Mason killed the engine and sat in the car for a few moments. It was pitch-black out here—hard to see a damn thing except for the faint outline of an RV. Wendell’s RV, and no sign of any human being, outline or otherwise. He began to think this was a trick, a hot wave flushing over him as he feared for the safety of his son. Was all this a distraction to pull him away from the city? Was Wendell back in town, killing off what little family he had left?
Just as he reached for the ignition key, something hard slammed into the car door. Mason jumped but tried not to show it. He looked around and finally saw a figure standing far away. The silhouette of an outstretched arm beckoned him toward the edge of the cliff. His heart racing like a greyhound, Mason climbed out of the car, the wind’s whistle turning into a fierce howl. He spotted a large rock on the ground and suspected that was what had hit his Mustang.
“Over heeeere.” The wind carried the voice, slow and eerie.
“I’m coming.”
Mason shielded his eyes with his arm. Fine droplets of rain began to fall from the cracking and clashing clouds above them. It dampened him, cooled him, but it wasn’t going to solve any of his problems. He strolled toward the edge of the cliff, took one glance at his watch, and was relieved to find he had made it with two minutes to spare.
“Over here.”
Mason stood near the drop, doing all he could not to peer over. If history really was due to repeat itself, he knew what was coming and didn’t like it one bit. But if that was what it took to save his wife, he would do what he had to. It was the one thing he could do right.
Two silhouettes joined the scene from behind the RV. It was still dark, and there was very little moonlight to guide them, but it was easy to tell what was happening a few feet away from him. Marvin Wendell was approaching, the lip of a revolver pressed against Diane’s head as he held her like a human shield.
“Mason,” she whimpered, her voice frail and unstable.
“It’s going to be okay,” Mason said.
Wendell laughed. It was a deep, hearty thing that drove spikes of cold ice into the nape of Mason’s neck. “Yes, go ahead and lie to her like you do to everyone else. Because we all know the truth: nothing is fine. None of you are safe. Now, am I right in assuming you brought a gun with you to this little party?”
“No.”
“Are you lying again?” Wendell jerked Diane closer, forcing her to whimper.
“Okay!” Mason said, reaching for his holster.
“Slowly.”
Mason was slow and deliberate, reaching for the Glock with a thumb and one finger. As he pulled it out, he held it up for proof. “There, are you happy?”
“I will be when you toss it off the cliff.”
There was no hesitation. Mason did as he was told.
“Good,” Wendell said. “Now, look by your feet and you’ll find a rope. I’m sure you know how this goes by now. I’m a big fan of repetition—comes with the job, I guess—so tie that thing firmly around your waist, and we’ll see what happens.”
“No,” Mason said, puffing out his chest. “First, you let her go.”
“And give up my bargaining chip? Try again.”
Mason took a deep breath but still found himself suffocating. His fear for Diane’s safety had reached an impossible new height, anxiety riddling his body like a thousand bullets. Slowly, he felt around for the rope. He found it nearby, fixing it around his waist in a Palomar knot. He knew how this was going to end. Diane was going to get tied to the other side, and he would be pushed, leaving him with the choice of killing himself or taking her down with him. It was how it had happened years ago with Amy, only now things were different.
Now, he had already lost.
“There,” he snapped at the killer. “It’s done.”
“Good. You know what’s coming next?”
Mason nodded. Damn right he knew—he was going to die in order to save her.
“But the thing is, I had to make some improvisations.” Wendell pushed Diane onto the ground. She whined as her hands and knees hit the rocky ground. He came toward Mason, the gun now fixed in his direction. Flashes of lightning intermittently lit up his face, the shadows playing tricks to make him look different somehow. More… demonic? “Not everything has gone according to plan, so some things have had to change. This is one of them.”
Mason’s chest heaved up and down as he panted. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about this. Right here, right now.” Wendell leaned in close, whispering in his ear with hot, stinking breath blowing out with every word. “The difference is, Diane and I are going to have a lot of fucking fun, and in the meantime? You can just die.”
Before Mason could react, he felt the heels of both hands strike his chest. Even with his great size, Mason struggled to find his balance. He waved his arms, reaching for nothing as the ground fell out from under him. He fell backward, the edge of the cliff disappearing as the rope, attached to nothing at all, traveled with him. The last thing he saw as he plummeted to his death was the sneering face of a man who looked like Marvin Wendell.
A face he could never forget.