Play dead

SEVEN

TWO MONTHS EARLIER

Eve ordered a cheeseburger and fries at the Midtown IV Restaurant, a 24-hour place on Chestnut, catching glances and lewd looks from the night boys. The air in the room was a mixture of summer sweat, coffee, frying onions. Eve glanced at her watch. It was 2:20. The place was packed. She spun on her stool, considered the crowd. A young couple, early twenties, sat on the same side of a nearby booth. In your twenties you sat on the same side, Eve thought. In your thirties, you sat on opposite sides, but still talked. In your forties and beyond, you brought a newspaper.

At 2:40 a shadow appeared to her right. Eve turned. The girl was about fifteen, still carrying a layer of baby fat. She had an angelic face, street-hardened eyes. She wore faded jeans, a faux-leather jacket with a fake fur collar, and bright white New Balance sneakers, about an hour out of the box.

"Hey," Eve said.

The girl scrutinized her. "Hey."

"Are you Cassandra?"

The girl glanced around. She racked her shoulders, sniffled. "Yeah."

"Nice to meet you." Eve had gotten Cassandra's name from a street kid named Carlito. The word was that Cassandra had been abducted. Eve had dropped a pair of twenties and the word was passed.

"Yeah. Um. You too."

"Want to get a booth?" Eve asked.

The girl shook her head. "I'm not going to be here that long."

"Okay. Are you hungry?"

Another shake of the head, this time with hesitation. She was hungry, but too proud to take a handout.

"Okay." Eve stared at the girl for a few silent moments, the girl stared back, neither of them knowing how to start.

A few seconds later Cassandra slipped onto the stool next to Eve, and began.

Cassandra told her the whole story. More than once Eve got goose flesh. The story was not unlike her own. Different era, different shadows. Same horrors. As the girl talked, Eve stole glances at Cassandra's hands. They were alternately trembling and formed into tight fists.

For the past two months Eve had felt she was getting nearer the truth, but it had always been in her head. Now it was in her heart.

"Can you point out the house to me?" Eve asked.

The girl seemed to shrink away from her. She shook her head. "No. Sorry. I can't do that. I can tell you just about where it is, but I can't show you."

"Why not?"

The girl hesitated. She put her hands in her jacket pockets. Eve wondered what she had in there. "I just… can't, that's all. I can't."

"You don't have to be afraid," Eve said. "There's nothing to be afraid of now."

The girl issued a humorless laugh. "I don't think you understand."

"Understand what?"

For a moment, Eve thought the girl was going to leave without another word. Then, haltingly, Cassandra said, "I'm not going back there. I can't ever go back there."

Eve studied the girl. Her heart nearly broke. The girl had the haunted look of the ever-vigilant, the ever-cautious, someone who never slept, never let down her guard. She was a mirror image of Eve at the same age.

Eve knew her next question would not be answered. It never was. She asked anyway. "Can I ask why you didn't go to the police?"

Cassandra looked at the floor. "I have my reasons."

"All right," Eve said. "I understand. Trust me. I really do." She reached into her pocket, palmed a fifty, slid it across the counter, lifted a finger.

The girl looked down, stared at the corner of the bill for a few seconds, then glanced up at Eve. "I don't need it."

Eve was shocked. Street kids did not turn down money. Something else was at work here. She could not imagine what it might be. "What are you talking about?"

"I don't want the money. I'm okay."

"Are you sure?"

A long pause. The girl nodded.

Eve put the bill back in her pocket. She glanced around the restaurant. No one was watching. No one ever did at the all-nighters. She glanced back at the girl. "What can I do for you?" she asked. "You have to let me do something for you."

The girl drummed her fingers on the countertop for a few seconds, then picked up Eve's cheeseburger, wrapped it in a paper napkin, shoved it in her pocket. She also grabbed a handful of Equal packets. She spun on her stool, seemingly ready to bolt, then stopped, looked back over her shoulder. "I'll tell you what you can do for me," she said. Her eyes were rimmed with tears. Her face was a mask of fear. Or maybe it was shame.

"What's that?"

"You can kill him."

THREE THIRTY.

The huge house was on a quiet street. It looked just as the girl had described it-overgrown with weeds, tangled with shrubbery, gnarled with dying trees. Vines hung from the gutters; dead ivy clung to the north side like black veins. Three stories in height, clad in dark orange brick, it squatted on a large corner lot, all but hidden from the street. A stone balcony wrapped around the second floor, looming over a crumbling stone porch. Four chimneys probed the night sky like a thumbless hand.

Eve circled the block twice, out of caution, habit, training. She parked fifty feet from the gated driveway, killed the engine and headlights. She listened, waited, watched. Nothing moved on the street.

Three fifty.

Eve flipped open her cell phone, and before she could stop herself she pressed the number, speed-dialing it for the first time. It was a mistake, but she did it anyway. The line rang once, twice. Eve's finger hovered over the red END button.

A few seconds later, the phone on the other end clicked on. A lifetime went by.

