The Empire of Shadows (38 page)

The way he said it froze the blood in her veins, but helped bring her to her senses.

“They're asleep,” she managed to say.

“Good. Good,” Owens said, seeming quite satisfied. “Now I'm going to let you up. Do you understand? Yes?” Owens helped her to her feet but held his bone-handled bayonet ready at his side. “Well then, now that that's over,” he said in an impossibly friendly tone that frightened Mary more than the length of steel in his hand, “we can go. You do want to see Tom, don't you?”

Mary stiffened, her eyes widening under a small trickle of blood from her forehead.

“Tom?” she managed to say.

“Oh yes,” Owens said with a dead-eyed smile as he handed her a kerchief, “he'll be along shortly.”

The connecting door opened. Rebecca slid in with a finger to her mouth. “Mikey's sleeping,” she whispered.

Mary looked from her to Owens, whose eyes had narrowed to black slits over a toothy smile. She felt the tip of the bayonet press against her back.

“Oh, hello, Mister Owens,” Rebecca said when she realized he was there. She walked to them, her small pink feet tiptoeing.

“Say anything and I'll butcher her right here,” Owens whispered in Mary's ear. Mary's world rocked and screamed. The room may as well have been on fire, her precious little girl wading through he flames. Mary's voice croaked. No words came out.

“Hello, 'Becca,” Owens said. “We're going to see your daddy. Do you want to come?”

They made their way through the deserted hallways of the near-empty hotel, their footsteps echoing. With each step Mary's mind raced. She tried to plan, tried to imagine how she might escape, raise an alarm, or at least save Rebecca. She thought of Tom and prayed he wasn't already dead. As long as he'd gotten her telegram, there was a chance. She knew that as long as he was alive he'd come for them, and no force on earth would stand in his way.

Owens took them through a back door, out through the rain, which had just started. Lightning lit the way to the small building that housed the dynamo, the Long-waisted Maryann. They rushed inside, out of the rain.

The room was empty. A boiler hissed. A steam engine spun wheels. A long, leather belt ran to the dynamo, which hummed in time with the
thumpeta-thumpeta
rhythm of the engine. There was a horrible smell to the place, a burnt-flesh smell, mixed with oil, wood smoke, and ozone.

“Where's Daddy?” Rebecca said, looking around. “This is a scary place. I don't like that thing.” She pointed to the Long-waisted Maryann, it's copper-wrapped coils standing well over her head. Owens paid her no mind. He looked at his watch.

“I think we have some time,” he said, as if waiting for a train. “Give me your hands, Mary,” he added, once he'd bolted the door. Mary put her shaking hands out. Owens, who had lengths of rope ready in his pocket, tied her hands in front of her. It was done so quickly Rebecca didn't say a word, just stared in confusion.

“Mommy?” she said when Owens was done. “What game are we playing?”

Owens grabbed Rebecca's hand and pulled her to a chair in the corner of the room.

“You stay here, 'Becca,” Owens said. “We're playing a scary game. But don't worry, your daddy will be here soon.”

Owens went back to Mary and pulled her to the other side of the room. The thumping steam engine hid them from Rebecca.

“The woodpile,” Owens pointed. “Bend over.” He shoved her down across the wood and pulled up her skirts.

“No! No! No! You can't!” Mary cried, but not so loud as to scare Rebecca. She started to rise but Owens hit her, and a moment later she felt the tip of the bayonet at her temple.

“Someone's bound to come in,” she said, trying to reason with him, buy time. “The man who runs the dynamo.”

Owens chuckled. “He's too busy cooking. Don't you smell him? Chopped him up and stuffed him in the boiler. Now, either I fuck you in front of her or I kill you in front of her. Your choice.”

Mary couldn't say anything.

“Cat got your tongue?” he whispered in her ear. “Well, suppose I was to do her first? Not a bad idea, now I think about it.”

“Mommy?”

“It's all right, 'Becca,” Mary forced herself to say in a strong voice. “You stay right there. Just close your eyes and wish for Daddy to come.”

Under the noise of the steam engine and the storm beating on the roof, Mary turned her head and said, “Go ahead and fuck me, you pathetic bastard. When Tom gets here, we'll see who gets fucked.”

