Hostage

23

Saturday, 12:52 A.M.

TALLEY

Alvin Marshall Bonnier, age twenty-seven, also known as Mars Krupchek, was wanted in connection with four counts of homicide in Tigard, Oregon. The local authorities theorized the following chain of events based on witness interviews and forensic evidence: Bonnier, who lived alone with his mother at the time of the murders, abducted and raped his next-door neighbor, Helene Getty, age seventeen, and disposed of her body in a wooded streambed near their homes. She had been strangled and repeatedly stabbed in the chest, abdomen, and vaginal area. Mrs. Bonnier, an invalid suffering from crippling arthritis, subsequently discovered Getty’s bloodstained panties and left Reebok tennis shoe, also splattered with blood, in her son’s bedroom. She confronted her son, at which time Alvin stabbed his mother to death in the living room, then carried her body to the bathroom, where he dismembered it. Bonnier wrapped the limbs and torso in newspapers and plastic trash bags, then buried these remains in Mrs. Bonnier’s rose bed. Neighbors stated that when the boy was young, Mrs. Bonnier made switches from the thorny rose branches with which she beat the boy. Bonnier kept his mother’s head in the refrigerator, but transferred the head to the trunk of the family car several days later. With his mother’s head along for company, he befriended sixteen-year-old Stephen Stilwell at a local shopping mall and enticed the boy to take a drive, probably offering cigarettes and beer. Instead, Bonnier drove Stilwell to a nearby abandoned drive-in movie theater, where he sodomized the boy, then stabbed him repeatedly. He placed Stilwell in the trunk with his mother’s head, then drove to the same area where he had disposed of Helene Getty’s body. Upon arrival at that location, he discovered that Stilwell was still alive, whereupon he cut the young man’s throat, mutilated his genitals, and abandoned the body without attempting to conceal it. Witnesses at the shopping mall were able to provide a description of Bonnier and his automobile. Twelve days later, an eighteen-year-old high school senior named Anita Brooks hitched a ride with Bonnier after missing her bus. Instead of bringing her to school, Bonnier drove to a nearby lake, where he strangled her before branding the victim’s breasts and vagina with her own cigarettes. Evidence gathered at the scene indicated that he had placed his mother’s head on a nearby picnic table, probably so that she could watch the mutilation. Bonnier immediately returned home, parked his car in its usual spot, then, so far as the police know, departed the area. Authorities discovered Anita Brooks’s body first. Alvin Marshall Bonnier was not identified as the suspect until two days later when neighbors investigated the foul smell coming from the Bonnier residence and summoned the police, who located his mother’s body between the roses. Stilwell and Getty were found within the following week.

Talley listened to Mikkelson’s recitation of the facts with a growing sense of urgency that Martin read in his expression.

“What in hell is happening?”

Talley raised his hand, telling her to wait.

“Mikki, they’re positive that Bonnier and Krupchek are the same person?”

“That’s affirm, Chief. The palm print he left in Kim’s matched dead on, and the Bureau guys brought a copy of the warrants fax from Oregon. I saw the photo. It’s Krupchek.”

“What’s happening out there now?”

“The VICAP hit automatically notified the FBI. The detectives here have locked down the scene to wait for a team from the LA field office.”

Talley checked his watch.

“What’s their ETA?”

“I dunno. You want me to check?”

“Yeah.”

Talley filled in Martin while he waited for Mikkelson. As Martin listened, her face grew closed and uncertain, but Mikkelson was back on the line before she could respond.

“Chief?”

“Go, Mikki.”

“The Feds should be here within a couple of hours. You want us to wait for them or come back to York?”

Talley told her to come back, then snapped the phone shut. He ran his hand across his head and stared toward the cul-de-sac.

“This is fucking great. I’ve got the mafia outside and fucking Freddy Krueger in the house.” Martin watched him calmly.

“This changes things.”

“I know it changes things, Captain! I’m trying to save my wife and daughter, but I have to get those kids out of that house.”