"Hi," Eve finally said.

Five minutes later Eve clicked off. She had said much more than she had intended, but she felt good, strong. Cleansed. She tapped her right front jeans pocket, where her courage lived. She took out the pill vial, shook out two Valium. She uncapped the pint of Wild Turkey, sipped from it, capped the bottle, looked around.

This small section of Philadelphia had a neighborhood name, the way almost all sections of Philadelphia did, but this one wouldn't come to her. It was a small enclave of old, hidden houses, just west of the Oak Lane Reservoir.

She stepped out of the car, into the torrid, cloudless night. Philadelphia was quiet. Philadelphia dreamed.

Eve crossed the street, walked down the sidewalk toward the corner, skirting the iron fence. Beyond the fence the huge house loomed in the darkness, its dormers rising into the sky like devil's horns. Tortured trees obscured the walls.

As she got closer she saw lights in the windows on the first floor. She reached a gate, pushed on it. It moaned. It was almost a human sound. She pushed again, slipped through.

When she stepped onto the grounds, the feeling overwhelmed her. She felt it, smelled it. Evil dwelled here. Her heart raced.

She slowly made her way through the tall grass, moving ever closer; the undergrowth, the bushes and weeds and wildflowers, seemed to grow around her. A large evergreen stood twenty feet from the house. She stepped behind it.

The house was massive. It appeared to be a pastiche of architectural styles-Queen Anne, Italianate, Gothic revival. A half-round tower graced the right side. A room on the second floor appeared to be candlelit. Chalky shadows danced on the white sheer curtains. As she drew closer, Eve heard classical music.

She took a few more steps, stopping fifteen feet from the dining room window. The drapes were open. Inside a dozen candles flickered. She could see the buffet and hutch and sideboard, all heavy antiques, all highly polished. On the walls were enormous oil paintings; hellish, Boschian scenes. There were also a pair of large portraits of a dark-haired man with sinister, intense eyes, a Van Dyck goatee. No one stirred.

Eve circled the mansion to the east. There she found a small gazebo, a pair of stone benches covered in ivy; a rusted sundial stood guard on a weed-tufted path. As she rounded the back of the house she paused, listened. There was a sound, a low humming sound. Then a snick of metal on metal.

What was it?

She cocked her head, tuning to the noise. It wasn't coming from the house or the garages to her right. For a moment it reminded her of the old elevators in the building where her father had once had his office. The sound seemed to rattle the ground beneath her feet.

It stopped.

The voice came from behind her.

"Welcome to Faerwood."

Eve drew the Glock, spun around, the weapon leveled in front of her. A man stood in the small gazebo, about twenty feet away. He was in shadows, but Eve saw he wore a long coat. For a few endless moments he did not move or say another word.

Eve slipped her finger inside the trigger guard. Before she could respond, a bright yellow light shimmered overhead. She glanced at the window on the second floor. It was barred. The curtains parted to reveal a silhouette, a girl with narrow shoulders and long hair. Eve looked back at the man.

"It's you, isn't it?" she asked.

The man stepped into the moonlight. He was not as big as she had expected. She had anticipated a hulking ogre. Instead, he was sleek and lithe, almost elegant. "Yes," he answered.

He slowly raised his right hand, palm upward, as if in blessing. In an instant there was a searing flash of flame and a cloud of white smoke.

Eve fired. Round after round pierced the air, the loud reports echoing off the hard brick surface of the old house. She kept pulling the trigger until the magazine was empty.

The night fell still. Eve heard the beating of her heart, felt the horror of what she had just done. She knew she had hit him, dead center in his chest. Four rounds at least. She knew she had to run, but she also knew that she had come too far not to see this to the very end. She hol- stered her weapon, stepped cautiously to the gazebo. In the moonlight the gun smoke lingered, painting a white haze over this surreal scene. Eve peered over the railing.

He was gone. There was no blood, no torn flesh, no body. It didn't seem possible-it wasn't possible-but the gazebo was empty.

It all began to close in on her. The last two months of her life had been pure madness, a summons to the grave. She understood that now. She turned and ran through the tall weeds and grass.

Moments later she reached the iron gate. She pulled on the handle. It wouldn't budge. It seemed rusted shut. She looked around her, sweat streaming down her face, burning her eyes. Was this where she came in? She couldn't remember. She had gotten turned around and she had lost her bearings. She pulled again on the gate. It finally moved. She might be able to squeeze through, she thought. She tried, ripping her jeans on the latch. She felt the tear of flesh on her right thigh. The pain was excruciating.

One more hard pull, giving it everything she had. The gate swung free.

And that's when she felt the hand on her shoulder.

Eve spun, saw his eyes. At first they flashed liquid silver, mercury in the moonlight, then all the fires of hell burned inside them. They were the eyes of her nightmare.

As Eve Galvez reached for the Beretta in her ankle holster she heard the snap of breaking glass. Then came a strong chemical smell. In the instant before her world went black she knew it had all come to a close. Mr. Ludo. He had won the game.