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"Oh," he said, smiling. "Is that Pat?"
But Chilton was frowning. "She couldn't be here that fast."
"But I heard something. Didn't you?"
The blogger nodded. "I did, yes."
Then, looking toward the doorway, Lily said, "There's somebody there. I'm sure." She was frowning. "I hear footsteps."
"Maybe--" Chilton began.
But his words were cut off as Lily screamed. Hawken spun around, dropping his wineglass, which shattered loudly.
A boy in his late teens, hair askew, face dotted with acne, stood in the doorway. He seemed stoned. He was blinking and lookin
g around, disoriented. In his hand was a pistol. Shit, Hawken thought, they hadn't locked the back door when they'd arrived. This kid had wandered inside to rob them.
Gangs. Had to be gangs.
"What do you want?" Hawken whispered. "Money? We'll give you money!"
The boy continued to squint. His eyes settled on Jim Chilton and narrowed.
Then Donald Hawken gasped. "It's the boy from the blog! Travis Brigham!" Skinnier and paler than in the pictures on TV. But there was no doubt. He wasn't dead. What was this all about? But one thing he understood: The boy was here to shoot his friend Jim Chilton.
Lily grabbed her husband's arm.
"No! Don't hurt him, Travis," Hawken cried and felt an urge to step in front of Chilton, to protect him. Only his wife's grip kept him from doing so.
The boy took a step closer to Chilton. He blinked, then looked away--toward Hawken and Lily. He asked in a weak voice, "They're the ones you want me to kill?"
What did he mean?
And James Chilton whispered, "That's right, Travis. Go ahead and do what you agreed. Shoot."
SQUINTING AGAINST THE raw light that stung his eyes like salt, Travis Brigham stared at the couple--the people his captor had told him, in the basement a half hour ago, he had to kill: Donald and Lily. His kidnapper had explained that they'd be arriving soon and would be upstairs--in this house, the very one whose basement he'd spent the past three or four days in.
Travis couldn't understand why his kidnapper wanted them dead. But that didn't matter. All that mattered was keeping his family alive.
Travis, did you bring me M's?
He lifted the gun, aimed at them.
As the couple blurted words he hardly heard, he tried to hold the weapon steady. This took all his effort. After days of being chained to a bed, he was weak as a bird. Even the climb up the stairs had been a chore. The gun was weaving.
"No, please no!" someone cried, the man or the woman. He couldn't tell. He was confused, disoriented by the glaring light. It stung his eyes. Travis aimed at the man and woman, but still, he kept wondering: Who are they, Donald and Lily? In the basement the man had said, "Look at them like characters in that game you play. DimensionQuest. Donald and Lily're only avatars, nothing more than that."
But these people sobbing in front of him weren't avatars. They were real.
And they seemed to be his captor's friends--at least in their minds. "What's going on? Please, don't hurt us." From Lily. "James, please!"
But the man--James, it seemed--just kept his eyes, cool eyes, on Travis. "Go ahead. Shoot!"
"James, no! What are you saying?"
Travis steadied the gun, pointing it at Donald. He pulled back the hammer.
Lily screamed.
