Chapter 16

THERE WERE many possible responses to that query, but I went with the most generic. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Now, see, that’s the kind of thing that really bugs me,” said Daniel. “I’m not stupid, and I’d like you to respect my intelligence. You’re not the Headhunter, you never were. You’re Andrew Mayhem, happily married with two kids and a best friend you’d give your life for. I’m assuming you managed to get the real Headhunter to blab his whole story, and you thought that you’d pass yourself off as him to be a great big hero and rescue all these poor innocent victims. Now tell me, is that a reasonable assessment of the situation?”

I remained silent.

“I’m not playing around anymore. The games are on hold. I asked you a question, and I expect an answer.”

“No, it’s not a reasonable assessment.”

“Is that a fact? Okay, then, Mortimer, would you like to show Exhibit A?”

Mortimer held up the piece of notebook paper I’d tried to fax. The writing was smeared, but still legible, even with my lousy handwriting.

“Exhibit A, found in the pants pocket of a Mr. Andrew Mayhem, one hour ago by Mortimer, who was so kind as to say yes when I asked him to throw some clothes in the wash. Not a very promising sign of your loyalty to our little group, now is it?”

“I can explain,” I said. I desperately wanted myself to just shut up, but the lame comments kept spewing out of my mouth.

“I’m not interested in your explanation quite yet. Ready for Exhibit B?”

“I’m ready for Exhibit B,” said Foster.

“Alas, there is no real Exhibit B. Exhibit B is simply the agreement by all of us that your story is complete bullshit. To be totally honest, you were pretty questionable from the beginning, to some of us more than others, but I think even without Exhibit A we’d still be in this same spot, having this same conversation. Without the references to Exhibit A, naturally.”

“Or Exhibit B,” Josie added.

“Right, though the gist of Exhibit B would remain, it simply wouldn’t have been referred to as Exhibit B, since there would have been no Exhibit A to follow. Do you understand what I’m driving at, Andrew?”

“Just that you people are totally sick in the head.”

Daniel frowned. “Now, that’s another one of those things that really bugs me. I’m not asking you to throw yourself at my feet in tears or anything, but it wouldn’t hurt you to be polite.”

“You expect me to be polite while you’re accusing me of this nonsense?” I’d developed such an unbearably bad headache that I now had an escape plan. I’d simply wait to my head to explode, and then use the distraction to flee.

“Okay, now we’ve gone past the point of things that bug me into the realm of things that piss me off. We’ve caught you, Andrew. You’re dead. You’re history. In fact, when you find out what we’ve got planned for you, you’re going to wish you’d been one of those poor souls we tore apart with the darts.”

“I wholeheartedly agree with that statement,” said Foster. “Your death is not going to be a nice one.”

“No, it’s not,” Josie added. “I’ve never considered myself a squeamish woman, but just thinking about what’s going to happen to you makes me want to squeam.”

Daniel chuckled. “So shall we get to it?”

“Whoa, hold on,” I said, barely able to hear my own words. “Don’t I get to tell my side of it?”

Daniel shook his head. “No. You do not.”

“You can’t do this. You can’t drag me all the way to Alaska for your little party and then treat me like this.”

Daniel slammed his fist against the armrest, making Josie jump. “ You are not the Headhunter! ” he screamed. “Stop insulting my intelligence! You are dead! D-E-A-D! And there’s not a single thing that can save you! Do you understand?”

The doorbell rang.

“What the hell?” asked Daniel.

“People know where I am,” I said. “Cops, FBI, the whole works. I’ve got a tracer in my shoe. They’ve known where I was from the beginning. So I strongly recommend that you behave yourself.”

“Foster, check it out,” said Daniel. Foster nodded and hurried out of the room.

“You’d all better just give up now,” I told everyone. “Things are going to get ugly.”

“Things are already ugly,” Daniel informed me. “And you don’t have to worry, no matter what happens I will make sure you die. And get your hand away from your pocket before I shoot it off.”

I didn’t have anything in my pocket, but he didn’t have to know that. “I’ve seen your shooting at darts. I wasn’t impressed.”

Daniel’s face darkened. “You can not possibly imagine how much I am going to enjoy what we’ve got planned for you.”

There was a gunshot.

“Mortimer, Stan…see what the deal is,” said Daniel. They quickly left the room.

“Gee, I hope Foster’s all right,” I said. “He was always my favorite. He gets those cute little dimples when he smiles. Doesn’t he just light up the room when he enters?”

Another gunshot.

“Doesn’t sound good, does it?” I asked.

“Foster!” Daniel shouted. “Hey, Foster! What the hell is going on out there?”

No answer.

“Mortimer?” he called out.

“I hope Morty’s not dead yet,” I said. “He was a good teammate.”

Then I heard laughter. Multiple voices.

My heart sank.

Mortimer entered the room. “It’s taken care of.”

Foster and Stan followed, dragging Thomas. He was severely frostbitten, barely conscious, and had a bullet hole in his leg.

“Well, well, what have we here?” asked Daniel.

“I have no idea how he managed to get through the fence,” Foster said. “He tried to pretend like his car broke down. Dumb fuck could barely hold the gun.”

“Was he alone?”

“Looks that way.”

“Take him to the operating room. Use whatever it takes to get the whole story. Don’t be gentle.”

“No problem.”

This was the moment where I had to go for broke.

“Stan? Put Andrew to bed.”

Suddenly I felt a sharp pain in my neck. I plucked out a tiny dart, and then immediately became dizzy.

I lunged at Mortimer with my bare hands, but missed by a good three feet. I stumbled forward, hit the carpet without feeling a thing, and was overtaken by darkness.

WHEN I woke up, I was in a large, chilly room with a dirt floor. The plaster ceiling was about ten feet high and held several fluorescent light bulbs.

I was seated in a wheelchair, wearing only my boxer shorts, strapped in so thoroughly that the only thing I could move was my neck and head. Roger was seated in a wheelchair next to me, fully clothed but also strapped in.

“Roger! I’m so sorry!” I said.

Roger nodded. “At least we get to see each other again. Makes it all worthwhile, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, yeah, kissy kissy,” said Daniel. He was in front of us, seated on an oversized pine coffin, next to which were a series of freshly dug graves. Josie, Foster, Mortimer, and Stan were standing around, while Thomas kneeled on the ground in front of them, duct tape over his mouth and his arms tied behind his back.

“This is the burial room,” Daniel explained. “We don’t use headstones, for obvious reasons, but this is where we keep the corpses when we’re done with them. As you can see, our good friends Susan and Trevor are awaiting their last rites.”

He gestured to a cart next to the door, where a pair of bloody, unrecognizable bodies lay. “I’m pleased to announce that we’ll be adding to today’s body count. Roger, we listened to your tape. Very entertaining, as we knew it would be. Nice attempt to cover for your buddy. I admire that kind of loyalty. Therefore, you get to watch your friends die, then we’re putting you back in your cell. You’ll die later, of course, but at least you can enjoy this plane of existence for a short while longer.”

Roger didn’t respond.