“You’re not real, Slater,” Jennifer said. “You’re only a personality Kevin created. You have no power on your own. Sam, do you hear me?”

“I hear you, Jennifer,” Sam said—only it wasn’t Sam; it was Kevin speaking in a slightly higher voice. Unlike over the phone, Jennifer heard the resemblance now.

“You don’t see me, do you?” Sam asked.

“No.”

“Listen to her, Kevin,” Sam said. “Listen to me. I would die for you, my knight. I would gladly give my life for you, but it’s Slater you have to kill, not me. Do you understand? We are you. Only you. And now that you’ve flushed him out, you have to kill him.”

Kevin clenched his eyes and began to shake.

“Shut up!” Slater screamed. “Everyone, shut up! Do it! Do it, Kevin, or I swear I’ll put this round in Mommy’s forehead! Time’s up!”

Jennifer felt frantic. “Kevin—”

“Shoot Slater, Kevin,” the professor said, stepping past her. “He can’t kill you. Put the weapon on Slater and kill him.”

“Won’t he shoot himself?” Jennifer demanded.

“You have to separate yourself from Slater, Kevin.”

Kevin’s eyes fluttered open. He’d recognized the professor’s voice. “Dr. Francis?” Kevin’s normal voice.

“There are three natures, Kevin. The good, the bad, and the poor soul struggling between them. Remember? You’re role-playing those three roles. Listen to me. You have to kill Slater. Take your gun off Sam and point it at Slater. He can’t do anything to stop you. Then, when you are sure that you have your gun on Slater, I want you to shoot him. I’ll tell you. You have to trust me.”

Kevin turned his head, staring to his left and then back to his right. From Kevin’s perspective he was looking between Samantha and Slater.

“Don’t be a fool!” Slater said. Kevin swung the gun that was on Balinda toward Jennifer. “Drop the gun! Out!” It was Slater and he was frantic.

“Do what the professor says, Kevin,” Sam said. “Shoot Slater.”

Kevin stared at Slater and wondered why he hadn’t fired. The man had swung his gun from Balinda and aimed it at Jennifer, but he wasn’t pulling the trigger. The time had come and gone and still Slater hadn’t shot.

It occurred to him that he still had the gun in his hand, trained on Sam. He lowered his arm. They wanted him to shoot Slater.

But . . . if Sam and Jennifer were right, that was him over there, threatening Jennifer. And they wanted him to shoot himself? He’d flushed the man out of his hiding and now he was to kill him.

Kevin turned to Sam. She looked so tender, so lovely, eyes drawn with sympathy. Dear Sam, I love you so.Her eyes reached into his mind, his heart, melting him with their love.

She took a step toward him. “I should go now, Kevin.”

“Go?” The thought frightened him.

“I won’t be gone. I’ll be with you. I amyou. Shoot Slater.”

“Stop!” Slater screamed. “Stop!” He stepped out and swung his gun on Samantha.

“I love you, Kevin,” Samantha said. She stepped up to him, smiled gently, knowingly. “Shoot him. His kind is powerless when you understand who holds the true power. I know you’re the one who feels powerless, and on your own, you are. But if you look to your Maker, you’ll find enough power to kill a thousand Slaters, wherever they crop up. He will save you. Listen to Dr. Francis.”

She reached out and touched his hand. Her finger went through his skin, into his hand. Kevin watched, mouth gaping. Samantha stepped into him, her knee into his knee, her shoulder into his shoulder. He couldn’t feel her. Then she was gone.

Kevin gasped for air. She was him! She’d always been him! The realization fell into his mind like an anvil dropped from heaven. And she was gone, wasn’t she? Or maybe closer than ever. A buzz circled his mind.

And if Sam was him, then Slater . . .

Kevin turned to his right. Slater shook from head to foot, gun aimed at Kevin’s head now. But that wasn’t a real person over there; it was only his evil nature, right?

Kevin looked at Jennifer. Her eyes were begging him. She couldn’t stop Slater because she couldn’t see him. She only saw him—Kevin.

If he was Slater, then the gun was really in his hand, wasn’t it? He could force Slater to lower the gun by lowering it himself, in his mind.

Look to your Maker, Sam had said.

Open my eyes.

Kevin looked at the pathetic man who called himself Slater. He closed his eyes. It occurred to him then that he had two guns in his hands—one at his side and one at his temple. That would be Slater. He lowered the gun; now he had two guns by his side, one in each hand. He opened his eyes.

Slater faced him, gun lowered, face twisted with fury. “You’ll never succeed, Kevin. Never! You’re just like me, and nothing will ever change that. You hear me? Nothing!”

“Now, Kevin,” Dr. Francis said. “Now.”

Kevin lifted his right arm, pointed the nine millimeter at Slater’s head, and pulled the trigger. The shot echoed loudly. At this range he could hardly miss.

But he did miss. He missed because suddenly there was no target to hit. Slater was gone.

Kevin lowered the gun. The bullet had buried itself in the metal desk behind the spot where Slater had stood, but it hadn’t penetrated any flesh and blood. Slater wasn’t flesh or blood. He was dead just the same. At least for now.

For a few long seconds the room rang in the aftermath of the detonation. Balinda began to sob. Kevin looked at her and pity, not anger, washed through his mind. She needed help, didn’t she? She was a wounded soul, like him. She needed love and understanding. He doubted she would ever be able to return to the false reality she’d created.

“Kevin?”

The world seemed to collapse at the sound of Jennifer’s voice. He wasn’t certain what had just happened, but if he wasn’t mistaken, he’d blown up a bus and a library and kidnapped his aunt. He needed help. Dear God, he needed help!

“Are you all right, Kevin?” Jennifer’s voice broke.

He lowered his head and began to cry. He couldn’t help it. Dear God, what have I done?

An arm settled on his shoulders. He could smell the musty scent of her perfume as she pulled him close.

“It’s okay, Kevin. Everything’s okay now. I won’t let them hurt you, I promise.”

He dissolved in sobs at her words. He deserved to be hurt. Or was that Slater’s old voice?

Listen to Dr. Francis, Samantha had said. He would. He would listen to Dr. Francis and let Jennifer hold him. It was all he had now. Truth and love.

30

One Week Later

JENNIFER LOOKED THROUGH the glass door at Kevin, who stood by the flowers in the professor’s lawn, touching and smelling the roses as if he’d newly discovered them. Dr. John Francis stood beside her, gazing out. Kevin had spent the last seven days in a prison cell, awaiting an extended bail hearing that had ended three hours earlier. Persuading the judge that Kevin wasn’t a flight risk was a simple matter; convincing her that Kevin wasn’t a threat to society wasn’t. But Chuck Hatters, a good friend to Jennifer and now Kevin’s attorney, had managed.

The press had slaughtered Kevin that first day, but as the details of his childhood leaked out over the next week, their tenor had changed— Jennifer had seen to that. She’d held a news conference and revealed his past in all of its horrifying detail. Kevin was simply role-playing as only a child who’d been severely abused and fractured could role-play. If even a single person had been hurt or killed, the public would probably have continued screaming retribution until another earth-shattering event distracted them. But in Kevin’s case, pity quickly took precedence over a few destroyed buildings. The Slater personality would never have blown up any bus before it had been evacuated, Jennifer argued. She wasn’t sure she believed it, but enough of the public did to swing the tide of outrage. Kevin still had his significant detractors, of course, but they no longer dominated the airwaves.