"Jim," he softly replied.
"Full name, please."
"Jim Kenyon."
"James, correct?"
"Yes. James Kenyon."
"And is this your wife?"
"Yes."
"Her name?"
"Heather."
"Pleased to meet you, Heather. And this must be your son. His name is Alex, right?"
"Yes," said James, his voice quivering.
"Was Alex born in wedlock?"
"Yes."
"Good. Heather, Alex, please drop to your knees."
Heather and Alex, both crying and shaking with fear, did as they were told.
I focused every possible bit of mental energy I possessed on trying to move my body. A finger. A lip. Anything.
"Heather looks like a fine woman, James," said Mr. Burke. "Is everything working out? No problems in your marriage?"
"Yes."
Mr. Burke chuckled. "I apologize. That wasn't a very well-phrased question. Are there any problems in your marriage?"
"No."
"Good, good. How about with young Alex there? Is he doing well in school?"
"Yes."
"Is he into sports? He looks like he'd be into sports."
"Yes."
"Which one?"
"Basketball."
"Really? He seems short for that. I would have thought baseball or soccer. Does he get a lot of game time or does he spend most of it on the bench?"
"He plays."
"Very impressive. You look like a nice, happy family. You're a very lucky man, James, to have such a wonderful wife and son. That does bring up the important question, though: Which of them do you like better?"
"What?"
"I'm not going to beat around the bush here, James. One of them is going to die within the next minute or so. You're going to make the choice."
Move, damn it, move!
I could beat whatever had been in the dart. Mind over matter. I'd break free of this paralyzing drug. I focused so hard it felt like my brain was going to burst inside my skull.
"Now, before you speak, I know exactly what you're going to say. You're going to ask me to kill you instead. I hate that. I'm sick of it. If you try to be a martyr, I'll kill both of them. If you don't make the choice in a timely fashion, I'll kill both of them. My hope is that you won't be the type of coward who would let both his wife and child die because he couldn't make a simple decision."
"Please don't do this," said the man in a soft, scared voice.
"It will be a bullet to the back of the head, execution-style. Painless, as far as I know, not having been through that experience myself. Which one dies, James? Heather or Alex? Make the choice."
"I can't…"
Move move move!
"Make the choice, James. Be a man."
Heather and Alex both sobbed.
"Five seconds until they both die. And you're going to be really disappointed if you think I'm bluffing."
James let out a whimper, and choked out the word: "Her."
"Her?"
James nodded, tears gushing down his face.
"Her meaning Heather? You want me to execute Heather instead of Alex?"
Heather let out a muffled wail.
James nodded.
"Say it," Mr. Burke told him.
"I can't."
"Yes, you can. Say 'I want you to kill my wife, Heather.'"
"No!"
"You were man enough to make the choice, James. Don't fuck it up because you won't speak the words."
My finger moved. I swore my finger moved.
"I… I want you to… I want you to…"
"It's not that difficult, James."
"I want you to…"
If I could move a finger, I could move my whole body. I could tackle that sadistic son of a bitch and rip his heart out of his chest.
"Say it, James, or they both die!"
"I want you to kill Heather!"
"See, that wasn't so hard, now was it?" Mr. Burke grinned and motioned to Medusa.
She shoved the barrel of her gun against the back of Alex's head, not Heather's…
I can break free of this I can break free I can I can I can!
…and pulled the trigger.
I couldn't look away. I couldn't even blink.
The twelve year-old boy pitched forward onto the dirt.
"Do you see what we did, James?" asked Mr. Burke. "We killed your son instead. Now you get to spend the rest of your life with poor Heather knowing you didn't pick her. You think there'll be problems in the marriage now, James?"
Troll laughed.
James didn't respond. His eyes looked dead.
Mr. Burke raised the walkie-talkie to his mouth and pressed the button. "Did you hear that shot?" he asked.
"Yes, it still sounds pretty far," Helen told him, "but we're moving as fast as we can."
"Very good." He lowered the walkie-talkie and stroked his goatee. "I'm not a completely inhuman gentleman, James. I know that what you must be feeling now is a million times worse than any physical agony I could inflict upon you. So, I'm going to show you some mercy. Instead of making you live with your choice, I'm going to finish both of you off in an excruciatingly painful manner. Sound good?"
"Can I do it?" asked Troll, holding up his hunting knife.
Mr. Burke considered that. "Yes, but you only get five minutes to do both of them."
"Mind if I slit his throat and spend the rest of the time with her?"
Mr. Burke nodded. "That's fine. But slit his throat at the end so he can watch."
"I can do that."
"Tape his mouth. Let's avoid noise pollution as much as possible."
Troll turned toward me, smiled, and waved his knife in front of my face. "Watch how creative I can be."
I watched it all, screaming at my body to move.
Mr. Burke was feeling generous and gave Troll an extra minute.
Chapter Sixteen
Helen's Side
"CHOCOLATE CAKE WITH about a gallon of chocolate syrup pour ed over the top," I said. "What about you, Kyle?"
"I don't know."
"Sure you do. You can have anything in the entire whole wide world to eat when we get out of here. So what sounds really, really good?"
"Nothing."
I was desperately trying to keep my children alert and happy. Word games hadn't been effective, so I'd switched the subject to food.
We walked slowly through the forest, Theresa following right behind me with her hands on my waist, and Kyle completing the human chain with his hands on his sister's waist. I tried to keep my tone of voice cheerful, but I also kept a close eye on every single step we took, watching for traps.
Joe ran alongside of us. I'd carried the pug for a while, but he'd gotten too heavy and I let him go. On one hand, I didn't want my children to be traumatized by the sight of their beloved pet getting killed in a trap, but on the other hand, I'd rather have Joe accidentally run into a trap than us. And at this point, what was one more trauma?
"C'mon, Kyle, any food in the world. If you don't pick one, I'll make you eat broccoli!"
"Yuck," said Theresa.
"That's right, yuck. And it will be the biggest piece of broccoli you've ever seen. Covered with turds."
I was not the type of parent who normally joked about excrement with her children, but I really needed to keep their minds occupied.
"Mommy, my arm hurts," said Kyle.
"I know it does, sweetie. I promise, we'll get you to a doctor who will make it all better. For now you just have to be my brave little boy, okay?"
"Okay," Kyle said without enthusiasm.
"Now are you going to pick a food or do I have to cook you a turd-covered piece of broccoli?"
"Maybe a mammoth," said Kyle.