“Are they secure?”

“Nah, we’ve just got them running around down there with machine guns. Gee, I hope the bicycle lock on the door holds.”

“Hey, I trust you,” I said. “I just like to know how things stand.”

“You’re right, that’s understandable. But don’t worry about it. You’re on vacation. Leave the details to me. Get some sleep.”

I really wanted to ask if I could go down and check things out, but I didn’t dare push the subject. Daniel resumed his slurping.

There was nothing I could do. I hated that. The only really smart course of action would be to move my seat far from its upright and locked position and get some sleep. I had a feeling the next day was going to be fairly eventful.

SHIT.

Sorry, I guess that’s not the most eloquent way to start this, but it really does seem appropriate. If I had a notepad or something I could probably come up with something poetic, or witty, or…I don’t know, I think “shit” pretty well sums it up.

Shit, shit, shit.

I’ve got a lot of intro stuff on my first tape, but that’s back at the motel in New York, and for all I know nobody will ever find it, so I’ll start over. I’m Roger Tanglen. Thirty-three years old. I would lie and say I’m this handsome stud muffin, but I’m sure they’ll find some picture to go with this, so I’ll be honest and say that I’ve got a big nose. Now that I think of it, if they’re showing the picture, you don’t need me to say that I’ve got a big nose, you’ll be able to see it for yourself, so I’ve just wasted about twenty seconds of your life telling you this. But I’m not gonna rewind because I’m trying to keep this thing honest. So expect all kinds of babbling. Like what you’re hearing right now.

The other people down here are giving me really dirty looks, so I need to get back on track. Right now I’m on a plane bound for who knows where. I’m sitting on the floor, and my feet are locked into these metal things…they’re sort of, I don’t know how to describe them…metal things that clamp over your ankles. I’m trying to think where I’ve seen them before. Well, it doesn’t matter; all that’s important is that I can’t go anywhere. There’s also a metal band around my neck, which is chained to the wall. The chain is starting to feel pretty heavy, to tell you the truth, but it’s not really restricting my movement, though if I managed to get my feet free it would keep me from escaping.

At least my arms are free. The guy who locked me down here searched me, but was nice enough to let me keep the tape recorder. He’s probably interested in hearing what I say. If I were really clever, I’d break it apart and make some sort of device to pick the locks, but I’m not all that clever. I don’t even know what these metal things are called.

There are three other people here with me. One is next to me, but not close enough to touch, and the other two are on the opposite side. Actually, how about you all call out your names and where you’re from? We never know where this tape will end up.

“I’m Mary Bendever, and I’m from Detroit.”

“Susan Piccinini. Also Detroit. ‹sobbing›”

“My name is Rodney Telfare, and I’m from Phoenix, Arizona, and if my wife and kids are listening to this I want them to know that I love them, and that Daddy will be home soon!”

So that’s the crew. My best friend Andrew is on the plane, I’m pretty sure. I still can’t believe it. He was the Headhunter all along. And you know, I think I even suspected it, but I didn’t want to admit it to myself. I feel like a total idiot. I can’t believe he murdered my cat. My precious Reverse Snowflake, killed by that monster.

I don’t want to talk about him any more.

I wonder if this flight will have beverage service?

Chapter 9

“AH, SMELL that fresh air,” said Daniel, beating on his chest and breathing deeply. “That’s the first thing that’s gotta go.”

We were in Alaska. According to Daniel, we were about thirty miles out of Fairbanks, not that I would have known any different. Local temperature was ten below zero, just super for a thin-blooded Florida guy. It was two in the afternoon, but Daniel told me that darkness would be falling very shortly.

We’d landed at another small runway, almost identical to the other one. Then we’d divided into two vans, one with Foster and the prisoners, and one with the evildoers and myself. A long drive through some treacherous, virtually non-existent, roads later, we arrived at our destination.

The centerpiece was a huge mansion. Patricia’s place was undeniably large, but this was one serious mansion. It was two stories, and almost as big as the Chamber Mall. “Forty-eight bedrooms,” said Daniel, as the iron gates swung open.

Behind the mansion was an immense metal structure, which from the outside sort of looked like an airplane hangar. A twenty-foot-high iron fence surrounded the entire area. A couple of dead birds lying in the snow next to it made me believe that it was electrified.

The gates closed behind us. Foster’s van veered to the right, and a sliding door opened at the entrance to the metal structure. As Foster backed the van into the structure, Daniel drove us right up to the front doors of the mansion and shut off the engine.

“Home, sweet, home!” he announced. We all got out, and then he made the comment about the fresh air and how it was the first thing that needed to go. Nobody laughed. I think they’d all heard it before.

“Nice place,” I said. “So what exactly is your day job, anyway?”

“I’m in the inheritance business.”

“Ah. Good work if you can get it.”

“No kidding.”

Daniel entered a code into a keypad next to the door, and there was a loud click. He swung the double-doors open and gestured grandly. “Welcome to my humble abode! Please wipe your feet before you enter.”

We walked inside. The foyer was enormous and elegantly decorated. There was a red-carpeted staircase leading upstairs that sort of looked like the one Clark Gable carried Vivian Leigh up in Gone With the Wind. There was a golden chandelier that sort of looked like the one in the Walt Disney version of Beauty and the Beast, though in real life and not animation. The whole place was overall very, very, very impressive.

“Wow,” I said, indicating that I was impressed.

“I’ll take you to your room,” Daniel told me. “We’ll eat dinner in about an hour, if that’s okay.”

“Sounds great.”

Daniel led me upstairs and down a long, red-carpeted corridor. The walls were covered with a light gold-colored wallpaper. The doors were spaced about thirty-feet apart, so I assumed there was plenty of closet space.

“Do you get a lot of visitors?” I asked.

“Oh, sure. Not like you, of course. Most of my visitors are of the non-homicidal variety. That’s why I’ve gotta keep things reasonably tasteful, at least in the mansion. But you get the special guest room.”

We stopped at a door that looked much like the others. Daniel tapped it. “That’s mahogany,” he said, proudly. He swiped a yellow plastic card through a reader next to the door, and then swung it open. I stepped inside the room.

There were dead bodies everywhere.

It was the tackiest decorating scheme I’d ever seen.

Every square inch of wall space was covered with pictures of corpses. Corpses in very bad shape. Some of the pictures were black-and-white newspaper clippings, while others were full-color and poster-sized. One of them looked like it was in 3-D. The four-poster bed had several fake heads resting on the pillows.

“Whaddya think?” Daniel asked.

“It’s…it’s nice.”

Daniel patted me on the shoulder. “I know it’s a bit much, but you’re a virgin to this place and you’ve gotta get the whole treatment. Don’t worry; we’ll move you to another room tomorrow. Go ahead and take a shower, enjoy the Jacuzzi, whatever you want. There are bathrobes in the closet, but I’ll bring you some clothes right before we head down for an early dinner. Is there anything else you need?”