This from someone who just moments ago had pushed him out a third story window.
"Right. You'll let Jill and me waltz out of here."
Kara's face hardened. Her hand moved the point of the knife up to Jill's right eye. Jill whimpered with terror.
"I'm going to start cutting her, Harris. Starting with this eye. And I'm going to keep cutting her until you put that gun on the floor and slide it over to me."
Rob felt beads of sweat burst from every pore on his body. He pointed his revolver at the section of paneling that had moved and spoke through his teeth. His voice was low, almost a whisper.
"One drop of her blood, Gabor… I see one drop of blood and I empty this pistol into that wall. And then I go through that wall and I get hold of whatever's left of you in there and I tear it apart with my bare hands."
"Jill won't be much to look at by then."
"But you'll be dead."
"Will I? I'm living in Kara now. Maybe Kara will die with me. And maybe my body will die but I'll go on living within Kara. The situation is unprecedented. Anything could happen."
And either way, I lose, Rob thought.
"The pistol, Harris. Slide it over."
But as long as he held the pistol, Rob knew he had a chance. There was a way to save Jilclass="underline" kill Kara. Rob raised the pistol in the two handed grip and sighted at the middle of Kara's forehead.
She smiled at him.
"You'd have made a good general, Harris. Sacrifice one platoon to avoid losing both. Go ahead. Shoot. Can you do it? To Kara? She's in here with me, looking down that barrel just as I am. Pull the trigger… Rob."
He lowered the pistol. He couldn't do it. Maybe if he just wounded her, the pain would free her from Gabor, but it was too risky. Most of her body was hidden behind Jill. He couldn't risk hitting Jill.
Rob could feel the balance of the stand-off shifting toward Gabor. Inevitable. Gabor controlled the two people Rob cared about most in this world. He felt as if he were being torn apart, slowly, one small piece at a time.
"Now, Harris!"
▼
You've wasted enough time. The longer you let this drag on, the greater the chance something will go wrong for you.
I wish he'd pulled the trigger! Kara says.
"I doubt that."
At least Jill would be safe.
You sense her sincerity, and you wonder at the depth of a mother's feeling for her child. You can't imagine sacrificing your own life for anyone.
But enough talk with Detective Harris. He cannot be threatened into dropping his weapon, so it is time for action. You're not anxious to cut the child—it will be most unpleasant—but this is a desperate situation. You are fighting for your own existence. All it takes is one short jab. You need only move your hand an inch or less and the point will pierce the child's eye. That will bring Harris to his knees. And then you'll be in control.
This will teach Kara a lesson, too.
"Watch carefully, Kara. I'm going to demonstrate who is the master here."
Panic spews from her in a fountain.
No! You're not—!
"Watch!"
Kara's voice becomes an inarticulate scream in your mind as you draw the knife back a bit, preparing for the jab, then—
You can't move it!
The knife is frozen in the air. Now it's moving away! Away! It's Kara! She's reasserting control! But this is impossible! You knew she had a powerful self, but you never dreamed—
You try to force her back but her rage is a living thing, clawing at you. Kara's protective instincts have been uncaged, released from some primitive part of her hindbrain, and they are now roaring through her like prehistoric beasts. Racial memories, encoded in every cell of her body, are bursting free. Every woman who has ever persevered through a life of domination… every mother since the dawn of time who has ever fought to save her child… it's as if they've all suddenly risen up and joined her against you.
You've misjudged this woman. You hope it was not a fatal error. You fight back with all your power, your greater experience. You must win! You must!
▼
Kara shouted with triumph as she forced the knife blade away from Jill's face. She could only control one arm at a time, it seemed—Gabor kept her left arm wrapped tightly around Jill—but Kara controlled the important one. The ferocity of her anger astonished her, and even frightened her. But it was the fuel she used against Gabor, and it was working. She could do it! She could beat Gabor!
"The panel!" she said to Rob in a voice so strained she barely recognized it as her own. "Slide it—uhn!"
The effort of speaking cost her some control over her hand and the knife blade darted toward Jill's eye again. She stopped it in time, but she didn't dare speak again.
▼
Something was happening. Rob watched Kara's body tremble violently. Her right arm spasmed. She'd said something about the panel. Slide it?
He backed away to the panel and pushed against it. It didn't move back but it slid a bit to the left. He kept it moving, and then he was looking into a small room with a crib. Two steps and he was standing over it. Rob's gorge rose as he stared down at the mottled, bloated diapered thing looking up at him with opaque eyes.
Here he was. This was Gabor. Rob ratcheted back the hammer on his revolver and leveled it at Gabor's over-sized head. He squeezed the trigger but couldn't pull it. Gabor's words came back to him. What if killing Gabor's body left him alive in Kara's, and permanently in control?
Kara lurched into the room, still clutching Jill, still brandishing the knife. There seemed to be a tug of war going on. The knife would slash toward Jill, then pull back. Over and over.
As Kara struggled toward the crib, straining and jerking like someone moving the wrong way in the rush hour commuter tide, trying to go up the steps while the horde was flowing down, Rob stepped aside. He sensed a titanic struggle roaring beneath the surface, one he was barred from entering. He had no choice but to wait and see what would happen, and stand ready to grab Jill and pull her free at the first opportunity.
▼
Close, closer. Kara pushed her body toward the crib. It was like moving under water. And the closer she got, the stiffer Gabor's resistance as she sensed him drawing strength from his own panic.
Within a yard of the crib, she stalled. Gabor seemed to have dug in his heels in a last desperate effort to hold her back. Even her unquenched fury wasn't strong enough to push her beyond that point.
Why didn't Rob shoot him? What was he waiting for? She didn't dare risk speech—it might allow Gabor the upper hand.
Hand… the knife was still in her hand, forgotten as they fought toward and away from the crib. She called up all her reserves. A garbled chorus, an unintelligible blend of an unimaginable number of voices echoed down the millennia and roared in her ears as she tightened her grip on the handle…
And plunged downward.
Kara screamed with the pain of the blade sinking deep into the muscles of her thigh. Jill screamed, too. But suddenly Kara's body was her own again. She pushed Jill child toward Rob.
"Get her out!"
And then she lunged at the crib.
Ahead of her, she saw Gabor's body rear up and look at her with its blind eyes. His slack mouth hung open, his tongue moved, as if trying to form words.
Kara didn't hesitate. She shoved the blade forward between the bars and rammed it into Gabor's barrel chest. He made a hoarse cry like the squeal of a pig and then Kara was leaning over the crib, slashing and stabbing. There were no more cries after the first, and the thrashing stopped soon after. The only noise was the hiss of the knife slicing in and out of him and the small whimpering noises coming from deep in her own chest. But she kept driving the knife into his body, over and over. She slashed him for Jill, and she slashed him for her father whose memory he had defiled, but mostly she slashed him for herself. She closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to see the carnage she was causing, but she couldn't stop… couldn't stop… couldn't stop. She had to keep it up until there was nothing left of him, until there was no chance that he would ever defile her or threaten Jill ever again. And even now when she knew he had to be dead, and her wounded leg was threatening to give out under her, her arm kept stabbing, as if it had a life of its own.