Owens slammed her down onto the woodpile. Mary felt him pressing hard between her legs. A hard hand felt for her sex, pulling her underclothes away.

“Fuck you like I did that little maid,” Owens growled in her ear. “See how you like that. Stuck her in one end then stuck her in the other.” He pressed the bayonet against her temple. A trickle of blood ran down her face, dripping off her chin into the wood.

“Shoulda seen her squirm,” he said, chuckling.

Mary gagged in horror. Bile rose in her throat.

“Get away from my mommy,” Rebecca said. Mary felt a rush of water on her legs and back.

Owens jumped off, turning on 'Becca, who stood defiantly with a bucket in her hand. Owens kicked it away, sending it bouncing across the room. He raised a fist, but before he could strike, Mary grabbed a length of firewood and with both hands swung it against Owens's skull.

It was a glancing blow, but it opened a gash that fountained blood as Owens staggered to his left. Mary swung again but missed, the wood whistling inches from his face. Owens struck out with his bayonet. It went through Mary's left arm, just above the elbow and punched into her side, grating on a rib.

Mary stared, frozen in shock, looking at the length of steel skewering her flesh. Owens grinned through the blood streaming off his head. He twisted the blade. Mary screamed and dropped the wood.

“That's right. Scream!” Owens yelled, his eyes bulging and the veins standing out on his neck like blue wires. He brought his face close to hers. Blood from his head wound dripped off his nose, falling between her breasts. “Nobody's gonna hear you,” he whispered. Mary felt the room wobble and her vision swirl with tiny lights and moving shadows. The floor came up to meet her face.

“Be here any time now,” was the first thing Mary heard. She woke looking at her knees, her head hanging down. She tried to focus. “Won't they be surprised,” Owens was saying to himself.

“What was it about the shirt?” Owens said when he saw Mary coming to. She was bound to a chair, her arms tied tight. “Huh? Why the shirt? You know, if you hadn't sent that telegram, I'd have been done with it. So, tell me,” he said, tilting her head up to give her some water. Mary was dizzy and her arm felt like a bolt of fire had been shot through it. She looked at Owens through the screen of her hanging, black hair. He looked ghastly. Blood was smeared all over his face and the scalp wound continued to trickle.

“Go fuck yourself,” she mumbled once she saw that Rebecca was still all right.

“Hmm. Well, we'll just see about that, won't we?”

Owens fished in his pocket. “Like to see what your Tommy wrote back? It says
STAY IN YOUR ROOM
,
STOP
.
THERE IN TWO HOURS
,
STOP
.” Owens looked at his watch. “That would make it any minute now.” Owens smiled but clucked at Mary.

“You know, you really did complicate matters with your little telegram. Forced me to change plans rather drastically. Now I'll have to get rid of your Tommy, too. Very inconvenient, Mary.” Owens shook his head almost regretfully. “I'm afraid you'll be paying rather dearly for that.”

Mary, looking about, thought the room had changed, then noticed the light in the ceiling was shining in one direction. Some sort of shield had been rigged on it so it left half the room in shadow. Owens had what she thought was a towel in one hand, the bayonet in the other. When she looked closer she saw that the towel was wrapped around a pistol. “Only question,” Owens continued, “is who gets here first.”

Mary frowned and Owens smiled at her confusion.

“Tupper's on his way to our little party, too. Thought I killed him, but I guess I didn't. Friend o' mine saw him stealin' a boat over ta Long Lake,” Owens said with a frown. “So, you see, this will all work out very nicely. Tupper was headin' this way. Guess he thinks he'll get even.”

Owens chuckled at that and shook his head as if the notion was unbelievably stupid. “So, Tupper will kill you and little Rebecca here,” he said, running a hand through Rebecca's golden curls, “and of course, poor, noble Tom. Happily, I will be able to dispatch the obviously insane Tupper. He really is crazy, you know,” Owens whispered as if confiding some great secret, “and then all will be well.”

Owens beamed at the simple genius of his plan, then just as quickly his mouth turned down in a pouting parody of a frown.

“Regrettably, I'll be too late to save you from the same fate as the unfortunate Lettie Burman. Such a sweet thing. I really could not resist, not after I saw her with your son, the lucky dog.”

