Kill Her Again

4 6

She approached the building from the side, pressing her back against the wall as she inched toward the entrance. The padlocks were gone in two easy snips; then she dropped the bolt cutter to the ground and unholstered her Glock.

Trying to keep the noise to a minimum, she gingerly pulled the doors open just wide enough to slip through, then peeked inside.

Darkness.

Not surprised, she brought out her Mini-Mag and hesitated. He could be waiting for her, right here, ready to pounce.

Sucking in a breath, she flicked it on and shone it inside.

No bogeymen in sight. Just a wide hallway, littered with broken glass. Shattered lightbulbs from the fixtures in the ceiling above.

Releasing the breath, she turned sideways, slipping in through the opening, skirting the glass as she moved into the hallway, each step making her cringe, certain he’d hear her and strike at any moment.

Sweeping the beam around, she saw the frayed remnants of a rope line and a few overturned stanchions, and realized she was in a lobby. A nearby set of double doors led to the maze itself, a faded sign above them reading: ENTER IF YOU DARE. But the doors were closed, guarded by another padlock.

Cursing herself for leaving the bolt cutter outside, she reached forward and jiggled the lock, surprised when it fell open in her hand.

Intentional?

Slipping the lock free, she pushed the doors open, expecting to see a maze of cracked and shattered mirrors, more glass on the floor. But a single sweep of her flashlight told her she was wrong.

Every mirror was intact, mounted between broad pillars that formed what looked like arched doorways, a dozen of her reflections staring back at her. Her flashlight beam was doubled and tripled and quadrupled, giving the illusion that there was more light in the room.

The sight was breathtaking. Someone-and she had no doubt who-had spent hours maintaining this place, keeping it pristine.

The angle of the mirrors made it seem as if there were several long corridors leading deeper into darkness, but she knew this was deceptive, designed to confuse. There would be only one true passageway, and finding it in near darkness would be difficult, if not impossible.

Steeling herself, she moved forward, stepping through one of the archways. She was only able to go a few feet, however, before she hit a dead end.

Turning, she doubled back, tried another archway, and got luckier this time, moving several yards down the corridor before hitting another dead end. But when she turned to look behind her, ready to again double back, all she saw were more reflections, and she couldn’t determine exactly what path she’d taken.

A feeling of panic rose-a mild claustrophobia-but she tamped it down, telling herself to remain calm. The pathway was near. It had to be.

Pressing her back against the mirror to her left, she moved along it, using it as a guide, shifting from pane to pane, her progress slow but steady.

Then she turned, passing through another archway, moving deeper into the maze.

And that’s when she heard it.

A shuffling sound.

Very faint, but unmistakable.

Anna clicked her flashlight off, knowing, without a doubt, that she wasn’t alone.

Pope could barely contain himself.

Still crouched in the weeds, he gripped and regripped the 590, chastising himself fifty different ways for letting McBride go in there alone.

He was no hero-he’d proven that more than once in his life-but he knew he shouldn’t have listened to her. Shouldn’t have let her have her way.

He waited there, staring blankly at the building, wondering what was going on inside.

When he couldn’t take it any longer, he stood up and headed for the entrance.

The Maze was silent again.

Anna heard only the sound of her own breathing, and tried desperately to keep it under control. Leaving her flashlight off, she once again flattened against a mirror and moved slowly along it, shifting to the next and the next until she found the continuation of the passageway.

Turning, she passed under an archway — and another sound filled the room. A quick fluttering. The shuffle of feet.

She whipped around, peering into the darkness; then the sound came again and she caught movement in the mirrors. Something passing behind her.

Something red?

She turned — but he was gone. The room silent.

Backing against a mirror, she brought the Glock up and waited, heart thumping. Even in the darkness she felt exposed.

Suddenly thinking this had all been a colossally bad idea, Anna forced herself to move, inching along the corridor until she found another open archway.

Passing through it, she saw light ahead-at least she thought it was ahead-and moved toward it.

A moment later, she found herself standing in the center of the maze, a tiny skylight overhead, letting in a narrow swath of sunlight.

And here, in the middle of room, was a set of wooden steps that led downward, into a hole in the ground.

