The Skin Collector(Lincoln Rhyme)

Chapter 72





Pam’s hands were slick with Billy’s blood, but she got the door open and stumbled into the front hallway of the building.

She’d get outside onto the street and start screaming her head off. Maybe there was no one to hear her pleas for help in the building. But there were plenty of neighbors.

Ten feet, five feet …

Yes! She was going to—

But then fingers grabbed her ankles and she was falling to the lobby floor, with a cry. Her head bounced on the hardwood.

The knife went flying. Pam squirmed around and faced Billy, kicking furiously toward his groin.

His face was a mess – the image both pleased and shocked her. The gash began below his eye and continued to the middle of his cheek. She’d hoped to blind him but he could see all right, it seemed. Still, blood poured from his cheek and bubbled from his lips and she knew the blade had cut clean through to the inside of his mouth. She couldn’t understand what he was saying. Threats, of course. Rage.

Blood flecked her jacket, her arm, her hand. The spray spattered her face.

The horrific expression revealed the pain he’d be feeling.

Good!

She gave up fighting. He was weakened but still much stronger than she was. Escape, she told herself. Just get the hell out!

Clawing at the floor, she managed to move a foot or so away from him, closer to the door.

But he stopped her and spun her onto her back, landing a blow in her solar plexus, knocking the air from her lungs again and doubling her over. She broke away momentarily – thanks to the slick blood, he’d lost his grip. She made it up on her knees. But fury possessed him. Billy planted his foot against the hallway wall and lunged forward, wrapping his sinewy hands around her throat. On her back again, gasping for air.

She kicked upward once more and connected, knee to groin. He gasped, inhaling hard, and began coughing blood. He reseated himself on top of her. His grip relaxed and he drew back and pounded her own cheek and jaw, sputtering words she couldn’t understand, flecking her with more blood.

She tried to kick again, tried to punch, but she could get no leverage.

And all the while she was gasping, trying to draw air into her lungs and cry for help.

But nothing. Silence only.

The gash on his face was ghastly but the flow of blood was slowing, coagulating around the wound, dark and crisp as maroon-colored ice. Now she could hear: ‘How could you do that?’ More words but they snapped and sputtered and grew unintelligible once more. He spat blood. ‘What a fool, Pam! You’re beyond saving. I should have known.’

He leaned down and fixed his grip around her neck and began to tighten.

Pam’s head throbbed even more, the agony increasing, as she struggled for breath. Trapped blood pulsed in her temple and face.

The hallway began to grow dark.

It’s all right, she said to herself. Better this than going back to the militia. Living the way Billy would insist she live. Better than being ‘his woman’.

She thought briefly of her mother, Charlotte, speaking to Pam when the girl was about four.

‘We’re going to New York to do something important, honey. It’ll be like a game. I’m going to be Carol. If you hear somebody call me Carol, and you say, “That’s not her name,” I’ll whip you within an inch of your life. Do you understand me, honey? I’ll get the switch out. The switch then the closet.’

‘Yes, Mommy. I’ll be good, Mommy.’

Then Pam knew she was dying because all around her was light, brilliant light, ruddy light, blinding light. And she nearly laughed, thinking: Hey, maybe I got that God stuff wrong. I’m looking at the glow of heaven.

Or hell, or wherever.

Then she felt weightless, light as could be, as her soul began to rise.

But, no, no, no … It was just that Billy was getting off her, rising, grabbing the box cutter and lifting it.

He was going to slash her throat.

He was mouthing something. She couldn’t hear.

But she clearly heard the two, then three, huge explosions from the front doorway of the apartment building. She saw that the sun was the source of the light: the sun pouring onto her west-facing building. And saw two silhouettes, men holding guns. Looking then toward Billy she watched him stagger back, stumbling, clutching his chest. Torn mouth opening wide.

He looked down at her, dropped the box cutter, settled awkwardly into a sitting position, then eased to his side. He blinked, surprised, it seemed. He whispered something. His hands twitched.

Then the officers pushed into the hallway and had her by the arms, lifting her to her feet and pulling her toward the front door. Pam shook them off, though, apparently surprising them with her strength. ‘No,’ she whispered. She turned back and kept her eyes locked on Billy’s until his gaze went unfocused and the pupils glazed. Inhaling hard, she waited a moment longer and then turned and stepped outside, while the officers advanced to Billy’s body, pistols forward and ready – which was, she guessed, procedure, even though it was clear, unquestionably clear, he was no longer a threat.