‘I need it,’ he said.

The Doctor made no immediate response. She just stared at him for a long moment, and the smile slowly fell from her lips. Her eyes darkened. Her jaw turned tight. ‘You disgust me,’ she finally said. ‘You should have been the one who died that day, not my precious William. He would have learned. He would have listened. He would never have caused the damage that you have caused us.’

She held the disk delicately between her long fingers. When her eyes met the Adder’s – when the faintest hint of a smirk formed at the corners of her cruel mouth – he understood full well her intention.

‘No, please! NO!’

But his cry meant nothing.

The Doctor tightened her grip and snapped the disc in two. And the Adder let loose a howl that filled the room. He lashed out and grabbed the Doctor by the wrist, and bent it backwards. She let out a cry, half of surprise and half of pain. She tried to pull away from him. When he did not let her, she raised her free hand and smacked him across the face – a hard, full-forced SLAP!

He did not so much as flinch.

‘I wish you were never born,’ she spat. ‘I wish your whore of a mother had drowned you at birth – then my William would still be alive!’

‘William is dead,’ the Adder said. ‘He has been for a very long time.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘You have never been anything but a wretched, pathetic failure, Gabriel. And a poor excuse for a son.’

The words were meant to hurt, but they had no effect on him. The Adder took them all in, thought them over . . . and then he nodded strangely.

‘But I’m not your son, am I?’ he said.

‘What?’

‘I am my father’s son. And you are no longer his wife. You are not my mother. Not any more.’

‘How dare you!’ She slapped him across the face again, across the same stinging red mark that already marred his skin, and broke away from him. When he offered her no real reaction, but only smiled, she reared from him.

‘You stay back,’ she ordered.

‘You’re not my mother.’ He stepped towards her.

‘I said, stay back! I order you to stay back. You will listen to me. I am your doctor, Gabriel! Your DOCTOR!’

The Adder reached out and wrapped his long fingers around Lexa’s slender throat.

‘The game is over, Doctor,’ he said. ‘You lose.’

Ninety-Seven

Striker stepped off the dirt road on to one of the trails that snaked through the heavily forested area and paralleled the lake. Moving slowly and through shadow, he hoped to be hidden. When he and Felicia moved forward, making their way on to the private lot, they heard arguing inside the cabin.

He stiffened at the sound. He turned and looked at Felicia.

‘Male and female?’ he asked.

‘It sounds like it, but I can’t tell for sure.’ Felicia crept up to the window and peered inside. ‘I can’t see anything. Let’s just go in and get them.’

Striker motioned her back. ‘Not yet.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because we don’t know who’s in there yet. If Gabriel or Dalia or Lexa are in there, or if they come up the road and spot us, they’ll run. They’ll get away. And they’ll never stop killing. We need containment.’

Felicia agreed. ‘Then call in the Feds. The Whistler Police has units ten minutes away from here. Get them here and we can cordon off the whole house.’

Striker thought this over. ‘If Lexa or Gabriel or Dalia see them, they’ll take off and be gone again, and this time maybe for good.’

‘They can use plainclothes cops.’

Striker frowned. The talk had gone full circle, back to square one. A decision had to be made. He took out his phone, being careful to block the light of the screen with his body, and called 911. All he got was a dropped signal. He put the phone away.

‘No reception,’ he said.

The decision had been made for them.

He pointed to the southwest corner of the cabin. ‘Cover that. Scream if you need me and I’ll come running.’

Felicia just tightened her grip on her SIG and slowly made her way through the trees, around to the other side of the house. She’d barely been gone a minute when Striker detected a lone figure walking up the road: average height, long black hair, slender build.

Dalia.

Striker watched her as she walked up the road towards the cabin, then crossed the yard. Even in the darkness, he could see that her face was tight and lost. Something was wrong; he could feel it.

Ninety-Eight

The Adder stood outside on the frozen grass, his hot breath fogging up the cold night. Small bits of broken ice covered the toes of his runners, and the bottom of his pants legs were wet. In front of him, her upper body submerged face down in the freezing water of the lake, was the Doctor.

He looked down at her body and felt nothing. Because it was nothing.

Just a bad roll of the dice.

Behind him, the soft swish of a sliding door could be heard, and then there were footsteps on the deck. He didn’t bother to turn around. It was Dalia, he knew. Coming back again after running away – as she had done so many times before. Escape and return. Escape and return. Escape and return.

It was her life.

‘Gabriel?’ she asked.

Her steps came closer, and suddenly there was a gasp.

‘GABRIEL! Oh no! Oh no! Oh no! Oh no! What have you done, Gabriel? What have you DONE!’

She screamed and then screamed some more. He said nothing to her. He did not so much as look in her direction. And seconds later, he heard her run off. Somewhere around the house. In that moment, he had lost her. She was gone. And he would never see her again.

Go after her.

It was a soft thought in his head, a whisper from the angels.

But he did not. He could not. For there were other plans now. And they were all that mattered. Running after Dalia would be changing the goal of the game – and that was the one thing that could never be changed. He had no choice in the matter; the rules were long written.

It was sad. On some deeper level, he knew this.

But what did that matter? He now wondered . . . had there ever been a choice? Perhaps it was always meant to be this way. Fated. Perhaps tonight’s game would even lead to his own death.

The thought was enthralling. If Death did come, he was prepared for it. He accepted it. He was happy for it. At last, his own time. His own Beautiful Escape. And he smiled because either way he would win this game – in the biggest release of his life when he freed Jacob Striker from this world, or in his own release from this torment. Either way, he was ready. Ready for the final throw of the dice. And why not? Nothing could last forever.

All games eventually came to an end.

Ninety-Nine

It happened fast. One moment, Striker was trying to move to a better position in order to see what all the screaming was about; the next moment, he saw Dalia racing around the house. She plunged through the trees away from him.

A second later, Felicia went racing after the girl.

‘Stop!’ Felicia called. ‘Vancouver Police, Dalia! STOP!’

In one brief moment, both women were swallowed by the darkness.

Striker started after them.

He got only a few feet before coming to a hard stop. There was no doubt that whoever was inside the cabin – Gabriel, Lexa or both of them – now knew of the police presence. If Striker went racing after Dalia, then Lexa and Gabriel would be free to escape. Maybe this time forever.