Chapter Forty-Nine
Wind whipped around Mitch and Mark, their jackets flapping behind them.
The rain had picked up once again, driving into their cold cheeks.
The ripples and fits of the canal blended with the sounds of the blowing leaves and the wind that whistled through the electricity wires that laced the plant like a web.
Their feet sank in the mud as they trudged across the back of the building.
“Are you sure there’s another way in? Why don’t we just shoot out the door?” Mark asked.
Mitch spun around, his jaw set in a tight line.
“I told you, if they’re alive and we shoot, he might hear the shots and get scared.
He might kill them and himself. God only knows what we’re dealing with.
” Mimi’s face flashed before him. He shook his head.
“If we can’t get in through the Bilco doors,” he raised his voice to compete with the storm, “then we’ll shoot it in.
Not yet.” He stomped away in the direction of the canal.
He was certain he’d seen an entrance on the drawing.
He just wasn’t sure where it was—at the back or the side of the building.
Lightning brightened the sky with a loud crack, partnered with a thunderous boom.
An extended cracking sound rang out to their left.
Mitch turned just as an enormous tree branch, hanging like a loose tooth, broke free from the tree and descended directly above Mark’s path.
“Mark!” Grant broke into a sprint, running toward Mark. “Look out!”
Mark turned just in time to see the massive branch connect with his shoulder, knocking him to the ground. He wailed like an injured animal, his leg bent at an odd angle.
“Shit,” Mitch knelt beside him. “Your leg.”
Mark clenched his teeth. Rain and tears filled his eyes. “Broken. Shit. Goddamn it.” Mark’s leg was pinned under the thick branch, his back sunk into the mud.
Mitch assessed the angle of his leg. Definitely broken. He had to get to the patrol car and call for help. He needed backup. There was no time to waste.
“I’m going to the patrol car to get help.” He put a hand on Mark’s shoulder.
Mark flinched in pain.
Mitch pulled his hand away. “I’ll call for an ambulance, and backup.
” He wiped his face, then took off his jacket and laid it around Mark’s face to block the driving rain.
Mitch picked up Mark’s gun from where it had fallen and put it in Mark’s hand, wrapping his fingers around the trigger guard for him.
Mark used his gun to hold up the jacket. Through gritted teeth he said, “Get that son of a bitch.”
Mitch ran toward the parking lot. Goose bumps covered his body. Rain soaked through his shirt, but he didn’t notice the cold. He was determined to get help and get back inside the building as fast as possible.
The Bilco doors beckoned him. He slowed, weighing his options, then headed toward the parking lot.
Someone was running down the long driveway—away from the plant.
Shit. Mitch cocked his gun and slid out through the mangled fence and under the cover of the trees, his gun pointed down toward the ground, his eyes trained on the escaping figure.
In a matter of minutes the person would be at the edge of the driveway, where the road crossed the bridge.
Mitch stepped up his pace as he passed the patrol car.
The person darted across the road.
Mitch noted the short hair, slim body, jilted gait. Definitely male, and definitely older. He gained speed, running at a pace equal to the fleeing man. The rain drowned out their footsteps. The man ran up the steep incline toward the bridge.
It was now or never.
Mitch sprinted across the road, throwing his full body weight onto the man’s back. They fell to the ground, the man screaming and swatting at Mitch.
Mitch expertly flipped him over, pinning his shoulders and stomach to the ground. He tightened his grip around the man’s thin wrists.
The man craned his neck, eyeing Mitch.
“What the—” Mitch climbed off his back, helping him up.
Jackson’s words spewed out so quickly, Mitch could barely understand him. “He’s in there. He has a gun. He’s got Ted, and Mimi.” He stopped to catch his breath. “Kara, he has Kara.”
“Who? How many people? Where are they?”
Jackson leaned over, his hands braced on his knees. “I only saw one guy. Big guy. He’s got Ted’s gun.” He took a deep breath, blew it out fast. “Ted’s in real bad shape. Shot. God—” Jackson looked away, a flush running up his cheeks “I…I should have helped him.”
“Come on.” Mitch turned toward the plant.
Jackson remained where he was.
“Jackson. Come with me. I’m going to the patrol car to call for help.
” Mitch recognized the terror in Jackson’s eyes.
He wrapped his arm around Jackson’s shoulder and guided him forward.
Jackson was in shock. Mitch didn’t have time for shock.
He furrowed his brow, and spoke in a strong, even tone.
“Every second we stand here is that much longer that maniac is with them. Please.”
Wind whistled just outside the walls of the plant.
Roland looked at the hole from which the man had escaped, anger brewing inside his gut.
That shit of a man was gone. His eyes brushed over the bloody man’s body.
Roland spun on his heels, clasping the gun, and stomped into the hall.
How long would it take for that guy to get the police?
How long would it take for Marissa and Mimi to die, once he found them?
Roland was numb to the searing pain in his shredded, burned fingers, which were wrapped tightly around a bottle of antifreeze. He wiped his cheek against his shoulder, leaving a trail of thick black coal dust. His eyes glazed over as he brought himself to his full height.
“Marissa!” His deep voice echoed in the darkness.
He knew these halls like his own home. He’d been trailing through them for weeks now.
The darkness didn’t hinder his movements.
Roland thought of Mimi, the way her eyes had looked so sincere when she’d said Roland’s real mother had burned him.
He could picture the event in his mind. It was Mimi he saw.
What was wrong with him? Why was he replacing his mother with Mimi?
If it wasn’t Mimi, Roland wondered, then why wasn’t he allowed to be with Marissa?
He’d promised his mother. When his mother went away, she’d said Marissa was his responsibility.
He had to take care of her. Sweat dripped down his forehead.
Nothing made sense to him. His hand grazed the scars on his face.
