Dirk Fallows sat on the edge of the cot tapping his knife against his thigh, a thin smile creasing his face. "You're not going to like what happens next."
Annie and Timmy stood on the other side of the tent holding hands. Cruz blocked the closed flap with his body, his arms crossed over his chest like an Arabian genie.
"We've been painfully courteous to the both of you for the past three days. Gave you water. Food. Bedding. No one's touched either one of you, and believe me there has been some grumbling about that." He continued to tap the knife blade against his thigh in a slow, lazy beat. "But all that's about to change, I'm afraid."
He saw fear wrinkle their faces and was pleased. He stood up and paced in front of them. "I'm forty-four years old. Forty-five next month. Do you think that's old?" When there was no response he smiled and continued. "Well, never mind, I think it's old, or at least getting close. Not that I'm feeling old, mind you. Still as fit as ever." He slapped his stomach a couple times. "Hard as oak. Nothing like Cruz there, but then what human is?" His laugh sounded like a truck grinding gears. Cruz stared ahead without expression. "I'm told by some lady friends that I look a lot like Kirk Douglas but without the dimple. Same rocky facial structure, 'rough hewn' I think they call it. I guess that means my face looks like something a sculptor might have started in an angry mood, then abandoned once he saw what he was doing. Still, it pleases some women."
"And some men, no doubt," Annie snapped.
Fallows laughed. "I am not a homosexual, Ms. Ravensmith. But neither am I homophobic, so I don't become enraged at any insult to my manhood. Still, if I were in your position, I wouldn't take the chance of enraging me. The next few minutes are going to be difficult enough for you."
"What do you mean?" Annie asked. "What are you going to do?"
He put a finger to his lips. "Patience."
"Can't we leave my son out of this? For God's sake, he hasn't done anything."
"Well, technically neither have you. But guilt or innocence is irrelevant here. You are merely surrogates for your husband, whipping boys, if you will," Fallows placed a hand on Timmy's head and playfully mussed his hair. "No, I'm afraid Timmy is an important element of my little drama."
"Drama?" Annie said incredulously. "You killed dozens of people that night. You call that drama?"
"Don't forget, I lost a man myself. But yes, it's drama. High drama. Sometimes melodrama. But always good theatre."
Annie felt an involuntary shiver shake her as she realized how coldly evil this man really was. She had listened to Eric describe him many times, but not until this moment did she truly understand how demonic he was. She closed her eyes and thanked good luck that Jennifer still had been in the hospital when she and Timmy were kidnapped. At least Jennifer was safe and unharmed. She hugged Timmy against her now.
"I'm going to tell you something that I never even told Eric. Nor any of my followers. Not even Cruz, whose appreciation of good irony is legend." He chuckled, but Cruz simply stared ahead like someone watching a boring TV documentary. "You'll be the first to hear The Truth About Dirk Fallows." He raised his eyebrows. "Hmmm, not a bad title. I'm sure Eric has told you what he knows, all of it early MGM. Rich father buys son out of trouble, purchases college degree, and so on. He thought the longer he could keep me in college, the longer I'd stay away from home. And you have to give him credit, it worked. At first I was your typical know-it-all smartass. Got A's in all my classes without once cracking a book. So much for the challenge of education. Once I discovered how simple it was, I lost interest in even attending classes. My grades fell faster than man from grace. I bounced around a couple more universities until I took a course because it was the only one open at that time period and therefore wouldn't interfere with my sleep. It was Introduction to Acting. Yeah, that's right, theatre. Within a month I was playing Iago in Othello."
"How appropriate," Annie sneered.
"A very misunderstood character, Ms. Ravensmith. Nevertheless, it was exhilarating. Even more so as a director, staging my own productions the way a general prepares for battle. That was how I envisioned it, like a battle. But it had one drawback."
Annie nodded. "No real corpses."
"In a way. No real risk. The worst that could happen was an actor blows his line, a costume tears. That's not risk, merely inconvenience. I'd learned the techniques of manipulation, now I wanted the action. I guess it's true that some people are born soldiers, I was lucky enough to discover it in myself. My parents were scandalized when I enlisted. Practically wore black arm bands." He waved a dismissing hand. "No matter. I had what I wanted. And I loved it. I was the best. Still am."
He sat back on the cot, began tapping the knife against his thigh again, the evil smile slicing across his face. "But having picked my lifestyle, I had to abandon certain other things. The possibility of a wife, family."
"Lucky wife," Annie said. "Lucky family."
An angry frown flickered across Fallows' face and Annie knew she'd stabbed a sensitive area.
He forced his smile back in place, but it hung crookedly on his face like a tilted crescent of moon. "Perhaps you're right, Ms. Ravensmith. I was not so fortunate as Eric. He was the best soldier I'd ever had serve under me. Unorthodox, but damn good. I hoped to convince him to stay in the service, but he refused my friendship. That in itself was a declaration of war. We each won a battle, and each of us bears the scars of the conflict. But now it's time to end it, for a winner to emerge. Obviously, that's why you're here. I would put him at no more than a day away from us right now."