“Because of Krupchek? They’ve been in there all day with him, Talley. Another few hours won’t matter.”

“It matters. All of this matters.”

Talley left Martin at the command van and found Jones briefing his people at their vans. Jones saw Talley approaching, and separated from the others. Talley noted that Jones appeared apprehensive, resting a hand on the MP5 slung from his shoulder.

“What’s up, Chief?”

“We have a problem. One of the three subjects in the house isn’t who we thought. Krupchek. His true name is Alvin Marshall Bonnier. He’s wanted for multiple homicides in Oregon.”

Jones smiled tightly, like Talley was making an unfunny joke.

“You’re shittin’ me.”

“You’re going to be swimmin’ in shit when you hear this: The real FBI are on their way. This isn’t bullshit, Jones or whatever your name is. The Sheriffs pulled a palm print from the minimart these assholes robbed. They got a VICAP hit. You know what that is?”

Jones wasn’t smiling anymore, but he didn’t look concerned, either.

“I know.”

Talley explained that detectives from the Sheriff’s Homicide Bureau were presently at Krupchek’s home awaiting the arrival of FBI agents from the LA field office.

“They’ll visit that house, then they’ll come here, and they won’t leave. By morning, this place is going to be covered with FBI, including a real FBI SWAT team.”

“We’ll be gone by then. We’re breaching the house as soon as I hear back from the man.”

“I want to go in now.”

Jones shook his head.

“Not until I get the call.”

Talley couldn’t tell if Jones was suspicious or simply didn’t understand.

“Listen to me. It’s different now. This isn’t just three turds holding a family hostage anymore. Those kids are in there with a lunatic.”

“It’ll be fine, Talley.”

“We’re talking about a man wanted for multiple homicide, Jones. He cut off his own mother’s head and keeps it in the freezer.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

“He’s psychotic. Psychotics decompensate in stressful situations, and this guy has been in a pressure cooker all day. If that happens, he might do anything.”

Jones was unmoved.

“We’ll breach when I get the call. It won’t be long.”

“Fuck you.”

“After the call.”

Talley walked away. He saw Martin watching from the command van, but didn’t know what to say to her. He recalled his conversations with Rooney, and decided that Rooney did not know that Krupchek was really Alvin Marshall Bonnier. If Rooney was knowingly associating with a serial killer, it would mean he derived a vicarious pleasure from Bonnier’s company. Rooney’s need to be seen as special would have forced him to drop hints of Bonnier’s identity in hopes of impressing Talley, but Rooney had not done that. Rooney didn’t know, which meant that Rooney might as easily end up Bonnier’s victim as the rest of them.

Talley glanced back at Jones. He and his men were waiting together at the rear of their van. Waiting for the call.

Talley decided that he couldn’t wait any longer. He had to warn Rooney and Thomas, and he had to get those kids out of there.

Then he heard screaming from the house.

DENNIS

Dennis reached for the Stoli bottle and fell off the couch, landing on his face and knees in a pool of vodka. His ass was in the air, pointing toward the front of the house, toward the cops who filled the cul-de-sac.

Dennis patted his ass, and giggled.

“Too bad you cops can’t see this! You can kiss my skinny white ass right here.”

Dennis collected the bottle and pushed to his feet. He caught himself on the sofa arm to keep from tipping over, then took his pistol from his waist. Holding it made him feel better. The television showed a woman on her knees, pushing a rolling platform back and forth on the floor. Her abdominal muscles were so beautifully defined that she looked like an anatomy chart. Dennis watched her with a sense of profound loss, then raised the pistol to his own head.

“Bang.”

He lowered the gun.

“Shit.”

