CHAPTER 67
I don’t know how many times I got stabbed. Five? Six? Ten? It’s hard to count when you’re being murdered. I crumpled to the floor like I’d been unplugged, clutching my gut, feeling myself grow weaker by the second. Blood seeped through the makeshift dam of my fingers to collect on the floor beneath me. The world looked askew, everything tilted. Dobson’s canvas sneakers—yes, those made the most sense for standing on a ledge—came shuffling toward me, but my eyesight was blurry and fading. I sensed Ruby near me, a beacon of sorts guiding my hands toward her, and yet everywhere I reached I couldn’t seem to find her. Now I understood—too late, of course. She hadn’t been begging for me to untie her. She’d been warning me about Dobson—the Fiend.
Dobson’s footsteps spoke a language all their own. “I’m coming,” they said. “I’m coming, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.” He bent down, getting close to me, and lifted me up by my shoulders. Not off the floor, entirely, just enough so he could slide the bomb underneath. I felt those nails and ball bearings pressing up against the knife wounds, a searing pain.
“Can’t risk an autopsy showing that you were stabbed,” Dobson said, again speaking in that raspy, guttural voice I recognized as belonging to the Fiend. “Oh, and by the way, thanks for saving my life out there,” he said in his normal speaking voice. “That little slip and fall incident wasn’t planned, I can tell you. Not at all. Whew!” He wiped the back of his hand across his brow to show his relief. “I thought you did amazing, by the way. I mean, talk about a true test of your criminality. You faced your greatest fear and picked that lock! You’re a master, John. You’ve won the game. Wow, what a rush! I knew this would be great, but I didn’t know how great. I mean, my heart is really pumping. It never did that when I was choking the Uretskys.
“Anyway, the good news is you’re going to die a hero, John. I’ll tell them I took off the vest in a panic and tossed it to the floor. I ran out the door, quick as a bunny.” Using two downward pointing fingers, he pantomimed the idea of legs moving fast. “Well, I guess I must have dropped the vest near Ruby. I saw you going for the bomb just as I was leaving. You wanted to save your wife, naturally. Makes perfect sense. And then, boom, it went off. Well, it didn’t go off by itself. I’ve got the remote trigger, which I’ll get rid of on my way out of here.”
“They’ll know,” I said. “The police will figure out that you don’t work for UniSol, and they’ll hunt you down.”
“I thought you’d know me better by now. I’m looking forward to having them try and find me. It’s just another game to play. Sorry, buddy, but that’s how it ends. You were so much fun to play with. I mean, I really, really loved playing with you. Guess I’ll see you on the other side.”
He smiled wickedly. I saw his feet turn. Time to go. Next, I heard those footsteps as they headed for the door. Slow moving. No need to rush. I listened to the sound of his footfalls on the hardwood floor. I listened. And I listened. And when I didn’t hear footsteps anymore, I knew he’d gone out the door and into the carpeted hallway. I counted to ten, having no idea how long he’d wait to set off the bomb. Five seconds? Three? He’d want to get safely down the stairs. Maybe a flight. Maybe two. So I counted to ten, filling my lungs with resolve.
One . . . two . . . three . . .
I pushed myself off the floor onto my hands and knees.
Four . . . five . . .
I got to my feet, shaky and off balance, wincing in pain, with blood seeping from my body in a steady stream.
Six . . . seven . . .
I picked up Ruby, feeling my stab wounds ripping. The agony burning from within turned my vision black.
Eight . . . nine . . .
I carried Ruby over to the window—dragged her—my steps shuffling and off balance, but effective.
Ten.
I pushed her out the window.
Eleven . . .
The bomb went off.