Annie's heart pulsed at the thought, both with fear for him and hope for herself and Timmy.
"Dad will tear you to pieces," Timmy said, forcing his voice as low and manly as he could.
"Certainly he'll try, son. But since I know that, I have the advantage. And I have a little drama set up for him that, well, let's keep it a surprise." Fallows threw his knife onto the cot and stood up. "In the meantime, we have a little drama all our own to play out right here. We'll start with you, Ms. Ravensmith. Take off your clothes."
Annie stepped back. "What for?"
"You didn't think I'd be content just with killing Eric, did you? That would leave me without a third act. No, I want something more devilish, more painful than death, though that too will be a part of it. I want to take what's important away from him, strip him of everything precious. Which reminds me, I have some painful news for you."
Somehow Annie knew what he would say and her hands flew to her mouth as if that would prevent her hearing it. "Jenny?"
"Afraid so," he shook his head sadly. "Cruz here slit her throat as neatly as Sweeny Todd. I tried to stop him, but-" he shrugged "-he has a mind of his own."
Annie fell to her knees convulsing with sobs, her stomach heaving vomit onto the ground. "No, you're lying!" she screamed.
"Not at all. Dr. Epson was most cooperative with information. Hospital. Bottom floor of library. Room at the back. She's dead all right, dead as a… What's an appropriate metaphor here, Cruz?"
Cruz stared, licked his lips.
"Sorry, Ms. Ravensmith, but Cruz can't think of one either, We'll have to settle for that old standby, dead as a doornail."
Suddenly Timmy lunged across the room for the knife on the cot. He wrapped his hands around the handle and turned toward Fallows.
'Timmy, no!" Annie warned.
"I'll kill you," Timmy said, choking down his own tears. "I'll kill you, you asshole."
Cruz watched impassively, making no move to interfere.
"Kill me?" Fallows said, looking hurt, then smiling. His pale eyes seemed to gather color for the first time. He didn't budge from where he stood, just waited. The gun on his belt remained snapped into its holster.
"Give me the knife, Timmy," Annie pleaded, holding out her hand.
"He killed Jenny, Mom! He wants to kill Dad!"
"I know. But I don't want you killed too. Give me the knife. Dad will get us out of here. Believe that."
Timmy wavered, his jaw clenched in an expression that Annie recognized from Eric. It both frightened her and comforted her at the same time. Reluctantly, Timmy handed the knife to his mother.
"Ms. Ravensmith?" Fallows said, holding out his hand.
Annie tossed the knife to him, which he caught neatly around the handle.
"You see how military strategy and theatre are so closely related? The knife was merely a prop, and each of you played your part as predictably as if it had been written for you by me. Your mistake, Ms. Ravensmith, though made out of the best of motives, was to not at least let the boy try to kill me. He'll remember that. After awhile he'll blow it up in his mind until he thinks he might actually have had a chance. And then he'll blame you for taking that chance away."
"No, I won't!" Timmy hollered.
Fallows laughed. "Yes, you will. The mind is a very tricky thing, it does what it wants sometimes. And by the time I'm through with both of you, you're going to loathe your mother and blame your father."
"Why?" Annie said hoarsely. "Why?"
Fallows face was icy when he answered. The pale eyes gone white again, the long V of his face accented in the filtered light of the tent. His white hair bristled like snowy brush. "Have you forgotten my earlier soliloquy? No wife, no family. 'Lucky wife,' I believe was your line. Probably true. But every man wants to pass along what he's learned, if for no other reason than to be remembered. Eric was my first choice, a kind of younger brother. He refused. Worse, he had me locked away during the years I might have raised my own family. Now I want my own son. I'm too old to start from scratch. By the time he's old enough to do anything, I'll be near sixty."
"God, no!" Annie gasped. "Please, no."
"I'm impressed. You catch on fast. Sorry, but I'm afraid so. Since it's too late for me to raise my own son, I've decided to raise yours. I'll leach him everything I know, just like I taught Eric. Only this time he's young enough to do what I tell him."
"No, I won't," Timmy said. "I'll kill you the first chance I get. I swear it."
"No, you won't, son. I've brainwashed men into killing their own brothers. After awhile, I can make anybody do anything. By the time I'm through with you, you'll kill anybody who says a word against me. Even your mother and father. You see, it's not enough to just kill Eric, I want to destroy his immortality. Whatever essence a father passes on to his son." He turned to Annie, grinned. "Don't you want to beg for him?"
Annie's gaze was stony, her grief petrified by determination. "No, I won't beg." She looked at Timmy. "Timothy, you're enough like your father to know what kind of man this is. I'm counting on you to be enough like your father to resist, not physically, but inside. No matter what he does to me, no matter what he tells you. Understand?"
"Y-yes."
