“Stay!” Slater said.

Sam’s mind climbed from the pain. Kevin was shooting himself? Any normal person viewing this would see that he’d just shot himself in the thigh.

The details began to fall into order, like dominoes slowly toppling in a long line. So then if Kevin shot Sam in the head, he’d really kill whom? Himself? He was going to kill either Balinda or himself! And even if Slater killed Sam, he would really be pulling the trigger on Kevin, because all three of them occupied the same body. No matter who shot whom, Kevin’s body would receive the bullet!

Sam felt a swarm of panic. Tell Kevin, Jennifer had said.

“When I say back off, I mean back off—not pinch her, not lick her, not spit on her,” Slater said. “Back off really does mean back off. So . . . back off!”

Sam took a side step away from Balinda. Hurry, Jennifer, please hurry! Beneath the screw. That means the basement; you know about the basement, don’t you? Dear God, help them.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Slater’s eyes danced around. “Don’t worry, a bullet to the head does wonders for the odd surface wound. Pow!Works every time.”

“He’s bleeding in the ear because you hit mein the ear,” Sam said. “He’s bleeding in the leg too, isn’t he?” She followed Slater’s glance. Kevin stood, weaving on his feet, stricken with empathy. Blood soaked both his shoe and his right pant leg. He didn’t feel the pain because in his mind it hadn’t happened to him. Their personalities were completely fragmented. And what about Slater? She dropped her eyes to his thigh—a red spot was spreading on his tan slacks. Slater had shot Sam, but the wound appeared on both Kevin and Slater. She looked at Slater’s ear. Then at his shoe. Blood there too.

“I’m so sorry, Sam,” Kevin said. “This isn’t your fault. I’m sorry I got you into this. I . . . I shouldn’t have called you.”

“You called her because I told you to call her, you idiot!” Slater said. “And now you’re going to kill her because I’m telling you to kill her. Don’t slip into Mommy’s land of Froot Loops on me, Kevin. I swear I’ll kill every one of you if you don’t play nicely.”

The truth of the matter struck Sam as she watched the deepening lines of sorrow in Kevin’s face. This was the confession that Kevin had to make. The whole game was really Kevin’s,a desperate attempt to flush his evil nature out of its hiding place. He was trying to expose the Slater in him. He’d reached out to her, the Samantha in him, the good in him. He was exposing the good and the bad in him to the world, in a desperate attempt to be rid of Slater. Slater thought he was winning, but in the end Kevin would be the victor.

If he survived. He’d already shot himself twice, once in the foot and once in the thigh.

“I have a theory,” Samantha said, voice unsteady.

“The old Colombo trick,” Slater said. “Let’s stall the nasty man with the I’ve-got-a-theory routine. Can it! Time’s ticking.”

Sam cleared her throat and pressed on. “My theory is that I’m not really real.”

Slater stared at her.

“I’m a childhood friend Kevin created because that’s what he learned to do when he was a child.” She looked into his eyes. “You made things up, Kevin. Only I’m not really made up—I’m part of you. I’m the good part of you.”

“Can it!” Slater said.

“Slater isn’t real either. He’s another personality, and he’s trying to trick you into killing either me or your mother. If you choose me, you’ll be killing the good in you, maybe even yourself. But if you choose Balinda, you’ll be murdering another living person. Your mother, for all practical purposes.”

“That’s a lie, you foul-mouthed, sick . . .” Slater’s tirade sputtered short. His eyes bulged from a red face. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“That’s not possible,” Kevin said, face round in confusion. “That can’t be, Sam! Of course you’re real! You’re the most real thing I’ve ever known.”

“I amreal, Kevin. I’m real and I love you desperately! But I’m part of you.” Hearing herself say it, she sounded foolish. How could she possibly not be real? She felt and looked and even smelled real! But it did make sense on some unspeakable level.

“Look at your leg. You’re bleeding because I was shot,” she said. “I’m you. And so is Slater. You have to believe me. You’ve taken the good and the evil in you and turned them into imaginary people. Personalities. It’s not really that strange, Kevin. You’re acting out the struggle between good and evil every human being engages in. Slater and I are only the players in your own mind. But neither of us can do anything unless you give us the power to do it. He can’t pull that trigger unless you do. Do you—”

“Shut up! Shut up, you lying piece of trash!” Slater jumped across the room and shoved a gun into Kevin’s hand. He lifted the hand and pointed it toward Samantha.

“You have fifty seconds, Kevin. Fifty, tick, tick, tick.” He lifted his own pistol and pressed the barrel against Balinda’s temple. “Either you shoot Sam or I shoot Froot Loops.”

“I can’t shoot her!” Kevin cried.

“Then Mommy dies. Of course you can! You pull that trigger, or I swear I’m going to take care of Mommy and then finish you off for being a bad sport, you hear me? Forty seconds, Kevin. Forty, tick, tick, tick.”

Slater’s face glistened in the dim light. Kevin held the gun by his side. His face wrinkled; tears hung in his eyes.

“Point the gun at Samantha, you idiot! Lift it up. Now!”

Kevin lifted it slowly. “Sam? I can’t let him kill Balinda, right?”

“Please don’t get all sentimental on us,” Slater said. “It’s good for the mood, I realize, but it makes my stomach turn. Just put a bullet through her forehead. You heard her, she’s not real. She’s a figment of our imaginations. Of course, so am I; that’s why you have two bullet holes in your leg.” He chuckled.

Sam’s mind hurt. What was really happening? What if she was wrong? Never before had she held a notion to be so utterly impossible and so utterly true at once. And she was now telling Kevin to gamble his very life on that notion. Dear God, give me strength.

“Look at your leg, Kevin,” Sam said. “You shot yourself. Please, I’m begging you. Don’t let Slater kill her. He can’t shoot unless you give him the power. He’s you.”

29

THE DOOR at the end of the tunnel was unlocked. Jennifer could hear Sam’s voice begging inside. She wasn’t sure what she would find when she crashed in, but time was gone. Dr. John Francis breathed raggedly behind her.

They’d come to the house, barged past Eugene to find the stairwell still blocked with books. After frantically searching the perimeter, they found the stairs in the old bomb shelter. No telling how often or how long Kevin had been here over the years thinking he was Slater.

“Here we go.”

She twisted the knob, took a deep breath, and threw her weight forward, gun extended.

The first thing she saw was Balinda, seated in a wooden chair, bound and gagged with gray duct tape. The second was the man standing over her. Kevin.

Kevin had a gun in each hand, one outstretched and pressed into Balinda’s temple, and the other crammed against his own head like a man about to commit suicide. No Samantha, no Slater. Just Kevin.

But she knew that Kevin wasn’t seeing what she saw. His eyes were clenched tight and he was hyperventilating.

“Kevin?”

He jerked his head toward her, eyes wide.

“It’s okay, Kevin,” Jennifer said. “I’m here.” She held out a hand, urging calm. “Don’t do anything. Please, don’t pull that trigger.”

Sweat covered his upper lip and cheeks. He stood, torn, terrified, furious. Blood leaked from wounds on his right thigh and foot. He’d shot himself! Twice.

“Kevin, where is Samantha?” Jennifer asked.

His eyes jerked to his left.

“Shut up,” he snarled. Only it was in Slater’s voice, which she now clearly recognized as Kevin’s voice, but lower and grating.