A wooden sign next to it read: MINER’S MAGIC MINE-ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Keeping her Glock up, Anna carefully approached the hole, peering into it. Candlelight flickered below, and there was just enough sunlight for her to see that the walls on either side of the steps had been decorated with spray paint.

She was immediately reminded of Susan’s notebook.

They were covered with gypsy wheels.

Pope was about to slip through the gap between the doors when his cell phone rang, startling him.

Stepping back, he quickly dug for it, saw the caller’s name. Ronnie.

He clicked it on, keeping his voice low. “Hey, Ron, this isn’t exactly a good time.”

“Oh, god. Thank god.” Her voice sounded shaky. On the edge of panic. “I’ve been trying to call you all day, but I didn’t have your number-Jake’s got it on his cell. Where are you?”

“Up near Salcedo. Why?”

“Is he with you?”

“No, what’s going on?”

“Christ,” she said. “I haven’t heard from him since last night. He isn’t home, he doesn’t answer his phone, and nobody at the station house has seen or heard from him.”

“You know Jake. He probably turned his phone off to get some peace and quiet.”

“It’s not just him I’m worried about,” Ronnie said. “It’s Evan.”

“Evan?” Pope’s stomach tightened. “Why? What happened?”

“We’re at my parents’ house. He was upstairs sleeping. I was going to let him sleep through the morning, but when I went to check on him, the bed was empty and the window was open.”

“What?”

“He’s gone, Danny. He’s been gone for hours. Either he ran away or somebody took him.”

“Took him? What makes you think that?”

“Jimmy Chavez questioned the neighbors. One of them said they saw a car parked out on the street early this morning. One they’ve never seen before.”

“What kind of car?”

“An old Ford pickup,” Ronnie said.

Pope didn’t know if Ronnie kept talking after that.

He had already dropped the phone.

Anna approached the steps, her gaze on that flickering candlelight, knowing it was a trap, that he was down there somewhere, waiting for her.

But what were her choices?

She could turn and flee, which wouldn’t change anything. Wouldn’t stop him from coming after her again. Or she could push ahead and hope for the best, even though her training warned her against it.

She looked into the mirrors, saw her reflection, could see the fear in her own eyes.

Do-or-die time, McBride.

Make up your mind.

But a sound made it up for her. Faint but unmistakable: a crying child.

And not just any child.

She’d recognize the sound of those tears anywhere.

Evan.

He had Evan down there.

Oh, sweet god…

Quickly stepping past the sign, Anna turned and moved sideways down the steps, keeping her Glock at the ready, the sound of Evan’s tears growing louder with each step.

The room below was awash in candlelight, dozens of them lining a long shelf and a small, squat table. There were more gypsy wheels spray-painted on the wall, the floor littered with stacks of newspaper and phone books and street maps, some new, some decades old.

And there, seated on an old army cot, a swatch of bloody bandages on his left shoulder, was Mikola. He held a blood-caked knife in his hand, precariously close to a crying Evan Fairweather, who sat at his feet on the cement floor.

Evan started to rise at the sight of Anna, but Mikola grabbed his collar, pulling him back.

“Do not move, boy.”

The sobs grew louder.

Mikola looked at Anna. “He cries too much, this one. A small poke and he cries like an infant. Let him spend just one day in my skin and then he will find something to cry about.” His gaze snapped to Evan. “Shut up, boy, or I cut your throat.”

Evan turned sharply, looking at him, and abruptly stopped crying.

Anna kept her Glock up, pointing it at Mikola. “Let him go.”

“Of course,” Mikola said, calmer now. “Once you have given me what I seek.” He paused. “The boy is important to you, yes?”

“Let him go, goddamn it.”

Mikola shook his head. “Such language, Chavi. I see you have been corrupted by the gadje.”

“I swear to God, I’ll shoot you where you sit.”

Mikola swiped the knife through the air. “And if you do, the boy will die. Is that what you want?”

Anna said nothing.

“You have only you and your friends to blame for this. It would not be necessary if the one on the stairs had not put this bullet in me. But no matter. I will get what I seek, yes?”