Dennis dropped his gun onto the couch, then considered the money. Stacks of hundred-dollar bills lined the coffee table. He fished the remaining packs of cash from his pockets and fanned the bills like a deck of cards. He had tried every way he could think of to keep the money, but failed. He had tried to get a car and a helicopter, and he had tried to buy Talley, and all of that had failed. He had tried to find a route out of the house, but the cops had him locked down. Dennis Rooney had run out of ideas, and now he was thinking that maybe his parents and teachers had been right all along: He was stupid. He was a small-time loser, who would always be a loser, living on dreams. A panicked urge to run with a bag of cash, sprinting through the shadows in a final lame attempt to get away swept over him, but he believed in his heart that the cops would kill him and he did not want to die. He didn’t have the balls for it. As much as he wanted this money, Dennis Rooney admitted to himself that he was a chickenshit. His eyes filled with tears of regret and shame. Kevin was right. It was time to quit.

Dennis wiped the snot from his nose, and pulled himself together.

“I guess that’s it, then.”

He tossed the money into the air, watched the fluttering green bills fall around him, then called Kevin.

“Kev!”

Kevin didn’t answer.

“Mars!”

Nothing.

“Shit!”

Dennis lurched to the hall and made his way to the kitchen. It was still wrapped in shadows, lit only by the glare from the police lights shining in through the French doors. He wanted a glass of water, and then he would call Talley. He thought he might be able to trade one of the kids for a conversation with an attorney, then see what kind of deal he could cut for himself before surrendering.

“Kevin, goddamnit, where are you?!”

Here the sonofabitch had begged to surrender, and now that Dennis was ready, the wimpy puss wasn’t around.

“Mars!”

The voice from the other side of the kitchen startled him.

“What are you doing, Dennis?”

Dennis wheeled around like a tall ship under sail, squinting into the shadows.

“Where’s Kevin?”

“He’s not here.”

“Where is he? I need to see him.”

Dennis wanted to get things straight with Kevin before telling Mars. Part of him was afraid that Mars might try to stop him.

Mars took shape in the light. Dennis thought he must have been in the pantry, or maybe the garage.

“Kevin left.”

Dennis grew irritated, not understanding.

“That doesn’t help me, Mars. Is he in the security room, the office, what? I’ve got to talk to him.”

“He didn’t want to stay here anymore. He left.”

Dennis stared at Mars, understanding, but not believing it, telling himself that Kevin could not have deserted him.

“Waitaminute. Are you telling me that he left, as in went out the door and surrendered to the cops?”

“I overheard him talking to the girl.”

“SHIT! That FUCK!”

“I’m sorry, Dennis. I came down to find you.”

Dennis felt sick. If Kevin had surrendered and taken the kids with him, he had taken Dennis’s last chance to cut a deal with Talley.

“Did he take those kids with him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Jesus, Mars! Get upstairs and see! If he took those kids, we’re fucked!”

Mars went for the stairs without another word, and Dennis raged at the top of his lungs.

“KEVIN!! You ASSHOLE!”

Dennis threw the vodka bottle at the Sub-Zero so hard that his shoulder flashed with pain. He stalked back to the den for a fresh bottle. Even when he wanted to surrender, things got fucked up.

THOMAS

Thomas heard Dennis and Kevin fighting through the air-conditioning vent. Kevin wanted them to give up, but Dennis wouldn’t. Thomas knew what that meant: If Dennis wouldn’t give up, the three turds might stay here for days, and one of them might try to do something to his sister. Thomas had seen the way Mars watched her.

The shouting died quickly. Thomas waited for someone to come upstairs, but the hall remained silent. He decided that they were trying to sleep.

Thomas slipped back into his closet and returned to the crawl space. He thought about stopping in Jennifer’s room to tell her what he was doing, but he knew she didn’t want him to mess with the gun. He worked his way across the house, stopping at the air vents to listen, but all he heard was the television playing in the den. The rest of the house was silent.

Thomas let himself down through the ceiling hatch into the laundry room, climbing down from the hot-water heater to the washer to the floor. It was dark, lit only by some slight dim light filtering from the kitchen through the pantry. He had to use his flashlight.

