“Please don’t hurt me,” the woman said, her face washed with fear. She was crouched in the corner, trying to hide behind her purse. “I just want off.”
Ben pushed the button for the seventh floor and turned to face Tidwell, still lying on the floor next to the wall. “What have you done, you son of a bitch?” He grabbed Tidwell by the collar of his jacket and shook him.
In one smooth continuous motion, Tidwell reached into his inside jacket pocket and withdrew a large kitchen knife. The woman screamed. It was the knife, Ben realized. Ben grabbed Tidwell’s wrist with both hands and slammed it against the wall of the elevator. Tidwell’s grip held tight.
Once more the elevator bell rang, and the doors opened.
The woman screamed and bolted out of the elevator.
“Help!” she screamed. The couple waiting to get in saw the two men wrestling in the elevator and, after a second, hurried away.
“Call the police!” Ben shouted, trying not to lose his grip. His knees were beginning to buckle under the strong downward pressure. Tidwell was a hell of a lot stronger than he looked.
Tidwell tightened his free hand into a fist and smashed it against Ben’s right ear. Ben cried out. His grip involuntarily loosened. Tidwell twisted his wrist free and brought the blade of the knife down into the soft underside of Ben’s upper right arm. Ben screamed in pain. Light bulbs seemed to flash in front of his eyes, and he felt himself falling. He fell backward, as if seating himself on the floor of the elevator. Tidwell stepped toward him and pulled back his knife to strike.
At that moment the bell rang, and the elevator doors began to close. Tidwell turned his head and, stretching his knife hand between the doors, he slapped the safety bumper and reopened the doors.
Ben didn’t waste a second. Pulling himself up by the metal rail, he rose to his feet and, while Tidwell’s hand was still outside the doors, he swung his fist into Tidwell’s nose. Tidwell yelled. Blood began to spurt from his nostrils. The elevator doors opened, and Ben raced through.
Holding his bleeding arm close against his body, Ben ran to the closed door of apartment 724. The door was unlocked. Ben ran inside and tried to bolt the door, but before he could, the full force of Tidwell’s body slammed against the other side of the door, knocking Ben back into an end table next to the sofa. A large brass lamp fell onto the floor with a crash.
Ben ran backward into the living room, combing the room for a weapon. He remembered how, years ago, Mike had tried to teach him some rudimentary jujitsu and how Ben had laughed at the macho pretense of it all. Times like this he could use some macho pretense.
Tidwell came through the door, his knife poised above his right shoulder. His face was wet and transformed into a grotesque death mask. Sweat was dripping from the dunning hair on the sides of his head. Tidwell wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve, but it continued to trickle out of his nostrils. Dark shadows were forming beneath his eyes. If Ben had not already known who he was, he would not have recognized him.
Ben grabbed the brass lamp from where it had fallen next to the sofa, yanked the cord out of the wall and pulled off the shade. He smashed the end of the bulb against the table, leaving cut and jagged pieces of glass and tungsten exposed. He held the base with both hands and swung the lamp between Tidwell and himself. His right arm was weak with pain and could barely support the weight.
He gritted his teeth and held tight to the lamp. As stupid as he felt brandishing a lamp, Ben realized that the lamp had more reach than Tidwell’s knife.
Tidwell stopped creeping forward and smiled. “I could throw the knife,” Tidwell said, smiling grotesquely, with blood-smeared teeth.
“You’ll have to kill me on your first throw,” Ben said. “Because if you miss, you’re a dead man.” He realized how heavily he was breathing and tried to control it. “Where’s the nurse?”
Tidwell continued to smile. “I gave her the day off.”
“Catherine!” Ben shouted. “Get out of here!” There was no response.
The two men stared at one another across the room, both breathing with loud, heaving gasps. Tidwell ran his palm across his face again, wiping away the excess sweat and blood. The blood was beginning to dry and coagulate beneath his nose; it was turning a sickening black color.
Ben was suddenly aware of the steady flow of blood from his own upper right arm. The blood had saturated his shirt sleeve and was beginning to drip onto the carpet. His right arm was tingling and becoming numb. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hold the heavy lamp in midair for long. All Tidwell had to do was wait.
And then, the sound of footsteps in the corridor broke the stalemate. A hand pushed the door open a little wider. “Ben?” a timid voice asked.
Christina stepped into the room carrying a bundle of women’s clothing. In less than a second, she had noted the overturned furniture, the bloodstained faces, the weapons. She turned, but before she had a chance to run, Tidwell had his free arm wrapped around her throat and the sharp end of his knife pressed against her face.
Christina screamed. Tidwell slapped his hand across her mouth to stifle the noise. The clothes in her arms fell to the floor. “Shut your mouth or I’ll cut it off,” he growled into her ear.
Christina obeyed. The loud screaming was replaced by a soft whimper. Her wide eyes looked desperately at Ben.
Ben took a step forward, still brandishing the lamp. “Let her go,” he said. His head felt light and dizzy.
“I don’t think so,” Tidwell said. Again he flashed the sickening smile. “Drop the lamp.”
“Not a chance.”
Tidwell tightened his choke hold on Christina’s throat.
“Drop the lamp or I kill her.”
Ben’s eyes locked with Tidwell’s. “How do I know you won’t kill her anyway?”
Tidwell’s eyes and nostrils flared. “Drop the lamp or I’ll kill the fucking bitch!” He shook Christina’s body back and forth, still pressing the knife close against her face. Ben saw a thin line of red emerge on her cheek.
Christina began to cry. She tried to stifle the noise, but the sobs still came out, in short, choking gasps. Tears were streaming from her eyes.
Slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on Tidwell, Ben lowered the lamp and set it on the floor in front of him. He couldn’t have held it up much longer anyway.
“Bad mistake,” Tidwell said, chuckling. He yanked Christina’s body backwards and placed the knife horizontally across her neck.
Outside the door, Ben heard the clatter of heavy footsteps. The unidentified feet ran down the hallway corridor and stopped outside the front door.
Tidwell’s head jerked to the side. “Drop it!” he shouted through the door. He twisted Christina’s body around so that it stood between him and the doorway. “I’ll kill her!”
Christina’s eyes closed tightly.
“I’ll kill them both!” Tidwell screamed. His face was jerking spasmodically, looking outside the door, then at Ben, then outside again. “Drop it or I’ll kill them both!”
Ben heard the sound of two soft clumps on the carpet in the corridor outside.
“Now we’re comin’ out!” Tidwell shouted, his face pressed close behind Christina’s. “Me and the bitch! And you’re gonna let us, or I’ll cut her fucking throat!” Shoving his knees against the back of her legs, he forced her through the doorway.
As Tidwell inched his way into the doorway, the inner wall began to block his view of Ben. Tidwell was concentrating on the people outside. As soon as Ben was certain Tidwell couldn’t see him any longer, he picked up the lamp, this time holding the base end away from him. In two steps, Ben was across the room and turning the corner to face the doorway.