So far, so good.
There were only four rows of food in the small station, which meant that if he made it to the next end cap without Ackerman seeing him, he would have an unobstructed view of his opponent’s hiding place.
He checked the next aisle for danger and was about to make a dash for the next end cap when he heard a small but strange noise coming from the front of the store. It took him a moment to associate the sound with anything tangible, but then he made the connection of a liquid being pressed from a squeeze bottle. Following the sound, Tom’s wailing increased in intensity, and the injured officer screamed an almost unintelligible call for help.
“Your friend is having a very bad day, officer. He made his choice to stay and fight, but I guess that I didn’t really give you much of a choice, so here it is. Your partner was right. There was no hostage before. But there is one now, and he’s not going to leave here alive. I will, however, let you walk right out that door, get in your car, and leave this place behind like it was nothing more than a nightmare. If you stay, maybe you can stop me and save your friend, but let’s be honest. I’m better at this game than you are. If you stay, odds are you’ll both die. The choice is yours, officer.”
He gritted his teeth. Ackerman most likely knew his position, so the chance to sneak around behind the madman was gone. He knew that Ackerman was right. He had never been in a situation like this. He had never seen any real action other than a few rowdy traffic stops and a hostage situation at a diner a few years back, where he had been one of about twenty policemen on the scene. He had been involved in some murder investigations after the fact, but he had never been in a shootout with the killer.
His adversary, however, had taken countless victims, several of which were law enforcement. The killer outgunned and outmatched him; yet, he knew that he could never abandon his friend.
Tom Delaine was a hotheaded, irrational jerk, but he had also been his partner and best friend for nine years. Tom had been there the day that Emily had given birth, handing out the cigars and grinning like a proud uncle. Tom had been the only person who could comfort him on the day they placed his father in the ground. His partner had counseled him through every tough moment of his life and had never asked for anything in return.
“You come on back here where I can get a good look at you, and I’ll give you my answer,” he said, without the slightest tremble in his voice.
“All right, officer, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He didn’t respond. He was already on the move.
He made his way down the middle aisle, staying low and trying to zero in on Ackerman’s location from the sound of his voice. If his instincts proved correct, Ackerman awaited him at the end cap of the third row.
When he reached the end of the aisle, he peeked one eye around the corner, but couldn’t see the killer. Tom lay only a few feet away.
He edged farther out of the aisle, but still no Ackerman. He was about to reach for Tom, when he heard a match being struck. In that split second, he noticed the line of liquid running from around the side of the station’s counter to where Tom lay. He sniffed the air and realized that the sound he had heard earlier was the spraying of lighter fluid. Before he could react, a hand appeared from around the corner of the counter and dropped a match into the trail of liquid.
The stream of lighter fluid ignited, a blue spark questing out and morphing into hues of red and yellow. Within the blink of an eye, the fire shot back to Tom and engulfed him in flames.
Tom’s tortured screams of agony filled the gas station and reverberated off the walls and glass. The echoes compounded on each other, giving the effect of a chorus of the damned.
In that moment, Jim lost the capacity for rational thought and acted on pure instinct. He dropped his pistol, ripped off his coat, and slapped at the flames in a last-ditch effort to save his friend. After a few swings, his coat glowed with reds and yellows, as well. He dropped it to the linoleum next to Tom.
A part of his rational mind, which had now been thrown to the back of his consciousness, realized that his friend and partner of many years was gone, but terror had usurped coherent thought. His own screams added to the cacophony of suffering.
After what felt like an eternity, his partner’s thrashing ceased, and only the flames remained. The smell of charred flesh filled the space all around him, adding to the whirlwind of emotions swirling in his mind.
A mixture of terror, grief, and anger consumed his consciousness. He sat on his knees, weeping for his friend and knowing that he would be next. For some time, he had been aware of the man with the shotgun standing behind him in the aisle. Ackerman had used Tom as a distraction, and the ploy had succeeded.