"Yes, I hear you." He was on her left, some thirty feet away. Marlin was only about ten to twelve feet away, at about ten o'clock. Imagine anything making Erasmus's skin crawl. She'd wrapped about six lengths of string around her hand. String, she thought. All she had was a handful of string to take out two killers with three guns. She loosened the string, making it into a large enough circle so she could loop it over Marlin's head. No, it had to be even bigger. It took time.
She felt the bile of terror in her throat and swallowed. She couldn't, wouldn't give up until he killed her. She thought of Dillon. He'd go nuts if Marlin killed her.
He'd already had one woman he loved leave him. She wasn't about to let Marlin kill her.
36
THE LIGHT WAS SEADY now, becoming brighter with each step she took. It was from a narrow beam of light that he'd strung some eight feet overhead. She was nearly to the center of the maze now. She heard Hannah moan. She heard Martin's breathing. Hannah moaned louder. The moans weren't from pain. Hannah was giving her directions. Yes, both she and Marlin were at about ten o'clock. She could picture him standing there over Hannah, the Magnum in his hand, a big smile on his face. Waiting for her. He couldn't wait. Where was Erasmus? Had he moved at all?
"Hannah? Can you hear me? Are you all right?"
"I'm all right, Sherlock." Then she moaned again, a nice lusty moan. "The bastard just kicked me."
"Hang in there, please, just hang in there."
And she knew that Hannah was thinking frantically. She knew whatever she tried, Hannah would help her if she could.
There was no sound now except for Marlin's jerky deep breathing.
Had Dillon found her message? Had he even gone to her house yet? Of course he had. She swallowed. Nearly there. Nearly to Marlin.
She walked into bright light, two spotlights shining directly into her face. She shaded her eyes with her right hand. In her left hand was the string, ready now, if only he didn't see it, if only she had time and opportunity.
"Hello, Marty," he said, nearly gasping with pleasure. "You're here."
He was standing beside Hannah, his chest puffed out, looking very proud of himself. He looked happy. His eyes were dead and glittered. He was grinning at her.
She grinned back at him. "Hi, you little fucker. How's tricks? Have you killed any more women since you escaped from that madhouse in Boston?"
He lurched, as if she'd gut-punched him. "It wasn't a madhouse!"
"Sure it was. It was the state madhouse."
"I was just there to talk to some shrinks, nothing else. I was just visiting for a little while."
"If that judge hadn't been such an idiot, they'd have you right now in a padded cell. You know what else? They'd shackle your legs together and walk you right out of your padded cell to the electric chair. Then they'd fry you. It will still happen, Marlin. Can you imagine the pain, Marlin?"
"Damn you, shut up! Be quiet! Show some respect for me. I won, damn you, I won! Not you. You're just standing there, nothing going for you this time. I'm the big winner. You're nothing, Marty, nothing at all."
"That's right, Marlin, you've won. Even though you haven't had any women walk to the center of your maze since your escape, you've still managed to kill very dangerous and very heavily armed homeless people and teenagers. That's real big of you, Marlin. Real manly. You make me puke."
"No, that was my Pa!"
"Same difference. You're his very image."
He was panting now, trying to hold himself back, and she pushed harder. "You know what, Marlin? I once thought you were pretty good-looking. You know what you look like now? You look like you're ready to drip saliva from your mouth. Is that true? Are you ready to froth at the mouth, Marlin? I've never seen a sorrier excuse for a man in my life."
He snapped. He ran at her, the knife raised. Hannah jerked from her left to her right side, whipped up her bound legs and tripped him. He went sprawling, sliding on his stomach almost to Lacey's feet. She was on him in an instant, looping the thick knotted string around his throat. She had her knee in the small of his back, pulling back on the string, bringing his face off the wooden floor. She knew it was cutting deep into his neck.
"Hannah, where's his gun?"
"Hannah can't get it, Marty."
She turned slowly to see Erasmus holding Hannah's head back at an impossible angle. He had her hair wrapped around his left hand. His right hand held a twelve-inch hunting knife to her throat. "Let my boy go, Marty."