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"That's correct. Would you like to know why?"

I don't respond.

I think of Ronnie Barnes, the dates. Barnes died on the nineteenth and Sands killed my family on the nineteenth.

"For the most obvious reason, Smoky. He had a key. Why force a lock if you can just walk in the door?" He laughs. "You're allowed one guess as to how he acquired that key." A pause. "Why--from me, dearest Smoky. From me."

I can see my reaction in James's and Alan's eyes. Alan takes one step away from me, and looks very, very cautious. I'm not surprised. I have been stricken speechless by the need to murder that runs through me, replacing the blood in my veins.

My head is filled with the roar of shotguns. My eyes are burning, and the rage--it is that same rage I felt tied to the bed as Joseph Sands hurt and destroyed my Matt.

My Matt and my Alexa, the loves of my life. The scars that disfigured my face and body, that twist my heart and nearly crippled my soul. Months of nightmares, waking screaming, oceans of tears. Funerals and gravestones, the smell of cemetery dirt. Cigarettes and despair and the kindness of strangers.

This monster, smiling at the other end of this phone, he has left a legacy of ruination. Don Rawlings. Me. Bonnie. He has crumbled our hopes in his hands like bread, feeding the crumbs to things that slink through the dark. He's fed on our pain like a ghoul at a grave. He is not all the evil in the world. I know this. But for now he is the source of it in mine. He is my rape, Matt's screams, the look of surprise as my bullet killed Alexa. He is the dead babies Don Rawlings dreams of, the end of my childhood friend, Callie lying in the hospital, and the gray exhaustion of his mother as she withers away, an ancient rose.

"Where are you?" I whisper.

I can hear his smile. "Touched a nerve there, I think. Good." He pauses. "It was your last test, Smoky. If you could survive Sands, then you truly were my Abberline." His voice sounds almost gentle. Wistful.

"Where are you?" I repeat.

He laughs. "I will tell you where I am, but first I need to introduce you to someone. Say hello to Agent Barrett."

I hear the phone come up against an ear. "S-Smoky?"

I am jolted, a shock from a car battery.

Elaina. Everything has moved so fast, Keenan and Shantz haven't been replaced yet. I curse myself, stupid, stupid, stupid!

"I have her here with me, Smoky. Along with someone else, someone smaller. Someone who can't talk on the phone because, well--she can't talk these days." He laughs. "Can you say deja vu?"

I am drowning. I'm surrounded by air, but I can't breathe. Time is now moving to the beat of my heart, one long, slow lub-a-dub after another. This isn't fear I'm feeling, it's terror. Soul-drenching, gutgrinding, hysterical, babbling terror. I'm surprised that my voice is calm when I speak.

"Where are you, Peter? Just tell me, and I'll come to you." I don't ask him not to harm them. I wouldn't believe him anyway.

"Here are the rules, Smoky. I'm at my home. Elaina is naked and tied to my bed. Little Bonnie is snuggled in my arms. Sound familiar? If you are not here in twenty-five minutes, I will kill Elaina, and things for Bonnie will get very familiar indeed. If I see any police or SWAT team personnel, or even suspect they are here, I will kill them both. You may bring your team, but otherwise, this is between you and me. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good. Time starts--now."

He hangs up.

"What the hell is going on?" Alan asks.

I don't answer. I look at Alan. His eyes are intense, worried, ready. Alan was always ready. Especially when it came to being a friend. I feel my own breathing, in and out, in and out.

A great, disconnected calm has settled over me. I'm on a beach, alone, with a seashell pressed to my ear. It gives off that faint, seashell roar. Is this shock? I wonder.

I don't think so. I don't think so at all. This is Hillstead, getting what he's wanted all along.

Me as him. Ready to murder without thought, regret, or moral quandary. Ready to feel about killing like I would about pulling a weed. I put my hands on Alan's shoulders, look up into his face. "Listen to me, Alan. I'm going to tell you something, and I need you to be ready for it. I need you to hold it together. I'm going to take care of it."

He doesn't speak. It all comes out in his eyes, the beginning of alarm, the start of understanding.

"He's got Elaina and Bonnie," I say.

My hands are still on his shoulders and I feel the muscles spasm, feel his whole body shake once, hard. His eyes never leave mine. "He's got them, and he wants me, and we're going to where he has them. Once we're there, whatever it takes, we make him dead and them okay." I grip his shoulders, really dig into them. "Do you understand me? I'm going to take care of it."

He looks at me for a long time. James is quiet, waiting.

"He's going to try to take himself out and take you with him," Alan says.

I nod. "I know. I guess I'll have to be faster."

He reaches up, takes my hands. He holds them for a moment. God, he has big, hard hands. Even so, his touch is soft. "Be faster, Smoky."

His voice cracks.

He drops my hands and steps away. Pulls out his gun, checks the clip, and starts moving toward the car.

"Let's go," he says.

Bending, not breaking.

But we break? the dragon asks. We crunch his bones?

It's a rhetorical question; I don't reply.

* * *
* * *
* * *

I dial Tommy on the way over.

"You still following me?" I ask.

"Yeah."

"Things have changed." I bring him up to date.

"What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to go to his address and wait. If you see him come out by himself, that means he got past us."

"And?"

"And if that happens, I want you to take him out."

A long pause. Then he replies, in his usual way. "You got it."

"Thanks, Tommy."

"Hey, Smoky. Don't get shot." He pauses. "I still want to see if it's going to go anywhere." He hangs up. We pull into the driveway. Everything looks normal. Nice and quiet, the picture of suburbia. As I turn off the car, my cell phone rings.

"Barrett."

"You got here ahead of time, Smoky. I'm so proud! Now, let me inform you of how this is going to work. You're going to come in through the front door. Your friends are going to stay outside. If anything other than just those two things happen, I will kill Elaina and young Bonnie. Clear?"

"Clear."

"Well, enter, then, enter!"

The signal ends. I pull out my gun, checking it once, letting it find a place in my hand. Dark, sleek, black steel bird of death. I can almost feel it hum.

"I go in, you stay out. Those are his rules."

"I don't want to hear that shit," Alan says. Desperation gives his voice an edge.

I look at him. Really look at him. "I'm going to take care of it, Alan."

I let him see the dragon, hear her. I hold up my gun. "I won't miss."

He looks at the gun. Licks his lips. His face is both grim and helpless, a war in futility, a rage of fear. But he swallows and nods. I glance at James. He nods as well.

What else is there to say? I turn away from them, gun hand at my side, and walk up the path to Hillstead's front door. I put a hand on the knob and turn it. My heart is pounding in my chest, my blood is shooting through my veins. I am both afraid and exhilarated. I enter his home, shutting the door behind me.

"Come on upstairs, Smoky dear," I hear Hillstead say. His voice is coming from the second floor.