A Question of Will Page 5

  Hope heard the floor squeak and could verify where the killer was based on the noise. The noise was unnecessary, for the sensation of evil emanating from the man was so intense that she could orient on his location without using her senses of sight and hearing. Taking a deep breath, she leaped into the kitchen and started to pull the trigger.

  An unseen force ripped the gun from her hands, leaving her defenseless. The gun moved straight into the outstretched hand of the man she’d seen in her earlier nightmare. In her dream, his appearance had been terrifying. In person, that same look was incapacitating. The soulless blood-red eyes looked at her, hungry to see the light of life in her eyes extinguished in death. His heavily-scarred face showed the untold tale of horror the man had created with his life. The short sword held in his right hand was red with the dried blood of previous victims, most likely including Mark, the security guard.

  The man glanced at the gun, and the clip of bullets dropped out of it, disarming the weapon. The killer threw the weapon to the ground. “You won’t need that, Mrs. Stark.” The man’s voice was like ice, and Hope felt the temperature in the house drop as he spoke. The man glanced at the bullets lying on the ground, and Hope watched them shrivel into flattened pieces of metal. “You won’t need those, either.”

  Hope found her voice, at least for the moment. “Who are you? Why are you in my house? I’m calling the police.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort.” It wasn’t a suggestion; it was a command. Though she tried to reach the mobile phone clipped to her belt, the force previously used to pull the gun from hands now kept her hands up and away from the device. The phone rang, startling her, and she recognized the ring tone for Will. The killer smirked, and the phone dissolved into dust, destroyed by an invisible, crushing force. The force controlling her arms now pulled on her, forcing her into a chair at the kitchen table, where her arms were pinned to her side as she was restrained in the seat.

  The man smiled, which had the effect of exaggerating the scars on his face. “That’s better. I have a bit of preparatory work to do, Mrs. Stark. I’ll then explain why I’m here, and then...why, then, you’ll die.” He said it without a hint of emotion, as if the concept of taking a human life had no emotional impact on him. Rather, if her dream had been accurate — and he was the living embodiment of the terror she had seen in her sleep — the man truly relished killing. And she was now unarmed, snared by some invisible force.

  After sheathing his sword, the man pulled what looked like a large aerosol can from his pocket. He began to walk along the perimeter of the house, spraying a thin coating of the substance in the can on the exterior walls. Hope watched, confused, as the thin liquid expanded like foam, spreading to cover large portions of the wall surfaces. He exited the kitchen area and moved into the dining room, which sat on one side of the front of the house. As he left the kitchen, Hope felt the invisible force restraining her release, allowing her to move again. She glanced at the gun on the floor with the useless bullets next to it. She still had an extra clip in her pocket, but clearly the man had expected the gun attack. He was likely prepared for the possibility that she’d reload and try to shoot him... and her previous attempt suggested such an effort would be futile.

  Her eyes fell on the rack of baseball bats Will kept next to the door, which were used in the batting cage he’d installed in the back yard. If the gun wasn’t an option, perhaps another form of attack was in order.

  After slipping off her shoes to help muffle her steps, Hope stood, silent on her feet, using her knowledge of the spots in the house which would creak and those which would stay solid and quiet underfoot. She selected one of the wood bats, and crept out of the kitchen in the opposite direction of the killer, still silent as a shadow. She stayed close to the inner wall of the room, out of sight, bat held at the ready. She could hear the killer moving out of the dining room, past the front door. He should be entering the room right about...

  Now.

  The man stepped into the room, his back to her, still spraying the foaming liquid on to the walls of her home. Subtlety no longer an option, Hope charged the man, swinging the bat with every bit of strength she could muster. The wooden bat shattered into splinters as it hit him full across the shoulders.

  He paused briefly, grunted, and then continued his work, as if he’d merely been aware of a bead of sweat trickling down his back.

