She would present a problem, however, even with the contracts destroyed. If she took the matter to court…Of course, he might resolve the situation by giving her the agreed-upon amount.
Half of everything.
If Black River had been a blockbuster—a bunch of ghost nonsense with nothing but a single suicide (ah yes, suicide, Martha) to give it credibility and bolster sales—this one would skyrocket.
How many deaths? Four tonight. Three last night. Janice’s imprisonment (I’ll have to interview her about that), two captives in the Kutch house for God only knows how long. And the biggest bonus of all, the corpse of the beast.
National media coverage.
And me, Gorman Hardy, in the center of it all.
The potential was staggering.
Turning over half to Janice would be an outrage. If only the beast had killed her.
Without doubt, it had raped her.
And both her parents were killed.
Nobody would consider it unusual if a girl in such circumstances committed suicide.
He could hardly risk faking suicides for both Janice and Captain Frank.
There were other ways to handle Captain Frank.
Suicide was perfect for Janice. But what method? A girl would certainly be unlikely to blow out her brains. Slashing her wrists was out of the question: it would raise eyebrows if she died in the same manner as Brian’s wife. An overdose? Perhaps. That might be difficult to arrange, but…
Following Abe around a bend in the tunnel, he saw a blue glow ahead. Abe switched off the flashlight. The glow, Gorman realized, must be coming from the cellar of the Kutch house. An icy tightness clutched his stomach. His heart thudded faster. His trembling legs felt leaden, as if they wanted to hold him back.
Jack nudged him from behind. “Keep moving.”
He hadn’t realized he’d stopped. He forced himself to take a step, another step.
Abe, a couple of yards ahead, crouched at the mouth of the tunnel. He inched his head forward and looked to both sides. Then he stood up and entered the cellar.
If there was any danger, Gorman told himself, Abe wouldn’t walk in that way.
Clenching the revolver so hard his hand ached, he followed. His feet were silent on the blue carpet. As Abe strode toward the stairs, Gorman gazed to the right. On the far wall hung the bodies of two naked men—Marty Crogan and Brian. Their skin was blue in the strange light from the ceiling fixture. Their blood looked purple, almost black. Claire’s body was sprawled on the carpet near one of the shiny cushions that littered the floor. He stared at the awful, gaping crater in her thigh. Panic choked him. He stood motionless, struggling for breath.
Jack, stepping in front of him, shook his shoulder. “Hey,” the man whispered. “Let’s go.”
Gorman knocked the hand away, staggered backwards, twisted himself around and lurched for the tunnel. At its entrance, he glanced back. Abe and Jack, both standing at the foot of the stairs, watched him and said nothing. He flung himself into the darkness. He ran.
Let them think what they like.
Let them think I’m a coward.
With his left hand out, he felt the moist wall to keep his bearings and rushed away from the hideous blue light of the cellar.
Better the darkness. Better anything than to climb those stairs and enter that house. He dreaded coming to the end of the tunnel. The beast would be there. But it was dead (it must be dead), and a live beast was waiting for those two inside the Kutch house. Maggie with a gun, and maybe others, but most of all the beast—it eats people. Let it get those two fools.
It won’t get me!
He ran until he collapsed. On hands and knees, he sucked in the dank air. He heard nothing except his noisy gasping and the pounding of his heart. He saw nothing but blackness.
How far had he come? Surely, he must be at least halfway. He wanted to rest, but he knew he wouldn’t be safe until he was outside Beast House. He longed for the fresh night air, for the brightness of moonlight. He saw himself rushing across the lawn to Front Street, locking himself inside Abe’s car…If only he were there now.
Pushing himself to his feet, he reached out to the wall. He looked over his shoulder. Then he started forward again. After a few shuffling steps, he managed a slow jog.
You’re all right now, he told himself. You’re almost out. You’ll be there soon.
Try not to step on the beast.
I’ll fall on it, and it’ll…
If only he had a flashlight! Or even matches!
If only he knew how close it was!
It’s dead. If you fall on it, you’ll get messy but it’s dead and can’t hurt you and you’ll know you made it to Beast House and you’ll be outside in another minute.
Who says the living beast is in the Kutch house?
Who says it’s not in Beast House?
That thought sent a shock of alarm through Gorman, but he kept on jogging. He shambled around a curve in the tunnel and saw dim light ahead.
There shouldn’t be light.
It didn’t make sense unless he’d somehow gotten turned around. But the light in the Kutch cellar was blue, not white like this.
He staggered around another bend, and stopped. He held his breath.
He squinted against the glare.
A gasoline lantern. It hissed in the silence.
A bearded man—Captain Frank—was crouching over the sprawled body of the beast. He had rolled it onto its back. Just behind him stood a girl in a yellow blouse. Janice! Nora and Tyler were there, too. They all held guns. They were all staring at the beast.
Raising his revolver, Gorman took careful aim at Janice and fired.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
A blast roared in Tyler’s ears. Janice spun and smashed against her. The girl’s pistol bounced off Tyler’s foot. Falling back against the tunnel wall, she flung an arm around Janice to hold her up. She staggered sideways with the weight, and fell to the cellar floor just outside the tunnel.
“Don’t shoot! It’s me!” Hardy’s voice.
“Stupid fuckhead!” Nora cried out.
“Oh my God, I didn’t mean to…I thought…My God, is she all right?”
As Tyler pulled her arm out from under Janice, Nora dropped to her knees beside them. Captain Frank rushed over with the lantern.
“Oh my God,” Hardy muttered, staring down at the girl. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I was so frightened I didn’t know what I was…”
“Shut up!” Nora snapped.
Janice’s eyes were open. Her face was contorted with agony. A bloom of red was quickly spreading over the front of her blouse. Nora ripped the blouse open. A button popped from it and flicked against Tyler’s cheek. The blood was welling from a place just above the left breast, and close to the side. Nora slid fingers over the area, then pressed her palm tightly to the wound. Janice yelped and flinched.
Captain Frank, on his knees, slid the long blade of a knife up the girl’s sleeve and sliced through the fabric. He rammed the knife into the dirt floor. “Gotta turn her,” he muttered. “See her back.”
“Yes,” Hardy said. “There might be an exit wound.”
“Un…” Janice gasped. “Under.” Her right arm lifted off the dirt and fell across her breasts. She pointed with a finger at her armpit.
Captain Frank eased her left arm away from her side. “Here,” he said. “Came out here. Nicked her arm, too.” He plucked a wadded red bandanna from a pocket of his Bermudas, pushed it against the wound, and drew her arm down to her side. “That’ll hold it.”
“We’ve gotta get her to a hospital,” Nora said. She looked over at Tyler. “That policewoman. She can use one of the car radios. Have her call in for an ambulance.”