Just as he reached the floor he heard Dennis shouting for Kevin and Mars. Dennis was close, just on the other side of the kitchen or maybe in the family room. Thomas panicked. He started climbing back to the ceiling, but then Mars answered Dennis, and Thomas stopped. They were talking. Thomas was still scared, but he was so close to the gun that he didn’t want to once more leave without it. He strained to listen. Dennis was cursing Kevin; they weren’t coming this way, they weren’t looking for him.

Thomas hurried into the utility room. He cupped his hand over the flashlight and flicked it on again, just long enough to mark the spot in his mind where the gun box waited on the highest shelf. He rested the flashlight on the bench, then climbed onto the bench.

He went up onto his toes, stretching as tall as he could, but the box was still out of reach. He flicked on the light again, and spotted a gallon metal paint can at the edge of the bench. He pulled it into position, put one foot on it, and stepped up. The paint can creaked, but held. He stretched high again, and this time his hands found the gun box. He had it! Thomas pulled the box from the shelf, then lowered himself from the can and climbed down from the bench. His heart pounded with excitement. The box was a lot heavier than he had imagined! It felt as if a cannon were inside!

Thomas opened the box and lifted out the gun. It felt as heavy as a brick, way too big for his hand. Thomas didn’t know its caliber or anything about it, even though his father had let him fire it once when they had gone to the pistol range. It had kicked so hard that his hand stung!

Thomas would need his hands free to climb, so he pushed it into his pants. The gun made him feel powerful, but scared at the same time; he was buoyant with confidence that he could protect himself and Jennifer, and that now they could get out, but he didn’t want to hurt anyone. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use it.

Thomas was on his way back to the laundry room when his foot slipped from under him. He almost fell, catching himself on the bench just in time. He explored the floor with his foot, and found something slippery and wet. He lifted his foot. His shoe came free with a tacky sound. Thomas turned on his light. A dark liquid like oil was spreading on the floor. He followed it with his light. It was coming from the broom closet. Thomas opened his fingers to let out more light. The oil was red.

The closet door zoomed close in Thomas’s mind’s eye as if he had telephoto vision. The cramped space in the utility room shrank as the door grew larger. The gun was forgotten, leaving only the door and the viscous red liquid seeping out from beneath.

Thomas stared at the door. He wanted to open it. He wanted to run.

He stepped across the red pool, reached for the knob, but couldn’t touch it. His fingers hovered an inch away. Open it!

Thomas gripped the knob carefully, terrified that whatever was on the other side of the door might try to hold it closed. He slowly pulled open the door.

Kevin fell out, collapsing in a lifeless heap at Thomas’s feet, his dead arms thrown around Thomas’s legs.

His throat was slashed, his head lolling on white bone; the horrible second smile was locked in silent laughter.

His eyes were open.

Thomas screamed.

JENNIFER

Jennifer listened at her door, pressing her ear to the cold wood, hoping to hear Kevin return. He only had to go down the hall to reach Thomas, but he was taking so long that she feared Mars or Dennis had interfered. Her stomach knotted and she pressed her fists into her belly in a useless attempt to make it stop. The knife hidden in the waist of her pants pricked her skin, making her gasp. She rearranged the blade to make it more comfortable.

The hall outside her door creaked.

Kevin!

She heard the nail being pulled from the doorjamb. She was excited and happy and ready to run. She wanted to see her father again! She wanted to hug Thomas so tight that he squirmed! She wanted her Mommy!

The door swung open, and Mars stepped inside, tall, wide, and massive as a bear. She jumped back so fast that she almost fell.

His smile made her think of bad boys burning ants. He said, “Were you expecting someone else?” She backed away from the door, wishing that Kevin would come back right now because Mars was so awful and gross. She forced herself to meet his eyes without looking away.

“I’m not expecting anyone except the police.” Mars nodded agreeably.

“They’ll be here soon. You probably don’t have long to wait.”

She cursed her smart mouth; she didn’t like anything he said or how he said it or his expressions. She just wanted him to leave.