"Bravo," Fallows applauded. "Joan of Arc, Act III? Now comes the first scene, Ms. Ravensmith. Humiliation. You see, by physically humiliating you, you lose stature in your son's eyes. You're no longer Mother, Goddess of Love, you're just another human being. Now, take off your clothes. All of them."
"Mom," Timmy said, starting toward Fallows.
"You just stand there, Timothy," Annie said as she began removing her clothing. "We have to do anything to survive, to keep alive until your father comes." She unfastened her bra, shrugged it off, stepped out of her panties.
"Nice," Fallows nodded. "A little skinnier than I like, but you'll do. Won't she, Tim? Ever been laid, Tim? Yeah, I bet you've been diddling the little girls plenty, right? Bet they've got nothing on your mom, though. I mean, that's a woman's body. What do you think?"
Timmy stared at his feet, refusing to look up.
"Modest boy you've got, Ms. Ravensmith." Fallows unsnapped his holster, pulled the Walther P.38 out. He walked over to Annie and stood in front of her, touching the cold barrel to her nipples. The nipples hardened from the cold. Fallows traced her ribs with the barrel, across her stomach, along her hips, into her pubic hair. He stared into her defiant eyes while stirring the gun through her hairs. Annie didn't recoil, didn't budge. She stared back. "You like this don't you? Say yes."
When she didn't respond, he shoved the barrel roughly between her legs.
"Say yes," he repeated. "Say, 'Yes, I love it.' "
"Yes, I love it." Her voice was flat and mechanical.
"Good. Now say, 'Screw me with it.' "
"No."
Fallows smiled. "Cruz." Cruz took a couple steps forward. "Break something on the kid. Something small."
Before Annie could protest, Cruz had grabbed Timmy's hand and snapped the little finger back until it made a sickening crack. Timmy howled with pain for a moment, then forced himself to be quiet, blinking away the tears and staring at the floor.
"He's going to remember that it was because of you his finger is broken," Fallows said. "Right now he blames me and maybe even Cruz. But in a day or two, he'll blame you for not speaking up fast enough." He lifted the gun and pointed it in Annie's face. "Suck it," he said.
Annie hesitated, saw Cruz reach for Timmy, and took the barrel in her mouth. She closed her eyes, tried to think of other things, picture Eric coming for her. She saw the look of determination on his face, saw him clawing over rocks and hills. He was calling her name now, shouting it, listening for an answer. She saw his face so clearly, she was surprised he couldn't see her. That tight, grim expression that always made her feel safe.
Fallows pul!ed the hammer back, the threatening click made her open her eyes.
"Parting is such sweet sorrow," he said and pulled the trigger.
The hammer struck the empty chamber with a deafening metallic crack. Annie jerked back at the sound so suddenly the sight on the end of the barrel tore the roof of her mouth. Blood seeped over her lips.
"You son of a bitch," she hissed, shaken.
"You don't know the half of it, Ms. Ravensmith. This was just the first scene. There's much more in store for you. And it gets worse and worse." He glanced over at Cruz. "Get them out of here."
Cruz brushed open the tent flap, snapped his fingers at someone, and young Foxworth came running. When he saw Annie naked, his eyes widened. He licked his lips.
"Take them back," Cruz said.
Annie stooped down to gather her clothes. Fallows stomped his foot on them.
"You won't he needing these."
Immediately, Timmy took off his shirt and handed it to Annie. She smiled at him and slipped it on. The tail barely covered her.
"Move it, Foxworth," Fallows snapped, and the soldier hurriedly ushered Annie and Timmy out of the tent.
When they were gone, Fallows sat back on the cot. "It's going well, eh, Cruz?"
Cruz shrugged. "It's not my game."
"But you've liked your part in it so far, haven't you?"
"Listen, Fallows, you're a fucking military genius. Everybody knows that. Maybe all that theatre shit helped you, I don't know and I don't care. As long as you make the plans and they work, and everybody gets what they want, I'll follow orders. It don't bother me to kill anymore than it bothers you." Cruz crossed the tent in two steps, grabbed Fallows by the arm. The fingers closed around Fallows' flesh like a mechanical claw. Fallows felt the bite against his muscles, but he showed no reaction. "I don't mind playing the stupid ox in your little dramas, Fallows. You can say anything about me you want, I could give a shit." He wagged a warning finger. "Just don't you start believing it." He released Fallows' arm and strolled out of the tent, closing the flap behind him.
Fallows shook his arm and laughed. How predictable everyone was, even Cruz. The poor bastard didn't realize that Fallows could have killed him a hundred times over as he stood there wagging his sausage-sized finger in his face. But that wasn't part of the plan. Every player has his part-Eric, Annie, Timmy, even Cruz. And when the time was right, each would act accordingly, as Fallows knew they must. As he had planned.
But first, Annie. Fallows shook his head happily, imagining Eric's face when he finally found her, what was left of her. He won't know whether to kiss her-or kill her.