hand. “One last meal before they kill we,” Phillip said to Grant. But Mrs. Swantor had had a sudden burst of energy fueled by fear, and she was getting away. He saw the yellow color darting in and out of trees and brush. Behind him, he saw lights approaching and heard the others chasing him.