Mars stepped into the room and pushed the door shut. He held the big nail that they used to wedge the door. He tapped it absently on his leg, tap-tap, tap-tap. Jennifer didn’t like that he closed the door. She didn’t like that he tapped the nail. She crossed her arms protectively over her breasts.

“What do you want?”

Mars watched her with bright nervous eyes that didn’t match with his slack-jawed expression. It was as if he wasn’t in the room with her, but was on the other side of a glass wall, here but not here, outside looking in, in his own horrible world.

“What do you want?”

“Kevin left without you.”

She felt herself flush. Her arms tightened so fiercely that her nails dug into her flesh, and she wanted to scream.

“He wanted me to tell you. He thought about it and decided it was just too risky to sneak past Dennis with you and your brother, so he went by himself. He said to tell you he was sorry.”

Jennifer shook her head, not knowing what was real and what wasn’t, what he knew or what he didn’t, or if her only hope of getting out of here had slipped out the door without her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mars came closer.

“No? Well, it doesn’t matter. All the lights are almost off.”

“What are you talking about?”

Mars seemed to grow as he got closer, filling the room. Jennifer backed away.

“Good boys turn off the lights so that no one can see them doing bad things in the dark. My mother told me that.”

Jennifer’s rear end bumped into her desk. She had gone as far as she could and now Mars was very close. He touched the nail to her chest, tap-tap.

“Don’t touch me.”

Tap-tap.

“Stop it.”

Tap.

“Kevin’s gone. Dennis is gone. Your father is gone. The little fat boy, he’s gone, too. Now we can have fun.”

He pressed the nail onto her chest, a steady pressure that hurt but did not break her skin. Jennifer tried to lean away, but there was nowhere to go. Mars raked the nail slowly down between her breasts. Jennifer stared into his eyes, watching him watch her, her vision blurred with tears. His eyes were black pools, their surface rippled by secret winds. He knew he was doing something bad; he knew he was being naughty. He didn’t watch the nail; she sensed that his pleasure came in seeing her fear. Jennifer slid her hand down along her belly. She worked her fingers beneath the waist of her pants, searching for the knife. He pushed the nail harder. He was breathing harder. She wanted to scream.

“Do you like this?”

Jennifer jerked the knife free and stabbed, striking out blindly, trying to force him away. The stiff short blade struck something hard. Mars grunted in surprised pain, like a dog coughing, as they both looked down. The knife was buried high on his chest in his left shoulder.

Mars whimpered, a pathetic moan, his face knotted with pain.

Jennifer pushed at him, screaming, trying to get away, but he didn’t move. He grabbed her throat, squeezing hard, pressing his hips into hers to pin her to the desk.

He grabbed the knife with his free hand, whimpered again, then pulled out the blade. A crimson flower blossomed from the wound.

He looked back into her eyes, then brought the knife to her face. He squeezed harder, cutting off her breath.

“You’re going to enjoy this.”

Jennifer felt herself fainting.

DENNIS

The scream from the rear of the house cut through the alcohol, surprising Dennis more than startling him. It was high-pitched like a girl shrieking, followed by bumping, slamming noises that came from the far side of the kitchen near the garage. Dennis pulled out his gun, shouting.

“What the fuck was that? Who is that?”

It couldn’t be Mars, who had just left, or the two kids, who were both upstairs unless that chickenshit Kevin had taken them. Maybe Kevin had returned.

“Kev? Is that you, you asshole?”

Dennis turned on his flashlight and swept the light beam across the kitchen. No one answered and nothing moved.

“Goddamnit, who’s there?”

No one answered.

Dennis flashed the light toward the French doors, paranoid with the notion that the police were tricking him.

“Talley?”

Nothing.

Dennis pushed the gun ahead of him and eased through the kitchen toward the garage.

“Is that you, fat boy?”

Nothing.

“Kevin, if that’s you, say something, goddamnit. Mars said you left.” Nothing.