Mary spat at him. Owens looked at the bloody, pink spit with blank eyes as it slid down his leg. “I take it you approve of the plan.”

He bent down and forced a wadded-up kerchief into her mouth, tying another over it and knotting that one at the back of her head. “Not too tight now, is it?” Owens asked when he was done. Mary just glared at him.

Rebecca was already bound and gagged in the chair next to her. Owens walked to the other side of the boiler then and waited, facing the door. The room thumped and hummed. The world outside crashed and flickered. Rain beat on the roof and rattled at the windows that Owens had covered with blankets.

Minutes crawled by while Mary fought to stay conscious, stay focused, keep thinking of what she might do. Here eyes locked with 'Becca's. Mary did her best to comfort her with only her eyes. For the longest time, longer than Mary could remember since Rebecca was just an infant, she held her with her eyes. Rebecca looked back and, despite their red rims, the tears, the fear, Mary saw there was still strength there.

A click of the latch brought their heads around.

The sudden movement had Mary's vision swimming. A wave of nausea swept over her. She felt her stomach rise in her throat. In a panic, she fought it back, fearing she'd drown behind her gag. She locked her eyes on the door and tried to concentrate as the room wobbled and rolled. The door, which Owens had apparently unlocked, swung slowly open. The night shouldered it aside, a solid, black wall streaked with rain. Nothing stirred. The door swung until it bounced softly off the wall. The rain hissed and splattered on the threshold.

Tupper had been watching the hotel for hours. He'd seen Mary and Rebecca go back and forth to the telegraph office, though he had no idea who they were. He watched as Owens crept into the office, too. He saw how Owens had watched the woman and girl. The hill behind the hotel was a perfect vantage point, and the field glasses Tupper had taken from the sheriff's pack were excellent. Tupper had seen Owens go into the small building behind the hotel perhaps an hour before.

He wondered why the man had changed clothes inside. He'd been tempted to shoot him then, had peered down the barrel of the Winchester, nestling the front blade sight on Owens's chest. His finger had caressed the trigger for a moment, but he had not fired.

Putting a bullet through the man was not enough, no matter how good it might have felt to do it. He'd put the rifle down then, and settled in to wait and watch. He knew there would be an opportunity, knew that, like the sky in the west, things were coming to a boil. The rain had started a little while later as he lay under a bush on the hilltop. He'd watched as Owens disappeared back into the hotel.

It had almost been too dark to see. The rain and the black night had nearly made them invisible. He saw them though, Owens and the woman, the little girl, running for the door of the building through the rain as lightning lit them, froze them as if in a photographer's studio. As the door had slammed shut, Tupper gathered up his things. He had no choice now.

It was clear from Owens's actions that the woman and girl were a part of his plan. Tupper felt, rather than knew, it was not a good part. There was no good reason for Owens to be spiriting them into an outbuilding in the rain. Tupper wished he'd taken the shot, grumbling under his breath at his foolishness.

“You cannot unmake the past, Jim,” his grandfather said at his side. “You chose well with what you knew.”

“But now I must go in after him. He's going to kill them, I can feel it. He has the advantage now. All I have is this,” he said, knocking his knuckles against his chest, making a hard, hollow sound.

“You have more, Jim. Much more. The future is not given to me. I do not see it. But his advantage may only be in your head.”

It had been his grandfather who'd pushed open the door. “He is in the corner, behind the machine,” he said. “You must be careful.”

With a whoop, Tupper burst in, a pistol in one hand, the rifle in the other, tucked against his hip. He fired blindly, the light throwing off his aim. The bullet clanged off the Long-waisted Maryann, throwing off sparks.
Thud, thud, thud, thud.

They didn't sound like shots at first. Mary wasn't sure what had happened, only that the man who must have been Tupper was now on his back and blood was on the wall.

Owens came out of the shadows. The towel-wrapped pistol smoked in his hand. He stood over Tupper for a moment, then kicked his foot aside, closed the door, and threw the bolt once more.

“Well, that went well, don't you think?” Owens said, grinning, not talking to Mary so much as himself. He grabbed Tupper's boots and dragged him across the room.