Amanda rolled away from the base of the steps before the man was upon her. There was something about his momentum and his position above her that made her fear he was going to pounce on her like a cat. She dragged herself deeper into the dark basement, crawling into a steel support column and striking her head. She got to her feet and toppled a stack of boxes, trying to put as much distance as she could between herself and the steps, but it was like navigating a maze.
The footsteps stopped.
With no light reaching the depths of the basement, she could see nothing. It was only sound feeding her information. It sounded like he sat down on the foot of the steps.
“I’ve never liked real live people. I don’t understand them,” the Death Merchant said. His voice filled the darkness, rolling off the bare block walls of the basement. It was throaty but high-pitched, like he was unused to talking.
“I had a lot of friends online. I played games with them every night. I chatted with them and it never felt awkward. But in person, I could never say the right things. I could never do the right things.”
Amanda remained silent, she did not know what to say. As quietly as possible, she continued moving around the basement, exploring with her hands, trying to protect the arm he’d slammed the car trunk on. She was certain it was broken but if she could not fight back that would be the least of her problems. She felt for anything she might be able to use to defend herself.
“In real life, everything is always a disappointment,” he continued. “It never measures up to the virtual world.”
She ran into what felt like a table covered with a sheet. She banged her already bruised hip against it and had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. It was a jolt she felt deep in the core of her battered body.
“When you reached out to me, CamaroChick19, I thought you were going to be a new kind of friend,” he said. “Our communication was not about gaming. It was about me. No one had ever been interested in me before. In what I was doing. It made the world a different place for me.”
Had he been able to see her face in the darkness, there was no way he could have missed her look of confusion. She had no idea what he was talking about. She had no idea who CamaroChick19 was. No idea who he even was. Her fingers touched an exterior wall, feeling the rough texture of cinderblock. She felt like a mouse trapped in box.
“You have nothing to say?” he asked.
She did not want to answer him, hoping the darkness concealed her movement, concealed her search for a weapon. Her fingers moved desperately, exploring everything around her. She found a flat surface at waist-height. It was level but scarred with deep grooves gouged into the top. A workbench maybe. There had to be something there she could use. She extended both hands, doubling her search, groping blindly, looking for anything. She refused to give up.
Her hand struck an old coffee can filled with nails and it turned over, making a distinctive sound as it spilled nails. He had to know what she was doing now. Had to know where she was.
“It’s no use,” he said. “There’s no way out. Nowhere to go. Nowhere else to be. We have to work this out. We have to end it.”
“End what?” she demanded. She’d finally had enough. She was angry now, no longer able to keep her mouth shut. She didn’t care if talking gave away her position or not. “I don’t know you and have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never talked to you. I never reached out to you. Until I saw you in the bike shop that day, I’d never seen you in my life.”
He released a sigh of disappointment. “I don’t understand why you’re lying to me. There’s no reason for it. Don’t you understand this is why we’re here? Maybe you thought you were fooling me with the fake user name but I’m too smart for you. I tracked the picture back to you. I figured out who you were.”
“Who am I?” she asked.
“You are Amanda Castle. You are CamaroChick19.” He said it with an air of revelation, like a detective announcing he’d figured out who committed a murder.
All the while, Amanda searched. Her toe struck a cardboard box and she heard the tell-tale rattle of empty canning jars clinking together. She changed direction and her shin struck a tall plastic bucket. It was heavy with something, rocking from her impact but not sliding away. She bent over and felt around for the mouth of the bucket. Found the smooth rim and shoved a hand inside.
The first thing she felt was a wooden handle. She groped around inside the bucket and found more wooden handles. They were not hammers. Too light. She pulled one out.
Trowels.
Bricklayer’s trowels with diamond-shaped steel faces and a point on the end. She found the sharpest one. It was not nearly as sharp as a knife but with enough effort she could shove it through flesh. Flesh was fairly easy to penetrate.
But what about the shirt he was wearing? Could she push the relatively dull trowel through it? Probably not. That reduced the number of places she could strike to just his face. Not good.
She dropped the trowel back into the bucket and kept looking. She had to keep him talking. Had to keep him from coming after her.
“If I am this CamaroChick19, then who are you?”
“I am the Death Merchant,” he replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “DeathMerchant6o6o6.”
“That’s an awfully bold name. Just what have you done to be awarded such an illustrious title?”
She was feeling around the floor this time, finding more objects with her feet. She found an old military ammo can full of steel pipe fittings, and another bucket with what felt like plastic pipe fittings. The next thing she touched with her toe grated as she tried to slide it, but it was too heavy. She dropped to her knees.