Dennis stepped into the pantry, shining the light through into the laundry room beyond. The floor was covered with a growing red stain that oozed toward him. Dennis frowned, not understanding. He took a step closer, then another. He saw his brother on the floor. Dennis lowered the gun, and straightened.

“Kevin, what the fuck? Get up.”

A deep trembling started at his center, filling him, growing until his entire body shook and the light beam danced mindlessly around the small room.

“Kevin, get up.”

Dennis walked on mile-long legs without feeling. It was hard to keep his balance. He stopped at the edge of the pool of blood and shined the light on his brother. He saw the open neck, the grotesque white bone within the flesh, the wide, staring eyes. Dennis turned off the light.

The fat boy and the girl could not have done this.

Mars.

Mars lied.

Mars killed Kevin.

Dennis backed out of the pantry into the kitchen, then ran for the stairs.

“Mars!”

He took the stairs two at a time, intent only on finding Mars, killing him. Halfway up, he heard the girl scream.

“MARS!”

Dennis slammed into the girl’s door, shoving it open so hard that it crashed against the wall. Mars had the girl by her throat, pinned against her desk. Dennis aimed his gun.

“You’re dead, you fuck.”

Mars calmly pulled the girl in front of him, blocking Dennis’s aim. Dennis saw the knife and the growing bloodstain on Mars’s left shoulder.

Mars smiled at Dennis with wide-eyed innocence.

“What’s wrong, dude? What are you so pissed off about?”

Dennis could see the terror on the girl’s face, her eyes swollen and red. She managed a word.

“Please.”

Dennis raised his gun. He didn’t want to shoot past her, but he wanted that fucker Mars square between the eyes. He wanted to make Mars scream.

“This fuck killed Kevin. He cut his damned throat. There’s blood everywhere.”

Like he needed her absolution.

The girl closed her eyes and cried harder.

Dennis should have been ready, but he wasn’t. He should have pulled the trigger, but he didn’t.

And then it was too late.

Mars lifted the girl by the neck and rushed forward, charging Dennis, crossing the short space in no time at all. Dennis hesitated only a heartbeat because he didn’t want to shoot the girl, but that was too long. The girl crashed into him, the full force of Mars’s weight behind her, knocking Dennis backward into the hall. Then the girl was cast aside, Mars was on top of him, and Dennis saw a glint off the knife as it came down.

THOMAS

Rational thought was beyond him; he was filled with a suffocating fear that drove him to run, to get out, to move. Thomas did not know that he screamed. He slipped in the blood, falling hard into the red pool, then slipped again as he climbed onto the washer. He clambered up into the crawl space, cutting his hands and knees as he scrambled across the rafters. He couldn’t move fast enough, once banging his head so hard that he saw bright flashes. He had the gun now. He could save himself. His only thought was to reach Jennifer. The two of them would run downstairs and out the door, and neither Mars nor Dennis could stop them. He had the gun!

Thomas heard Jennifer’s door crash open as he squeezed through the hatch into her closet. He froze, listening, and heard voices. Dennis was shouting at Mars. Mars was holding Jennifer as Dennis faced him, shouting that Mars had cut Kevin’s throat. Thomas drew the gun from his pants, big and heavy and awkward, but he didn’t know what to do. Dennis had a gun, too!

Then Mars pushed Jennifer into Dennis, and all three of them sprawled into the hall. Thomas crept into the room. Mars grunted like a pig when it eats, drool streaming from his mouth as he stabbed Dennis over and over. Jennifer was crawling away, splattered with blood.

“Jen! C’mon!”

Thomas darted past Mars into the hall, and grabbed Jennifer’s arm. He pulled her toward the stair.

“Run!”

The two of them stumbled away as Mars heaved to his feet. His eyes were wild and darting. He was bigger, stronger, faster; Thomas knew that he would catch them.

Thomas whirled around and jerked up the pistol with both hands.

“I’ll shoot you!”