Again, Anna said nothing, her mind in turmoil, trying to figure a way out of this without getting Evan hurt.

“My terms are simple,” Mikola said. “You for the boy.”

Anna wanted so badly to pull the trigger. A bullet straight to the neck would sever his spine, destroy his motor senses, and render him unable to use the knife. But what if she missed?

Evan would die.

“Do not disappoint me, Chavi. I’ve traveled far for this.”

“Through the mirrors,” Anna said.

“Yes, through the mirrors. A simple skill that so many have chosen to ignore. Even you.”

“Me?”

“You are the greatest chovihani the Zala family has ever seen, yet your fear of the black arts is amusing. What is the harm in simply looking into the mirrors and asking that they take you where you wish to go? Look what it has done for me.”

“Allowed you to kill a bunch of innocent people. Let’s all celebrate.”

“You are mistaken if you think I enjoy the killing. But to get what I seek, I will not hesitate to use this blade.”

“But for what?” Anna said. “All those people dead for a piece of my soul?”

“Not just a piece this time. This time, I become whole. I become you. The thing I worshiped for so many years. Look at me now. Look how much stronger, how much more beautiful I’ve become. You are the last spoke on the wheel, Chavi. The tattoo will be complete.”

“But to get it from me, to get this last piece of my soul, you have to kill me, right?”

“Yes.”

“And it has to be you. No one else.”

“Yes,” he said. “So put the gun down, and I will release the boy.”

For a long moment, Anna didn’t move.

Then she raised the gun higher. Put it to her temple.

Mikola’s eyes went wide. “What are you doing?”

“My terms are simple,” Anna said. “Let the boy go, or I shoot myself.”

He scowled at her. “You are a madwoman!”

“What’s mine is mine, brother. It isn’t much, but it’ll be lost to you forever if you don’t let him go.” She looked at Evan. “It’s okay. He won’t hurt you. Go upstairs.”

But Evan didn’t budge. Just stared at her, his body shaking.

“Go, Evan. Now!”

The boy finally got to his feet, Mikola making no move to stop him. But as Evan started toward the stairs, Anna made the mistake of following him with her gaze, and before she caught herself — Mikola sprang from the cot, diving into her, slamming her to the floor.

The impact knocked the wind out of her and the Glock went flying, Mikola straddling her as he brought the knife up, ready to plunge it into her chest — but as his hand came down, Anna twisted beneath him and the knife sank into her shoulder instead.

Hot white pain shot through her, more pain than she could ever remember feeling, as — Mikola pulled the knife free, bringing it up again, and — Anna dug frantically into her back pocket, trying to grab hold of the backup weapon she’d bought.

Then she had it and brought her hand up, jabbing the business end of a stun gun into Mikola’s side, sending a hundred thousand volts of electricity through him.

He howled, rolling away from her, and she hit him again, then again “Run, Evan! Run!”

— and Evan didn’t need any more encouragement. He tore up the steps as Anna searched frantically for the Glock, wanting to get this over with once and for all. But she couldn’t find it. Not enough light.

But then she spotted the knife on the floor and dove for it — but just as the fingers of her free hand brushed the blade — Mikola grabbed the handle and brought the knife up, furiously swiping at her. The blade caught her cheek and she dropped the stun gun, reaching for her face, blood gushing between her fingers.

But Mikola was still trembling from the shock of the stun gun and dropped the knife before he could do any more damage.

Anna jumped to her feet and kicked at him, connecting with bone, then turned and ran for the stairs, her shoulder and cheek on fire, blood leaking from the wounds. She took the steps two at a time and saw Evan standing in the center of the mirror maze, staring at hundreds of his own reflection, not knowing where to go.

Anna grabbed hold of him and swept him up into her arms, heading for the maze as Mikola roared behind her, running up the steps, about to go into a diving tackle, when A shotgun blast rang out, shattering a mirror, shards flying and — Anna threw herself to the floor, covering Evan with her body, as Pope stepped through the hole he’d made and fired again, sending a charge straight into Mikola’s chest.

The gypsy flew backwards, tumbling down the hole, his greasy red baseball cap fluttering onto his lifeless body.