“I asked you a fucking question,” he said.
Crystal screamed, and Jan started to jump until she saw Osbourne’s reflection in the oven door. He was holding Crystal by the hair like a caveman, and had shoved the barrel of his pistol into her face.
“I can shoot your eye out without killing you,” he whispered into Crystal’s ear. “Think of how that would feel.”
“Noooooo...,” Crystal sobbed. Her cries did not sound real, and Jan thought; she’s only pretending to be scared. But why?
“Where is your mother?” he repeated.
“She’s not my mother,” Crystal said defiantly. Then, “Jan’s with my dad. They went downtown to the theatre.”
Jan peeked around the corner. It was a beautiful line, but would he buy it? Osbourne had pinned Crystal against the refrigerator, his knee between her legs, his gun still in her face. Jan’s eyes met Crystal’s, and saw her mounting fear.
Hang on, Jan silently told her.
“Why didn’t she stay?” Osbourne said. “I thought she was protecting you.”
“Jan doesn’t care a goddamned bit about me,” Crystal said, her face inches from his. “She never has! She just wants my father’s money. She’s a bimbo.”
Crystal began to blubber shamelessly, and Jan rooted her on, the months of private drama coaches and constant playacting around the house finally paying dividends. Suddenly Osbourne noticed the phone on the counter. Picking it up, he held the cradle to his ear, listening.
Finally he said, “May I help you?”
A moment later he was bellowing with laughter.
“Hello Detective Wondero,” he said. “You’re too late, once again.” He shoved the receiver into Crystal’s face. “I have someone here who would like to say hello.”
“Oh God, you’ve got to help me,” Crystal half-screamed into the mouthpiece. “Jan and my Dad are at the theatre and this crazy man... he’s going to kill me!”
With that Crystal feigned hysteria, her body a quivering mass of fear. In the reflection, Jan saw Osbourne slip his gun beneath his waistband, and draw a curved hunting knife from his belt. She cautiously crept around the counter on all fours.
“Wondero, listen closely,” Osbourne said. “The next sounds you hear will be death. The one with the small d.”
He put the phone down, the receiver facing him. As he brought the knife up to Crystal’s throat, Jan stood up and grabbed a metal skillet off the counter, and smacked him in the back of the head. He crumbled, dropping his knife, and Crystal pulled free.
Osbourne crouched helplessly on the floor, trying to ward off Jan’s vicious blows.
Picking up the phone, Crystal said, “We got the bastard!”
Then she hung up, and dialed 911.
With a well-aimed blow, Jan split Death’s forehead open, his blood staining the tiled floor. The night before Vincent had told her of his out-of-body journey while buried alive, and of the lost souls he’d met in some nether world. He had described them at length, as if they were real.
“Their faces look so tortured,” her husband had said. “All those poor, brutalized women and girls. And I keep thinking: what did any of them do to deserve a punishment like this?”
“They were born female,” Jan had said.
Female. The weaker sex. Little girl. That was Osbourne’s license to kilclass="underline" because they were there for his taking.
He crawled on his belly across the tile floor, begging Jan to stop as she repeatedly sent her right instep up between his legs into his crotch. He was wearing a hard plastic cup, no doubt from experience. Undaunted, Jan kept at it, having once been able to break plywood boards with this kick.
She cracked the cup on her third try. Her next kick caught nothing but flesh and turned his cries into screams of pain; he curl up protectively in a ball, and Jan kept at it, kicking him in the back and head whenever Osbourne showed signs of life.
“The police are coming,” Crystal said, watching her inflict punishment. “Come on, Jan, you’re going to kill him...”
“That was the idea,” Jan said, hearing a rib break. She sized him up for another kick and thought: this could take forever. Once the police arrived, her chance would be gone.
“Get my gun,” Jan said. “It’s in my purse on the couch.”
“But—” Crystal said.
“I said get it!”
Crystal began to cross the living room when Osbourne’s eyes popped open, and he sprang to his feet. With the rip of Velcro, he removed a jet black bayonet from the leg of his wetsuit. Standing in a deep, painful crouch, he tossed the bayonet from hand to hand. As Jan came at him, he advanced toward Crystal.
“I’ll cut her in half,” he threatened, the bayonet slicing the air. “Stay away from me, you vicious bitch. I should have killed you when I had the chance.”
With her eyes Jan motioned to Crystal, who began to back up.
“Stay put, little girl,” he snarled.
“Rot in hell,” Crystal replied.
Crystal backed up into the living room. Osbourne followed her, and Jan followed him. Crystal hopped onto the illusion that her father had borrowed from Siegfreid and Roy. To the naked eye, it did not even look like a trick, just a metal cage sitting on a thin stand with a sheet partially draped over it. The German illusionists had a number of similar props lying around the house, having found them easier to maintain than an elaborate security system.
As Crystal draped herself in the sheet, Osbourne leapt toward her, too filled with murderous intentions to notice that Jan hadn’t moved, and was doing nothing to stop him.
Jumping onto the stand, he dug the bayonet into the draped form. As the sheet fell, he saw something beneath it begin to stir, and jerked the sheet away, ready to stab again.
The sleek, gold spotted cat inside the cage jumped on Osbourne and began to maul him even before he could scream. It was a lepjack, half leopard, half jaguar, an animal that had never existed until Siegfreid and Roy had succeeded in cross-breeding a litter. As the lepjack threw Osbourne to the floor, Jan helped Crystal out of the illusion, and retrieved the .9 from her purse.
Osbourne rolled across the living room, unable to free himself from the lepjack’s grasp. It had raked his entire body with its claws, setting every inch of skin on fire. He stared up at Jan and Crystal, imploring them to save him.
“Help me... please.”
“No,” Jan said.
Osbourne staggered to his feet. The lepjack clung to him, its claws digging into his side. Jan readied her gun. Then she hesitated, fearful of shooting the cat. Clutching the lepjack to his chest, Osbourne ran across the living room and threw himself headfirst through the picture window overlooking the water.
The window disintegrated before their eyes. Jan ran through the space and jumped as well. The drop was longer than she’d expected, the ground coming up much too hard.
She pushed herself off the ground. The lepjack lay on its side a few feet away, out cold.
Osbourne was gone.
She ran up and down the beach looking for him, wishing she had less compassion for animals, and had taken a clean shot when she’d the chance.
Chapter 36
The Belly of the Beast
Returning to Malibu, Hardare had nearly suffered a heart attack. Bodies in the hall, glass everywhere, his daughter in the care of several uniformed police.
“Where’s your mother?” he asked.
“Outside,” his daughter replied.
He found Jan running up and down the beach. He’d tackled her, fearful that a cop might see she was armed, and start shooting.
Rolling around in the sand, his gentleness had been overwhelmed by her fury. He had never seen such blind anger; never known such a side existed in her. Using all his strength, he managed to pin her arms down while hugging her slender body.