Mars stopped. He was streaked with blood, and breathing hard. Blood dripped from his face. Even more blood painted the walls and floor. Dennis bubbled like a fountain and moaned.

The pistol was heavy and hard to hold. It wobbled, even though Thomas held it with both hands. Jennifer pulled at his shoulder, her voice a frightened whisper.

“Keep going. Let’s get out of here.”

They backed away, Thomas trying to hold the gun steady.

Mars walked after them, matching them step for step.

Thomas pushed the gun at him.

“Stay away! I’ll shoot you!”

Mars spread his arms as if to embrace them. He continued walking.

“Remember what I told you when I tied you to your bed?”

Thomas remembered: I’m going to eat your heart.

They reached the landing. Jennifer started down the stairs.

Mars walked faster.

“I’m going to cut out your heart. But I’m going to cut out your sister’s heart first, so you can watch.”

“Stay away!”

Fear amped through Thomas like electric current. His body shook with it, and his bladder let go. He didn’t want to shoot; he was scared to shoot, scared that it would be wrong even though he feared for his life, scared that he would be punished for it and would burn in hell and branded a bad person who had made a terrible awful mistake, but Mars came on and he was too scared not to shoot, too scared of that awful knife and the blood that dripped and ran over everything and that Mars really would do it, would cut out his heart, and Jennifer’s, and eat them both.

Thomas pulled the trigger.

Click!

Mars stopped, frozen at the sharp sound.

Click!

The gun didn’t fire.

All the things that his father had showed him at the pistol range came flooding back. He gripped the slide hard and pulled back to load a bullet into the chamber, but the slide locked open and did not close. Thomas glanced down into the open action. The magazine was empty. The pistol was unloaded. There were no bullets. There were no bullets!

When Thomas looked up again, Mars smiled.

“Welcome to my nightmare.”

Jennifer screamed, “Run!”

Thomas threw the gun at Mars and ran, following Jennifer down the stairs. The air was thick with the smell of gasoline and vomit. Jennifer reached the front door first, and clawed at the handle, but the door would not open.

“Open it!”

“The deadbolt is locked! Where’s the key?”

The key wasn’t in the lock. Thomas knew with certain dread that it was probably upstairs in Dennis’s bloody pocket.

Mars pounded down the stairs, closing the ground between them. He would be on them in seconds. They would never reach the French doors or garage before he caught them.

Jennifer grabbed his arm and pulled.

“This way! Run!”

She pulled him toward their parents’ room. Thomas realized that she was taking him to the safest place in the house, but Mars was getting closer, off the stairs now and out of the entry and right behind them.

Thomas raced after his sister down the hall, through their parents’ bedroom, and into the security room. They slammed the steel door and threw the bolt in the same moment that Mars crashed into the other side of the door.

The world was silent.

Thomas and Jennifer held each other, shaking and scared. All that Thomas could hear was his own heavying breath.

Then Mars pounded on the door; slow, rhythmic thuds that echoed through the tiny room … boom … boom … boom.

Jennifer squeezed Thomas, whispering.

“Don’t move. He can’t reach us in here.”

“I know.”

“We’re safe.”

“Shut up!”

His father had told him that the door could stop anything.

The pounding stopped.

Mars cupped his hands to the door and shouted to make himself heard. His muffled voice came through the steel.

“You’re bad. You’re bad. You’re bad. Now I’m going to punish you.”

Mars hit the door once more, then walked out of the room.

Thomas remembered the cell phone.

He clawed it out of his pocket, and turned it on.

The cell phone chimed as it came to life.

“Thomas! Look!”

Jennifer was watching Mars on the monitors. He was in the entry by the front door. He picked up the two containers of gasoline, then walked through the house splashing gasoline on the walls. He smiled as he worked.

Jennifer said, “Ohmigod, he’s going to burn us.”

The cell phone chimed again, and Thomas glanced at the display. The battery indicator flickered.

The cell phone was going dead.