  Hope’s eyes widened, and she dropped the bat handle to the floor. She backed away from him, back into the kitchen, where she seized a large knife from the butcher block and returned to the chair she’d been in moments before. Perhaps it was a futile effort at self-defense. She could run now, but the other men from her nightmare were likely out there, waiting for her. If they were here to execute her, she meant to make them work for it. She would do whatever was necessary to prevent them from discovering her child. Running would never do, but delaying the killer from completing his mission might. If she held off dying long enough, Will might arrive at the house with the police in tow. This plan had the added advantage of her staying alive.

  She wondered if this killer would be able to seize their guns in the same manner he had seized hers.

  The killer came into the kitchen, having finished painting the walls of her home in the foaming substance. He pocketed the can once more, and turned to face her. The look on his face said that her attack with the bat had not gone unnoticed, and would not go unpunished. She made herself glare back at him with as much malice as she could muster.

  “Mrs. Stark, the rules say that I am to explain the nature of the crimes committed, and then quickly and painlessly end your worthless human life. However, I believe there are exceptions in the rules for termination candidates who strike an Assassin. I shall have to ask clarification on that point during our review of this mission.”

  In other words, Hope thought, he intends to make me suffer, regardless of the consequences he’ll face.

  The killer cleared his throat. “Will Stark has been charged with breaking innumerable Aliomenti laws and rules, though those are of no matter for us here today. Assassins are only summoned forth when rogue Aliomenti violate one or more of the Oaths all members must swear upon joining. The two minor Oaths include willful communication of the existence of the Aliomenti, or the sharing of our advances with the human race, with marriage to a human considered to be an automatic admission of guilt to breaking those Oaths. For the guilty Aliomenti, the penalty is imprisonment. For the humans who knowingly or unknowingly aided and abetted the violation of these Oaths, the penalty is death.”

  Hope blinked, as she translated this into more practical terms. “What kind of nonsense is this? You’re saying my husband is part of some group that sentences his wife to death? That’s ridiculous. My husband loves me, and he’d never join a group like that or swear such a vow.”

  The Assassin laughed at her. “Your husband is not what he seems, Mrs. Stark. Not only did he swear to those Oaths, it was he who actually instituted them and the requisite penalties.”

  Hope shook her head. “No. That’s not possible. You’ve got the wrong man.”

  “I assure you, I do not. Will Stark’s name and face are the most widely known in our entire organization, and he is the one man whose identity we could never confuse with another. His open use of his given name without disguise may suggest madness on his part, but it does not change who he is or what he has done. All criminals must meet their punishment in the end. Today is the day for Will Stark.” He paused. “And for you.”

  “I’m telling you, you’ve got the wrong man. I’ve never heard of this alley-whatever group you’re talking about. Will’s not told me any type of secrets. Let me talk to him. You’ll see. You’ve got the wrong man.”

  The Assassin laughed at her again, this time with a mocking cruelty in the tone. “Silly human girl. Do you think your words carry any weight with us? Save your breath. You have so few remaining.”

  She considered her next move as he continued talking.
“You see, your husband has been something of an embarrassment to our organization. One of our true leaders and innovators, leaving to be part of a rebellion that strives to help humans? This is not acceptable.”

  Sounds like my kind of guy, Hope thought. Anybody who aggravates this clown is a hero in my book. Aloud, she snorted. “Now, see, that sounds like Will, always looking to help others improve their own lives. Where can I sign up for this rebellion you spoke of? I’d like to help him continue his noble work.”

  The Assassin ignored her cheek. “He has many times escaped our attempts at capture, and our Hunters have become quite disturbed. When they learned about you, well...it was as if they had been given a wonderful gift.” His blood-red eyes glinted with malice. “Bait.”

  She stared at him. “What...what do you mean, bait?”

  “We have heard plenty of stories through our information gathering of Will’s deep devotion to you. Even now, I am quite certain he is trying to work through the little obstacle I left at the entry to your neighborhood, as he has no doubt figured out that your life is in danger. And so I mean to show him a dramatic failure in this regard. Not only will you be dead, but your home will be in flames. In his emotional distress at losing you in this fire, he will be an easy target for our Hunters.” He leaned closer, smiling. “They have not forgotten how he has shamed them and our group. I dare say the capture will not go well for him.” At her look of horror, he laughed.