A toolbox.
“Across five games, I have over six hundred confirmed kills,” the Death Merchant stated proudly. “People want me on their team because I’m proficient. I am the Death Merchant.”
Amanda unlatched the lid of the toolbox and flipped it back. She found smooth steel surfaces beneath her fingertips. She picked one up and found it to be so heavy it nearly took two hands. She felt along its surface and interpreted the shape. She’d seen her dad using something like this when he replaced the hot water heater. A pipe wrench. It would have to do until something better presented itself.
She stood back up. Armed, she felt a little more secure. A little more defiant.
“Those are just games,” she said. “Playing your little games doesn’t make you a killer. It makes you a loser. Especially if you start thinking that shit is real.”
His laugh startled her. “Funny you should say that. I earned my name in gaming but the Death Merchant does not reside only in that world anymore. In fact, I killed the last man to call me a loser. I earned that name in this very house by killing the man who owned it. Then I killed my mother because she thought I was a loser too. So you can see, people who think I’m a loser earn a special place in my heart.”
Amanda’s boldness was wavering. His confession terrified her. He had killed people. Not just people in games but real people. Maybe he was some twisted freak obsessed with video games but he was far from a harmless freak. He was a kidnapper and a murderer. He had crossed a line. Forever more, it would be easier for him to kill at will, until someone stopped him.
There was no point in delaying this and letting him play his little games with her. She did not want to be someone he bragged about killing. Her father told her many times that action was faster than reaction. There were times when it was advantageous to strike first and strike hard. Maybe this was one of those times. As scary as the thought was, she couldn’t think of any other options available to her.
She tried to retrace her steps from memory. Back to the steps. Back through the maze. Where she recalled stacks or obstacles, she moved around them. Her pace was painfully slow, not wanting to make the slightest sound or give away anything.
The stairs creaked loudly and the location of his voice changed slightly. He was standing now. He would come after her. He was done talking.
“You are only delaying the inevitable,” he said. “I’m going to turn the light on now. There is nowhere to hide.”
She sprinted toward him, the heavy pipe wrench raised in her hands like a hammer. The Death Merchant reached for the switch in the darkness. He flicked it upward and light flooded the room. His eyes struggled to adjust, struggled to focus. Struggled to process the girl leaping toward him with the heavy steel wrench raised over her head and murder in her eyes.
She screamed with rage. The Death Merchant tried to stagger backward but couldn’t do so on the steps. He fell into a sitting position and threw his hands up in a defensive gesture. She struck at him, catching a forearm. There was a muffled crack as a bone broke.
The Death Merchant howled in pain.
Then she struck again. With the Death Merchant attempting to cradle his broken arm, she swung for his head with all her might. He saw the blow coming and jerked his head to the side. It was enough to prevent the pipe wrench from caving in his skull but not enough to keep it from connecting with his shoulder.
The Death Merchant screamed, his voice like a chorus of damned souls. Amanda stepped back, putting a little space between them as she raised the wrench for the next blow, but she’d given him too much space. A foot flew up in the space between them and the Death Merchant kicked with all his strength.
Amanda flew backward, landing on a pile of camping gear. Her head thumped hard against the concrete floor and she was stunned. In the distance, somewhere above them, she thought she heard the sound of shattering wood and heavy boots racing across the floor.
Then the Death Merchant was on her, his weight pressing her against the floor and pinning her arms down. She couldn’t even breathe. He fished around the floor and came up with a tent stake. It was the same kind he’d killed his mother with.
The Death Merchant splayed a massive hand across Amanda’s face, pressing her head into the floor. With the other, he raised the nail over his head.
“Noooo!” she screamed, trying to twist away but she could not move a muscle.
He roared as the nail began its arc toward her accusing eye.
There was a suppressed gunshot and the Death Merchant jerked violently, his back arching. The nail missed and struck the floor.
He was not done. The Death Merchant raised the nail again, trying to finish what he started, what he was driven to do. There was a second shot, then a third, and his head snapped sideways. Blood sprayed Amanda’s face. She closed her eyes and screwed her mouth shut. It took forever, but the large man relaxed and toppled away from her, thudding into the basement floor.
There were feet on the steps racing toward her. One man took her in his arms and pulled her away from the Death Merchant, clearing a path for more men. They surrounded him, checking him for vitals, then for weapons. They found neither.
One of the men keyed his mike. “Subject is down. We have the girl.”
Amanda felt weak, disoriented. She felt like she was going to pass out, perhaps even go into shock, but she was certain she could hear the reaction of the men on the other end of the radio.
It sounded like cheering.