Part 12 (2/2)
”He could've been in your car!” Lacey blurted, suddenly alarmed.
”No. I checked it over.”
”Your trunk?”
”Checked that, too.”
”Maybe he followed you.”
”I don't think so. Wasn't much traffic. The only car behind me much had a couple in it-a man driving, a woman pa.s.senger.” He made a grim smile. ”Neither one was invisible. So I think we're okay on that score.”
”You saw the man's face?” Lacey asked.
”Not up close, but he had one. It's all right, Lace. Now stop worrying. I wasn't followed.”
”He could've put something on. A mask, makeup...”
Carl shook his head. ”We've gotta figure out what to do about this guy. Seems Tome, we're both in the same boat, now. I don't think I want to hang around Oasis and just wait for him to slit my gullet. I figure, if we stick together on this...”
”What about the woman pa.s.senger?” Lacey asked.
”Huh?”
”In the car that followed you.”
”It wasn't following me. It was just behind me.”
”All the way?”
”I don't know.” He sounded annoyed. ”I didn't keep track. It was just some clown and his wife.”
”How do you know it was his wife?”
”Cause,” Carl said, smiling slightly, ”she was asleep the whole way.”
”Asleep?”
”Sure. Slumped over, her head against the side window...Oh, for Christsake, Lace, don't turn paranoid on me. Don't start telling me she was dead, and the driver was your invisible man decked out in a Stetson and mask.”
”You think that's not possible?”
”I think you're jumping to some mighty big conclusions.”
”He figured you would know where to get in touch with me. Killing Alfred, leaving the note, he did it so you'd lead him here. For G.o.d-sake, he's probably...”
”Now don't get all worked up. Calm down. There's nothing to...”
Lacey jerked stiff as her knife turned, the blade slicing a white-hot line up her b.u.t.tock. She clutched the wound and spun around. The suspended knife slashed through the air, barely missing her face, and jerked toward Carl.
”Scott!”
The closet door burst open. Scott crouched, pistol forward, but his face was twisted with confusion. ”W here?”
Even as Lacey pointed, the blade punched into Carl's throat. Blood shot out. It spurted a few inches, then splattered as if hitting a sheet of gla.s.s. It sprayed and sheathed the surface-the face and shoulders and chest of a sixfoot man.
Scott gazed, his mouth agape.
”Shoot him!”
The figure, vague as a patch of floating red cellophane, raised Carl off his feet and flung him at Scott. Scott leapt sideways. The body hit the closet door, crashed it shut, and thudded to the floor. The knife, Lacey saw, was still embedded in Carl's throat.
Scott aimed at the film of blood rus.h.i.+ng toward him. ”Stop!”
Lacey braced herself for the roar of gunfire. It didn't come.
A yard in front of Scott, the figure halted.
”f.u.c.kin' blood,” muttered a scratchy voice.
The layer of red s.h.i.+fted as if a child were finger-painting on his face.
”Hands on your head,” Scott ordered.
The top of the head wasn't there, but Lacey saw two hand-shaped images of blood suspended above the concave face-a face like the back of a translucent red Halloween mask.
Lacey grabbed her can of silver paint from the coffee table and tugged off its plastic top. Tossing the cap aside, she shook the can. It rattled as if a marble were trapped inside. She stepped close to the dripping, red veil in front of Scott's automatic.
”Don't do it,” the man muttered.
As her forefinger lowered to the plastic nozzle, the red membrane s.h.i.+fted like a flag struck by wind. Something struck Lacey's hand. The can tumbled away. Then a tightness clenched her wrist and swung her toward Scott. He jumped out of the way, rushed in front of her, and dived. He landed flat on the floor, his hands grabbing only air.
The door flew open, ripping the guard chain from its mounting, and slammed shut.
Scott pushed himself to his knees. His eyes met Lacey's. He shook his head.
Lacey stepped over to Carl's body. She knelt down beside him. Blood no longer pumped from his torn throat. She covered her face with both hands, and started to cry.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
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