  “And now, Mrs. Stark, we come to the manner of your death. Normally, I would simply run my sword through you, directly into your brain, and that would kill you instantly. No pain, for all that’s worth. Yet you intended to shoot me with your little gun, and then you actually struck me with that piece of wood. That hurt my pride. Struck by a human woman? Such an embarrassment must be repaid. And so instead I believe I will let you die slowly in my beautiful fire, maimed so that you cannot escape. I am uncertain as to whether I should silence you as well, but I daresay it will be far more interesting to have Will hear you screaming as you burn to death, knowing he cannot save you.” He moved toward her. “And now, we will see your legs and arms maimed.”

  Hope pulled the knife from behind her back, blade gripped in her fingers, and hurled it at the Assassin. He was stunned, and though he could move quickly, he could not get entirely out of the way. The blade caught him in the left shoulder, and he roared in pain. If she’d felt his presence and evil before, it was nothing to the malice she felt now, crackling like electricity around her.

  He switched his sword to his left hand, and used the right hand to yank the knife from his shoulder. He stared at his own blood, shocked, and then turned on her again, screaming in rage more than pain. “Now you will suffer beyond comprehension!” He raised both blades now, ready to charge her, to... do what, she had no idea.

  She caught the blur of white hurtling through the air as the baseball smashed into the man’s face, shattering his nose, the already ugly face becoming even more so.

  “You leave my Mommy alone, you bad man!” Josh shouted, shaking his fist at The Assassin, the picture of six-year-old fury.

  The Assassin roared again and turned on the unknown assailant. No, thought Hope, don’t you dare hurt Josh. She’d hidden the boy in his room, buried in his closet under clothes and stuffed animals, with the order to not make a sound or leave until he heard one of his parents calling for him. Clearly, the boy had heard the shouting and had come to protect his mother. Just like the voice in his head told him to. Though she admired his bravery and devotion to her, she wished he’d chosen to remain in place. Now she had to prevent The Assassin from killing her son; she’d failed to make sure the man never discovered Josh’s existence. She waited for the expected attack on the child.

  But The Assassin stared at the six-year-old boy, rooted to the spot and unmoving.

  “Go away, bad man!” Josh shouted.

  The Assassin finally seemed to shake out of his fog. “Stark has a son.” It wasn’t a question, yet the tone suggested he wanted it to be. “It’s impossible. No Aliomenti can have children. Yet here he is. It’s not possible.”

  Hope took advantage of the distraction and hurled herself into the man, knocking him to the ground. She heard him grunt again as his damaged shoulder slammed into the wood floor. Then he brushed her aside, sending her five feet through the air. She landed with a thud, temporarily disoriented. She was somehow by that same kitchen chair again, with The Assassin getting to his feet near the opening between the kitchen and living room. Josh, who had been in the hallway entering the kitchen, ran to her. “Mommy!” he shrieked, his face shrouded in concern as he hugged her.

  A few hours ago, a hug from her son would have been the greatest gift she could receive. Now, she just wanted to get him away from here. But instead, the evil mind of The Assassin formulated a new plan. “I’ve thought of the perfect punishment for you, Mrs. Stark. You’ll watch the boy die in front of your eyes before you burn to death.” He laughed, a cruel and triumphant sound that reminded Hope of fingernails on a chalkboard.

  The laughter turned to a scream of pain.

  Smokey had emerged from hiding, and her jaws were clamped around the Assassin’s leg. The dog snarled and pulled, as if she were trying to amputate the leg with her teeth. At a minimum, she was causing The Assassin a great deal of pain. The man roared and slammed a huge fist down on the dog’s head. Smokey yelped, but didn’t let go of his leg. The Assassin raised his sword and jabbed it into the dog’s side. Smokey yelped again and fell to the ground, whimpering.

