Thr3e (37 page)

Slater stood back, panting. Balinda quieted.

“Don’t you hate these women who don’t know how to keep their yappers shut?” Slater turned around. “Now, where were we?”

A strange resolve settled over Kevin. He was going to die down here after all. He really had nothing to lose. The twisted boy had grown up into a pathetic monster. Slater would kill both him and Balinda without a fleeting thought of remorse.

“You’re sick,” Kevin said.

“Now there’s a novel thought. Actually, you’re the sick one. That’s what they suspect now and, believe me, by the time I’m done here, they won’t have any reason to think differently.” “You’re wrong. You’ve already proved your insanity. You’ve torn this city to shreds and now you’ve kidnapped an innocent—”

“Innocent? Hardly, but that’s not the point. The point is,
you
kidnapped her.” Slater grinned wide.

“You’re not making sense.”

“Of course not. I’m not making any sense to you because you’re not thinking. You and I both know that I did all those nasty things. That Slater called Kevin, and Slater blew up the bus, and Slater is holding the old witch in a cement box. Problem is, they think that Kevin is Slater. And if they don’t yet, they will soon enough. Kevin is Slater because Kevin is crazy.” Grin. “That’s the plan, puke.” Kevin stared, mind numb. “That’s . . . that’s not possible.”

“Actually, it is. Which is why it’ll work. You don’t think I’d go for something implausible, do you?”

“How could I be you?”

“Multiple Personality Disorder. MPD. You’re me without even knowing that you are me.”

Kevin shook his head. “You’re actually stupid enough to think that Jennifer—”

“Sam believes it.” Slater walked over to the desk and touched a black box that looked like an answering machine. He’d lowered the pistol to his side, and Kevin wondered if he could rush him before he had a chance to lift it and shoot.

“She found the cell phone I used in your pocket—that alone’s enough for most juries. But they’ll find more. The recordings, for instance. They’ll show that my voice is really your voice, manipulated to sound like a terrible killer named Slater.” Slater feigned horror and shivered. “Oooo . . . chilling, don’t you think?”

“There are a thousand holes! You’ll never get away with it.”

“There are no holes!” Slater snapped. Then he grinned again. “And I already
am
getting away with it.”

He picked up a picture. It was a photograph of Sam, taken at a distance with a telephoto lens. “She’s really quite beautiful,” he said, lost in the image for a moment. He reached up and ripped down a large black sheet that hung on the wall. Behind it, fifty or sixty pictures had been affixed to the concrete.

They were all of Samantha.

Kevin blinked and took a step forward. Slater’s gun came up. “Stay back.”

Pictures of Sam on the street, New York, Sacramento, through a window, in her bedroom . . . Heat spread down Kevin’s neck.

“What are you doing?”

“I wanted to kill her once.” Slater slowly faced Kevin, eyes sagging. “But you know that. You wanted her, so you tried to kill me instead.”

Slater’s lips began to quiver and his breathing came in short quick drags. “Well, now I
am
going to kill her. And I’m going to show the world who you really are, because you’re no better than I am. You’re the pretty boy down the street she loves to play with. But does that make you better? No!” He screamed the last word and Kevin jumped.

“Hang out with me for a while and we’ll see how sweet you are.” He leaned forward and tapped Kevin’s chest with the gun barrel. “Deep down inside you’re no different than I am. If you’d met me before you met Samantha, we’d both have been at her window, licking the glass. I know that, because I was just like you once.”

“That’s what this is about?” Kevin demanded. “A jealous schoolboy come back to butcher the boy across the street? You’re pathetic!”

“And so are you! You’re sick like the rest of them.” Slater spat a thimbleful of saliva at the cement. It landed with a smack. “Sick!” He took two steps forward and shoved the gun into Kevin’s cheek. Pain flashed up his jaw. “I should just end this now. You and all the freaks who pretend to be so sweet on Sundays! You may not be me but really you are me, you slug.”

Slater’s body shook against Kevin’s.

Kevin’s mind began to shut down
. You’re going to die, Kevin.

Slater fights a desperate urge to pull the trigger. He knows that he can’t do it. This isn’t the plan. Not this way. Not yet.

He stares at Kevin’s round eyes. The smell of fear and sweat wafts through his nostrils. Impulsively he sticks out his tongue and presses it firmly against Kevin’s jaw. He draws it all the way up his cheek to his temple, as if he’s licking an ice-cream cone. Salty. Bitter. Sick, sick, sick.

Slater shoves Kevin and steps back. “Know what I taste? I taste Slater. I’m going to kill her, Kevin. I’m going to kill both of them. But that’s not what the world will think. They’re going to think that you did it.”

Kevin straightens and glares at him. The man has more spunk than Slater estimated. Enough to come here, he’d guessed as much. But he can’t forget that this man also locked him in that cellar once, when he was still a boy. They might be more alike than even Slater realizes.

He takes a deep breath. “Now, let’s calm down, shall we? I have a new game I would like to play.”

“I’m not going to play any more games,” Kevin says.

“Yes, you are. You’ll play more games or I’ll cut up Mommy, one finger at a time.”

Kevin glances at the door that holds the old woman.

