He seemed possessed, as if one of Poe’s worst monsters had taken over his body. He kicked me repeatedly. I pushed up to my hands and knees and he kicked me again, flattening me. I felt something in my chest snap.

“You don’t have to do this,” I said, spitting blood. He kicked me in the mouth, loosening a tooth. “Like Poe said in Eureka, we’re free spirits. We can chart our own destiny.”

“In Dream-Land.”

“No. That’s where you got it wrong. He was talking about finding your own Dream-Land. He was talking about making this world a Dream-Land.”

“Liar. False prophet.”

I hauled myself up, hoping to make one final run at him, but he saw me coming. With both hands, he grabbed me by the neck and flung me backward. Off the riser. Into the flames.

I woke up and there were noises everywhere there were noises everywhere and they were so loud and it was just like the inside of my head except it was outside and the room was on fire everything was on fire and I don’t like fire I’m afraid of fire. Everyone was running and fighting to get out and I was going to get out too except I heard my dad calling and he sounded just like he did that time when he told me my mommy was dead and I wouldn’t get to see my mommy anymore. I ran to him and I saw him and he was hurt and he had red all over him. He was crawling and barely pulling himself along and his gun was in his hand and I don’t like guns I don’t like them at all but he was too weak to lift it up. I shouted for someone to help but no one was listening until someone told me he’d talked to the hospital and ambulances were coming and I tried to get my dad out of there before the entire room burned down and there was a scream! There was a scream I knew it was a scream and I knew who it was even before I saw her it was Susan and she was falling falling and she fell so far please God don’t let her be dead please don’t please don’t please don’t please don’t let the Bad Man take away our babies. Susan is my friend doesn’t he know Susan is my friend just like Brian in the fifth grade was my friend until they took him away to another school but Susan is still my friend and I want her to stay to be my friend. Please don’t hurt her. People should not hurt each other! People should not hurt each other!

I hit the floor back first, head tucked, then rolled, like they teach us at the academy, but I was certain I’d broken my right arm. Maybe a leg. It sure hurt enough. Possibly had a concussion. I didn’t have time to do a personal inventory. As soon as I opened my eyes, he was standing there, hovering over me, his foot between my legs.

“You know I loved you. You know that.” He looked like Satan, with belching smoke and billowing flames in the background.

Blood trickled out of my mouth when I tried to speak. I knew I couldn’t escape. He could pump three rounds into my skull before I could blink. “You had a damn funny way of showing it.”

“I let you live.”

A silence fell, blocking out the fiery chaos surrounding us.

“I did that for no other,” he continued. “It was not the will of the Raven, but I did it, because I so desperately wanted you to see the path.” His lips trembled. “You must hate me.”

“No.” And as I spoke, staring up at his twisted, pathetic face, I realized it was true. Whatever anger I’d had, whatever enmity I’d borne, was gone now. “I don’t hate you. I did. But not anymore. I told you already. We’re a lot alike.”

“We are?”

I nodded. “Both haunted. Both screwed to the max.” I wiped the blood from my mouth. “I used to think you were evil. Like if I demonized your psychosis, that somehow made it easier to deal with.” I laughed. “Hell, you’re not evil.”

“I’m… not?”

“No. You’re just a poor schmuck who misses his sister. Like I miss my husband.”

He hovered over me, gun still pointed, listening.

“I couldn’t forgive my husband for what he did. And I channeled all that anger against you. But that’s no way to live. I’m not going to spend my whole life angry, tearing myself apart. I forgive you.”

“You-what?”

“You heard me. I forgive you.”

He hesitated, gun wavering, sweat and blood trickling down the sides of his face. “You know I can’t let you live.”

I spat more blood out of my mouth. Something inside me was broken. I couldn’t remain conscious much longer. “So if you’re going to kill me, do it already. What do I get, the axe? I don’t think you have time for dental surgery.”

His face knotted up. “You are so… hard on me.” He pressed the gun against the side of my head. “I’m sorry, Susan. Goodbye.”

The gun fired. I winced. And waited, expecting to feel the intense pain-and release-that did not come. Always I think I’ve made it, but it never, never comes.

I opened my eyes. Abbott had crumpled to the floor. And behind him stood Darcy, shaking from head to foot, his normally inexpressive face contorted with pain, his eyes streaming tears.

He was holding his father’s gun.

38

After that, everything got kind of fuzzy. I know police and fire teams invaded the ballroom, and I know they got me out of there. Darcy hovered by my side the whole time. He was horribly torn up about what he had done. I knew it would haunt him for a long time, maybe forever. But at that moment, all he seemed to care about was me.

Next couple of days were pretty much a haze, too, but I eventually got the lowdown on what had happened in the aftermath. There were surprisingly few casualties from the fire. Many injuries, lots of smoke-inhalation-related respiratory problems, but only a few fatalities, mostly because O’Bannon had blasted open an exit to speed up the evacuation. That ballroom and the one adjoining it were wrecked, but most of the rest of the hotel was still sound. I’d prevented Abbott from detonating the remaining incendiary bombs, which were found and removed.

O’Bannon was seriously wounded and would be in the hospital for months. He’d already had his phone rerouted to his room in the recovery ward and had all his open files sent over. He might be laid up, but he was definitely not out of commission.

Patrick had been killed with an axe, which Abbott had apparently brought along to cut the rope he used to string up the girls. We assumed he’d come upon Abbott at work and Abbott killed him. Hid the body where he thought no one would find it, at least not before the explosions started. What a waste. He was a good man, a kind man. A rarity, in our field. I miss him.

Abbott died, almost instantly. Darcy’s gunshot got him in the brain. Although I could empathize with the pain his life had brought him, I had no regrets about his execution. He had crossed the threshold into utter psychosis. No drug therapy ever would have brought him back. It was better this way.

Rachel was alive. The bells hadn’t been as hard as they looked-not real iron. She still had a concussion and had suffered some hearing loss, at least temporarily. But she was alive. And the docs told me that if I hadn’t gotten to her when I did and stopped that bell, she might not have made it.

That was something, anyway.

The other three girls, Tiffany and Judy and JJ, were also alive, but seriously messed up, far worse than Rachel. They hadn’t been in their bells as long-apparently they had helped him secure Rachel-but they were suffering severe psychological trauma from their time in captivity. It would be a long while before they were normal again, if indeed they ever were. But they were alive, and where there’s life, there’s hope. Right?

This time, I let the docs keep me in the hospital just as long as they wanted. I was in no hurry, and it gave me time to do some thinking. Which for me, was long overdue.

After six days, I was released. My arm was in a cast, my leg bore a brace, and I had a cracked rib, but I was out of there. Lisa picked me up at the hospital.