  “Smokey!” Josh screamed, and Hope’s heart broke at the anguish in her son’s voice. He tried to run to the dog, but Hope held him. The Assassin, noting the anguish as well, smiled at the boy and kicked the dog into the wall of the house. The dog fell to the ground and lay completely still.

  “You monster!” Hope screamed, while trying to comfort a sobbing Josh.

  The boy broke free and sent a withering glance at the Assassin, who, to Hope’s surprise, looked somewhat frightened. “I’ll kill you for that,” the little boy said, his tone the equal in malice to that of the Assassin. The voice was Josh’s and yet not, as if from an unrepentant demon, and Hope was startled.

  The Assassin took a step back, and then seemed to remember he was being threatened by an unarmed six-year-old boy. He laughed once, and then his face resumed its usual mask of venom. “Foolish boy,” he hissed. “I’m tired of these games. This ends now.” He took a step towards Hope and Josh, the sword rising above his head, ready to finish them off.

  They vanished from his sight.

  He’d suffered insults to his pride as the two humans and the dog had fought him; while it was a rare human who could muster the courage to fight him at all, it wasn’t without precedent, and some even landed blows that scarred his face before he overwhelmed them. This had been something different. He hadn’t known about the boy or the dog, and between the broken nose, the stab wound in his shoulder, and the torn flesh of his leg, he’d taken the worst beating of his career. But he’d gotten through it and fully disarmed them, ready for the kill of not one but two humans — an extra treat — and now he’d been denied that reward.

  There could be only one explanation, only one man who could have moved the human woman and child to safety, only one man who could have denied him his kills.

  “STARK!” he screamed, so loudly he was certain the world could hear him. His anger and rage boiled up in the form of the flames he could expel from his body, normally at will, but the tongues of fire were beyond his control at this point, as great as the rage that consumed him.

  The flames touched the foaming substance he’d sprayed on the walls earlier, concentrated on the rear wall of the house in the kitchen where he was facing. The foam, a flame accelerant he’d developed over the years as a way to enhance his natural pyromancy abilities, was intended to be lit with a tiny spark, the way the Hunters had used it to burn the golf carts at the community entrance. Instead, the substance was ignited with t
he heat equivalent of a small bomb. The foam exploded, blasting the rear wall of the house into the backyard. The somewhat weaker flames moving toward the front of the house blew out the glass in the front windows; the shrapnel sprayed Will Stark, who had just arrived at the front yard.

  The remaining accelerant did what it was designed to do. Red-hot flames blasted into existence, engulfing the entire house in towering streams of fire nearly instantly, so that to an outside observer like Will Stark, it was as if the house had been erased and replaced by a giant bonfire.

  The raging fires thirsted for oxygen, and while the Assassin’s gift made him immune to the flames, he still needed to breathe. He gasped for air and tried to leave the house, but the loss of oxygen was so sudden and complete at his level that he only made it two steps before he lost consciousness. He fell to the ground, right next to the dog he’d kicked with extreme cruelty only a few moments earlier.

  V

  Abduction

  Will squinted at the wall of flame that was consuming his house, unable to fully open his eyes due to the intense brightness of the inferno. He could not fathom what force or power could engulf a five thousand square foot house in flames as though it were a scrap of paper thrown into a bonfire. What mattered most to him now was determining if either Hope or Josh had survived the initial explosion, and if they still lived amid the raging flames. The earlier news from Hope that Josh had finally started speaking now had a very practical benefit: his son had the ability to call out for help, assuming he still lived.

  Will refused to think about any other possibility. He’d search for Hope and Josh until he found them, regardless of their condition or the pain and injury he might endure. He owed them that much for failing to protect them from the horror that stood before him.

  He winced still at the pain from removing the overcoat, which had not only pulled pieces of glass from his skin, but had also aggravated his burns, burns that were only getting worse as he continued to stand so close to the burning building. He’d probably be advised to get plastic surgery for the burns after this. He didn’t care.