Who did this to him? Had his mother really slipped—his real mother?
Roland hadn’t even known he had a birth mother until he’d stolen the files and put the pieces of the puzzle together.
Now, his memories blurred together. His reality was tainted by confusion.
The elevators came into view, bringing with them renewed focus.
Roland stared at the doors, then surveyed his surroundings.
A thick pipe ran across the left side of the ceiling.
Two smaller pipes snaked in the same direction.
Three boxes were stacked just outside the elevator doors.
Were they there before? Roland couldn’t remember.
His mind reeled. This damned game of cat and mouse was driving him crazy.
He eyed the piping along the ceiling and felt the lump of the lighter in his pants pocket.
He shook away the thought, then peered through the crack in the elevator door.
He touched the lighter again, his heart thumping harder.
He spun around, looking down the hall. First left, then right.
Needles of anxiety prickled his arms and chest. His breathing became rapid.
A pain shot through his lower back with the intensity of a hot knife being slowly pushed into his kidneys.
A vivid reminder. The antifreeze. He tightened his grip on the bottle of antifreeze. Born together, die together.
Roland was tired. His body ached. It was time to abandon his well thought out plan for something that couldn’t be undone by police or nosey, shit-ass husbands.
He needed a sure thing. Roland drew his eyebrows together and called forth his mechanic’s mind.
The intricacies of an explosion would be simple, given the environment.
He lifted the antifreeze, squinting as his mind ran through the possibilities.
Antifreeze and coal dust: a deadly combination.
He reached back and fingered the gun that was tucked into his pants, then lifted his eyes to the pipes that ran along the ceiling.
He followed them down the hallway, then turned and followed them the other way.
A sign. The solution was easier than he’d thought.
He set the bottle of antifreeze down, reached his massive hands above his head, and pulled with all of his might—hanging until his full weight pulled the piping free from its tethers.
The hiss of gas rushed past his ear. Satisfied, Roland lowered his head, rounded his shoulders, picked up the bottle of antifreeze, and plowed forward with renewed determination.
They’d see who Roland Greer was. He’d take Marissa and Mimi with him into death, and who gave a damn if the police or that squirrel went with him.
He couldn’t worry about them. This was the moment he had been waiting for.
He could leave the bottle, just drop it.
He no longer needed it—he had a new plan.
A great plan. He gripped the plastic bottle like a security blanket, his fingers refusing to surrender the original threat.
Eight years worth of pent up anger ripped another section of piping from the ceiling as he made his way down the hall. One small click of his lighter, and it wouldn’t matter where they were. They’d all go up in flames. He turned the corner and entered the room with the old equipment.
“Marissa!” he yelled. He stood up straight, listening to the silence, the urgency of finding her lessened by the knowledge that she could not escape the blast he had just now planned.
He got chills, reflecting on his own intelligence.
Why had he needed to die alongside her, he wondered.
He should have done this all along. They’d go out in a blaze of glory.
Born together, die together. They’d die together, all right.
A smirk slid across his lips. Roland reached behind his back and took the gun out of his pants.
He thrust his left hand into his pocket and withdrew the lighter. They were going down.
Heavy footsteps drew near. Mimi pushed Kara’s body further behind the equipment. Protect her! a voice screamed in her head. She’d never let Kara down again.
“Marissa!” Roland’s voice came closer, echoing outside the door.
Hot tears streamed down Mimi’s cheeks. This was how they would die, and it would be all her fault.
If only she’d put him into an institution.
If only she’d moved further away. If only…
she’d not fallen in love with Al. Poor Al.
He’d died protecting them. I’m sorry, Al.
Her mind jumped to Ted. Renewed tears fell.
She’d let him down, too. For all she knew, Roland had killed him, and Jackson, too. Oh God, what had she done?
Fear gathered around her like a cloak, constricting her chest. Her rapid heartbeat pulsated within her aching body.
She counted each second, placing small kisses on Kara’s forehead, pushing hair away from her beautiful face.
“I’m sorry,” Mimi whispered again. She touched Kara’s chest, feeling for a heartbeat.
She felt movement under her hand. Her own heart skipped with hope.
She leaned down, putting her cheek next to her daughter’s mouth.
A rush of breath pushed through her lips.
There was a clanking sound outside the door.
“Mimi,” Roland’s voice was deep, his tone even and dark.
Mimi listened to the sound of something being pushed across the floor. A clank, followed by a harsh thump. Mimi jumped, despite her constant internal urging to remain still.
The wheels of the metal cart skittered across the floor.
Shit. She imagined Roland’s hands clawing at the equipment, the frenetic way his eyes scanned a room.
She remembered his eyes when he was just a boy—shadowed and manipulative—always calculating.
She’d taken to waking in the night, just to check on Marissa.
Roland had treated her as if he owned her, as if Marissa were part of him, rather than a twin.
She remembered the way Roland had eyed her, even at the age of three.
At first, she’d thought it was cute, the way he’d called her, “My Marissa.” That adorable connotation quickly turned to an obsessive protection of her.
He would hover around her, watching, waiting to insert himself between Mimi and Marissa.
He’d cut off Marissa mid-sentence, commanding she follow his lead. Mimi’s muscles tensed at the memories.
The doorknob turned, and the door flew open. Roland stood, the outline of his hulking figure spilling into the room where Mimi and Kara hid behind the equipment.
Mimi swallowed hard, trying not to breathe. Her eyes were riveted on Roland’s silhouette. The menacing bottle of antifreeze hung heavily from his right hand. His left arm was hidden in the darkness. She listened to his heavy, labored breaths.
Roland took a step into the room. His putrid odor wafted toward Mimi. Her heart lodged itself in her throat. She was sure he could hear the echo of each rapid beat.