Kevin couldn’t think clearly about anything.

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do,” the boy said. “First I’m going to cut you in a few places you’ll never forget. I want you to use your imagination for me. Then I’m going to come back here and tap on Samantha’s window like you do. When she opens the shade, I’m going to stick my knife right through the glass.”

The boy chewed on his tongue; his eyes flashed with excitement. He lifted the knife and touched the blade with his left hand. He glanced down and fixated on the sharp edge. “I’ll be through the glass and in her throat before she can . . .”

Kevin ran then, while the boy’s eyes were still diverted.

“Hey!”

The boy took after him. Kevin had a twenty-foot head start—a fifth of what he needed to outrun the larger boy. At first sheer adrenaline pushed Kevin forward. But behind him the boy began to chuckle and his voice grew closer. Now terror pounded Kevin in unrelenting waves. He screamed, but nothing came out because his throat had frozen shut. The ground seemed to slope upward and then sideways and Kevin lost his sense of direction.

A hand touched his collar. If the boy caught him, he would use the knife. And then he would go after Sam. He might not kill her, but he would at least cut her face. Probably worse.

He wasn’t sure where his house was, but it wasn’t where he desperately needed it to be. So Kevin did the only thing he knew to do. He turned to his left and tore across the street.

The chuckling stopped for a moment. The boy grunted and doubled his efforts—Kevin could hear his feet pounding with a new determination.

The chuckling started again.

Kevin’s chest ached and his breath came in huge gasps now. For a terrible moment he considered just falling down and letting the boy cut him up.

A hand swatted him on the head. “Keep running, squat. I hate it when they just lie there.”

Kevin had lost his sense of direction completely. They were coming up to one of the old warehouses in the district across the street. He saw a door in the building directly ahead. Maybe . . . maybe if he could get through that door.

He veered to his right, and then broke for the building. He slammed into the old door, yanked it open, and plunged into the darkness beyond.

The stairwell five feet inside the door saved his life, or at the very least some of his body parts. He tumbled down the stairs, crying out in pain. When he came to rest at the bottom landing, his head felt as though it had come off. He struggled to his feet and turned back to the stairs.

The boy stood at the top, backlit by the moonlight, chuckling. “The end,” he said and started down the steps.

Kevin spun and ran. Right into another door. A steel door. He grasped the handle and twisted, but the bulk refused to budge. He saw the deadbolt, threw it open, and plunged headlong into a pitch-black room. He stumbled forward and smacked into a concrete wall.

The boy grabbed Kevin’s hair.

Kevin screamed. His voice echoed crazily about him. He screamed louder. No one would hear them; they were underground.

“Shut up! Shut up!” The boy hit him in the mouth.

Kevin summoned all of his fear and struck out blindly into the darkness. His fist connected with something that cracked. The boy hollered and let go of Kevin’s hair. Kevin’s legs gave way and he collapsed.

It occurred to him in that moment that whatever the boy had initially planned for him could no longer compare to what he would do now.

Kevin rolled and staggered to his feet. The door was to his right, dull gray in the faint light. The boy faced him, one hand on his nose, the other tight around the knife.

“You just lost your eyes, boy.”

Kevin bolted without thought. He sprang through the open door, spun around, and slammed it shut. He threw his left hand up and rammed the deadbolt home.

Then it was just him, in the concrete staircase, breathing hard. Silence swallowed him.

A very soft yell reached beyond the steel door. Kevin held his breath and backed up slowly. He lunged up the steps, got halfway up before the sound of the boy reached him again, just barely. He was yelling and cursing and threatening him with words Kevin could barely understand because they were so quiet.

There was no way out, was there? If he left, the boy might die in there! No one would hear his screams. He couldn’t leave.

Kevin turned back and slowly descended the stairs. What if he slipped the bolt open and made a break for it? He could make it, maybe.

“I swear I’m gonna kill you . . .”

Kevin knew then that he had only two options. Open the door and get cut, maybe die. Run away and let the boy die, maybe live.

“I hate you! I hate you!” The scream was eerily distant, but raspy and bitter.

Kevin whirled around and flew up the steps. He had no choice. He had no choice. For Samantha, that’s what the boy got. It was his own fault anyway.

Kevin shut the outer door behind him and ran into the night. He didn’t know quite how or exactly when, but sometime while it was still dark, he made it back into his bed.

Something rattled violently. Kevin jerked up. The tabletop reflected the morning sun at eye level. The cell phone vibrated slowly toward the edge.

Kevin scrambled to his feet. Dear God, give me strength.He glanced at the clock. 9:00 A.M. Where were the police?

He reached his hand for the phone, hesitated, and then snatched it off the table. Play the game, Jennifer had said. Play the game.

“Hello?”

“How is our chess player doing this morning?” Slater asked.

So he hadbeen listening! Kevin closed his eyes and focused his mind. His life depended on what he said. Be smart. Outthink him.

“Ready to play,” he said, but his voice didn’t sound ready.

“You’ll have to do better than that. Kevin, Kevin, Kevin. Two little challenges, two little failures, two little booms. You’re beginning to bore me. Did you see my little gift?”

“Yes.”

“What’s three times three?”

Three times three.“Nine,” he said.

“Smart boy. Nine o’clock, time to rock. Time for the third. What takes you there but takes you nowhere?You have sixty minutes. It’ll be worse this time, Kevin.”

The phone on the counter rang shrilly. He had to keep Slater on the phone.

“Can I ask a question?” he asked.

“No. But you may answer the room phone. Maybe it will be Sam. Wouldn’t that be cozy? Answer the phone.”

Kevin slowly lifted the room phone off the hook.

“Kevin?” Sam’s familiar voice filled his ear, and despite the impossible situation, he felt a bucket of relief wash over him. He wasn’t sure what to say. He held the cell phone against his right ear and the room phone against his other ear.

“Tell her hello from Slater,” Slater said.

Kevin hesitated. “Slater says hello,” he said.

“He called?” she asked.

“He’s on the other line.”

“Too bad Jennifer left so early,” Slater said. “The four of us could throw a little party. Time’s running out. Fifty-nine minutes and fifty-one seconds. Your move.” The cell phone clicked.

Sam spoke again. “Kevin, listen to me! Is he still on—”

“He’s gone.”

“Don’t move. I’m turning up your street now. I’ll be there in ten seconds.” She disconnected.

Kevin stood, immobile, a phone in each hand. Play the game. Play the game. It was the boy; it had to be the boy.

The door flew open. “Kevin?” Sam ran in.

He spun. “I have sixty minutes.”

“Or what?”

“Another bomb?”

She stepped up to him and cradled her hands under his wrists. “Okay. Listen to me, we have to think this through clearly.” She eased the phones out of his hands and then took him by the shoulders. “Listen to me—”

“We have to call the FBI.”