Page 139 of The Outsider
“The joke, my dear man, is on you,” Jim J called out, amusement in his voice. “I love hide and seek.”
I tried to stomp on his foot, but I was too slow. He evaded me easily, then punished me with another hard pull on my hair. With his opposite hand, he withdrew a long knife, then teased the skin of my throat with the warm steel.
“I’ve never liked guns,” Jim J announced to the empty theatre, his voice echoing eerily in the stillness. “Too quick. Too efficient. The kill is something that the Prince of Painsavours. Death is a gift we give to our enemies; they should anticipate its arrival.”
My stomach dropped, but I didn’t dare move an inch with the edge of the knife pressed to my skin. Tension hung thickly in the air. At least the blood seeping from my scalp had slowed.
Jim J waited, but John didn’t reappear, and no sound announced his movements. I knew better than to think he wasn’t still there; he could be quiet as the grave when necessary. The best thing I could do was distract Jim J, in the hope that it’d give John the chance to make a move.
“James,” I managed to get out, my breath shallow. “You’re—”
He pulled the knife away from my throat and threw me onto the floor, knocking the wind out of me. I gasped, trying to catch my breath.
“You dare to address me, Vessel?” Jim J demanded. “Lower than dirt.”
He kicked me hard, making me cry out and curl into a ball. Half a second later, hot, sticky liquid hit my cheek; he spat on me.
“Now, you’ll see—”
Whatever grand announcement Jim J was about to make, it never came, because he was suddenly crushed underneath the falling weight of a bigger, heavier man. John had jumped from the rafters above and decked him. I scrambled on my knees to get out of the way.
John drew his knife, and as Jim J took in a huge gasp of air, he stabbed him in the back, angling the knife up under his ribcage. Blows that would’ve killed anyone else, but Jim J barely flinched. With a demented giggle that chilled my blood, he ignored the vicious stabbing that ensued; he barely seemed to feel pain. New terror flooded my system.
He’s not human—he can’t be.
He waited so casually, as though waiting patiently for John to tire.That’s exactly what he’s doing,I realized.
As though he’d had a sudden burst of adrenaline, Jim J rolled, violently knocking John off him. He sprang to his feet and kicked John—once, twice, and a third time for good measure. John curled into himself, stunned, and didn’t move.
A shriek of pure agony, not quite human, clawed my throat as I saw him lying there. Jim J dove for me, tackling me onto the stage, and his tongue was back in my face. I sputtered and spat at him, but out of the corner of my eye, I spotted John on his feet again. The next second, the old, rusty anchor came down on Jim J, knocking him off me.
Before Jim J could react, John bludgeoned him again with the anchor. As he lay there, stunned, John raised the anchor one last time, grunting with the effort, and speared its sharp hooks into Jim J’s body with all his strength.
He hopped back, panting. Jim J’s manic grin returned, but as he tried to stand…he couldn’t. John had skewered him to the floor, and despite how he squirmed, the anchor was too heavy for him to move.
Still breathing heavily, John dropped to his knees beside me.
“Claire,” he exhaled, grabbing my face in his hands and examining me frantically. “Your head—”
“I think I’m okay,” I whispered. I had no idea if that was true, but now was not the time to worry. “What do we do now?”
John let me go and stood up again, setting his pack on the floor. He withdrew a matchbox from it, and struck one to ignite it.
“I’ll follow you, you know,” Jim J croaked, staring at me. “Wherever you go. You can’t escape your fate.”
“Neither can you,” John retorted, and before I understood what he was doing, he tossed the lit match into the cluster of wood cutouts and piled curtains.
Old and dry, they went up like a tinderbox, and the wood floor beneath them quickly caught, too. He struck another match and lit another pile of dusty theatre curtains. As the fire began to spread rapidly, Jim J called out.
“Help! Family! Please!”
His pitiful cries incited a new wave of loathing within me, and I was grateful when John clutched my clammy hand and pulled me toward an exit. A flaming curtain fell just as we left, covering Jim J, and his screams as he burned would haunt my dreams.
“It’s okay now,” John said, turning my face to look at him. His amber eyes were sharp and focused. “I’m going to get us home.”
I nodded, and he led through a series of hallways, then to a door that read Basement. At the bottom of the staircase, Holly waited, fidgeting nervously.
“Wondered when you’d show up again,” John said with disgust. “Thanks so much for helping us with Jim J, by the way.”