“And if we still aren’t properly motivated, I’ll start on
your
fingers. Are we still all stuffed and cocky?”

Kevin just stares at him. At least he isn’t whimpering and crying like the old hag.

“Let’s face it, Kevin. You came here with one thing on your mind. You wanted to kill. Kill, kill, kill. That’s another way you and I are alike.” Slater shrugs. “True, the object of your blood lust is me, but when you cut away all the face-saving, it’s the same instinct. Most humans are truly murderers, but I didn’t bring you here to lecture. I brought you here to kill. I’m going to give you your wish. You came to kill me, but that doesn’t suit my tastes, so I’ve chosen to flip things a bit.”

Kevin doesn’t flinch.

“We already have one, but we need the other.” Slater looks at the wall, the collage of pictures. It’s in part her beauty that he hates so much. It’s why he keeps the photographs covered. By nine o’clock she will be dead.

“Kill me,” Kevin says. “I hate you.” He speaks the last words with such contempt that Slater feels a sliver of shock.

But Slater doesn’t show shock. He shows anger and hatred, but not shock, because shock is weakness.

“So courageous. So noble. How can I refuse such a sincere request? Consider yourself dead already. We all die; yours will be a living death until you finally do kick the bucket. In the meantime, we must lure in our second victim. She will fly to your rescue. Her knight is in peril.”

“I despise you.”

“You will help me or Mommy will begin to scream!” Slater says.

Kevin glares at him and then closes his eyes slowly.

“Just a simple call, Kevin. I would do it, but I really need her to hear your voice.”

Kevin shakes his head and is about to speak, but Slater doesn’t want to hear it. He steps forward and slams the gun against the side of Kevin’s head.

“I’ll kill her, you perverted little brat!”

Blood oozes down Kevin’s face. This excites Slater.

Kevin’s face wrinkles and he begins to cry. Better, much better. He sinks slowly to his knees and for the first time since his nemesis entered the room, Slater knows he will win.

Samantha raced through Long Beach. Secret. What secret? Kevin had hidden his dealing with Slater as a boy and he’d remained quiet about his home life, but the journal entry had to be something else. Something the professor knew.

She was a block away when her cell phone rang. She couldn’t imagine how investigators had managed before the advent of cellular technology. On the other hand, criminals took advantage as well. Slater certainly had.

“Sam.”

“This is Kevin.”

“Kevin!”

“ . . . no one else. Do you understand?” His voice sounded flat— horrible. He was reading, being forced. Sam veered for the curb, ignoring a honk behind.

“Kevin, if you’re with Slater keep talking and don’t cough. If you’re not, cough. Yes, I do understand.” Actually, she’d missed what she was supposed to understand. And she quickly considered asking him to repeat it, but that might endanger him.

Kevin didn’t cough.

“We’re playing a new game,” he said. “This game’s for you, Sam. If you can find us before nine, he’ll set me and Mommy free.” His voice wavered. She heard a muffled voice in the background. Slater.

“I will give you the first clue. If you find it, there will be another one. No authorities can be involved, including that wench, Jennifer.” Slater chuckled in the background. His voice suddenly filled the phone, loud and eager.

“First clue:
Who loves what he sees, but hates what he loves?
You might find a clue in his house; you might not. Hurry to the rescue, Princess.” The phone went dead.

“Slater? Kevin!” Sam threw the phone against the windshield. “Aaaahh!”

Who loves what he sees, but hates what he loves?
Her mind was blank.
6:27
. Less than three hours. She had to get back to Kevin’s house. The answers had to be in his papers. His journal. Somewhere!

She roared through a U-turn and headed back north. What was the chance that Slater had found a way to monitor her phone calls? If he knew electronics well enough to pull off a frame on Kevin, he knew more than she. No authorities involved, he’d said.

Sam bent for her cell on the floor and swerved badly enough to force a second attempt. She caught the phone, fumbled with the battery, which had jarred loose. Power on. Redial.

“Thank you again for your time, Dr. Francis. As I explained on the phone—”

“Yes, yes, of course.” The professor waved her in. “Please come in, dear. Believe me, I will do whatever I can for that boy.”

Jennifer paused. “You understand why I’m here? It seems that you know more about Kevin than you first suggested. At least Kevin believes you do.”

“I know him better than most, yes. But nothing that I haven’t told you.”

“That’s what we’re going to find out. With your help.” She stepped into the house. “We’re running out of time, Professor. If you can’t help us, I’m afraid no one will be able to. You talked to Samantha Sheer from CBI earlier today; she’ll be here shortly.” Her cell went off and she pulled it from her waist. “Excuse me.”

It was Sam. She’d heard from Kevin. Jennifer instinctively turned back toward the door and listened while Sam ran through the details.

“So you’re headed
back
to the house?”

“Yes. Review the clue with Dr. Francis.
Who loves what he sees, but hates what he loves?
You got it? Review
everything
with him. He has to know something.”

“I have to report this.”

“Slater said no cops, and he mentioned you by name. You won’t be out of the loop. Just stay where you are. Don’t brief Milton. Let me work alone; that’s all I ask. If you think of anything, call me. But this is between us now. Kevin, Slater, and me. Please, Jennifer.”