BOOOOM!
There’s silence, then, sprinkled only by the rattling and hissing of dust and debris falling.
“That’s one way to end a good ol’ shoot out,” Puck says. “I was havin’ fun, but whatever.”
Dad sees me, scans me. Returns his attention to Harris.
“He’s on the other side of that door.” Harris exchanges magazines. “We’ve scoured the rest of the place. This is the only place he can be. Anselm and Dyani are watching the roof and the exits.”
Boom-Boom peers around the doorframe, then jogs forward. Does his magic on the door with the breaching kit.
Another concussion, another sprinkling of debris.
I can feel him—a miasma of darkness on the other side of the door.
I hear a whimper. Soft, female, young.
“Don’t come in here.” The voice from the phone. “I’m warning you.”
I have no memory of ever exchanging mags, but the weight distribution in my bag and vest tells me I have. I let my rifle sling down by the strap connected to my vest. Pull my pistol.
Creep forward. The dust surely obscures me.
I stop in the doorway. I can just make out the room beyond—there’s a slit window here. Spaulding, in a damn suit. Nothing out of place, even now. He has a girl in front of him. Thirteen at most. Naked. Bleeding in a dozen places from cuts and bruises. Tortured, hurt for the hell of it. Her thighs are bruised. I can see the dark shadows on her pale skinny thighs. She’s blond, blue-eyed. Skinny. Barely into pubescence. Still in that wiry little filly phase, where she’s getting her height but not the curves yet.
Her eyes find me, tear-stained.
Rage burns in me like a thousand suns.
“Rin,” I hear Dad’s voice behind me. “Make the decision cold, honey.”
I swallow the hate. Force it down. Ice. Nothing. Black, cold nothingness.
I’m shaking with rage. It’s there, I still feel it, but it’s subsumed under numbness.
I steady my hands.
“I had to bring something to play with,” Spaulding says. His gun is to her temple.
Finger on the trigger.
“It’s over, Dick.” I assume the Weaver stance. “You’re done. You’re dead. The girl’s innocent. You’ve had your fun with her, now let her go. If you cooperate, we may kill you quick rather than slow.”
“Bold words from someone with none of the cards.” His voice is so calm.
“You’re hiding behind a teenage girl, Dick. How long will that last. You think no one here is willing to shoot through her to get to you? Think again, Dick.”
“Stop calling me that.” The first hint of emotion in his voice.
“You don’t like it? Aww, sorry little Dickie boy. Tiny, pathetic, weak little Dickie boy.”
“You’re going to get her killed.”
“She was dead the moment you got your filthy fucking hands on her.”
I can’t tell if the girl can understand us. She’s hyperventilating.
He peeks around her skinny little shoulder, hunched and contorted to use such a waif as a shield. “I might be convinced to let her go.”
