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Cami took a deep breath. She had to act now, there was no choice in the matter. Because Connor was knocked out, the killer was upstairs, and when he’d finished off with Dylan, he would head down. All she could do was go up and confront him first.
Dylan's life was at stake. All their lives were. Connor’s, Maisie’s, and her own. And no one else could do anything to help him. She tensed as she heard shouts and bangs from upstairs. They were still fighting. Dylan was still alive, trying his best to get free from the psychopath who was attacking him with a knife. She had no idea where Connor’s gun was. Clearly out of reach of anyone. Perhaps he’d dropped it before falling. But at any rate, she still hadn’t heard a gunshot.
She had no weapon apart from her phone, but, in the corner of the hallway, she saw an old-fashioned walking stick. Perhaps she could take that with her.
Cami was terrified to go up the stairs. She knew that she was heading into danger. But she wasn't as terrified as she would be if she did nothing. The thought of that was more than she could bear.
She grabbed the walking stick, dumped her laptop bag on the floor, and ran up the stairs. She had to reach Dylan and help him, whatever the cost. Because if she didn’t, there would be a greater cost.
Shouts, clangs, crashes, and terrified cries for help reached Cami as she powered up the second flight, breathlessly reaching the floor above. She saw a smashed vase littering the floor. Perhaps that was what the killer had used when he’d knocked Connor over the head and sent him stumbling back. Beyond, a jacket with a big rip in the sleeve was lying in the corridor. The fight was now coming from the master bedroom.
Cami raced there, grabbing her stick in one hand and her phone in the other, praying that back up would arrive, now, to save her.
And there he was. He was in the master bedroom—a tall, rangy man, with long limbs, dressed in black, like a terrifying spider. He had a thin face with cruel lines on it and dark eyes that noticed her instantly as he swung around to take in her arrival.
Just in time. He had Dylan down on the floor, next to a knocked over bookshelf. The floor was cluttered with books, files, and smashed ornaments. The other man, plump, unfit, and terrified, was doing his utmost to delay the moment when the knife landed. He was on the floor and had the killer by his arm and was struggling with him, but Cami could see that he was losing his strength and his grip.
The gun lay in the far corner of the room, beyond the struggling men, and she was starting to piece together that the killer must have tried to grab Connor’s gun as he fell, but that Dylan had gotten it away from him. In the melee, it had fallen out of reach of anyone.
Dylan was still fighting. As the killer twisted around to see Cami there, he lost focus for just a moment. Desperately, Dylan grabbed at the knife handle. He didn't get it away, but he got hold of the killer's hand, and twisted for all he was worth, yelling in fear.
The killer shouted in rage and pain, and Dylan kicked away at his knees.
A walking stick wasn't much, but it might be enough. If she could get the courage to use it, now and fast, then it might allow them to win this fight. There was no time to think. She had to act.
Cami raised her walking stick and, as the killer tried to wrench Dylan's hand away, she swung it at the man's head with all her might.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Cami gasped as the walking stick found its target. It clattered off the killer's head, causing him to flinch and stagger back.
And, in a desperate, wrenching twist, Dylan managed to get the knife out of the killer's hand. It clattered to the floor. Hissing in rage, the killer lunged for it, but Dylan kicked it out of reach.
“No! Get off me!” he yelled as the knife clattered away.
"Oh, you're trying so hard," the killer hissed, lunging for Dylan again. "Now, we have the whole family here. Mama Bear, Papa Bear, and you—Baby Bear?" He grinned at Cami.
Cami recoiled from his voice. She raised the stick again but hesitated. His tone was venomous with spite and evil. And what on earth was he talking about? He was clearly deranged, but more so than she'd thought, to be speaking this way at such a time, in such a weirdly calm voice, veering into a complete fantasy world.
And along with his demented mindset, came a scarily powerful physical ability. Before Cami could bring down the stick again, he had grabbed Dylan up, yanking him brutally to his feet. He wrapped his hand around Dylan's throat and held him in front of him like a shield.
Dylan was gagging, his eyes popping with fear. The killer moved backward, bracing himself against the bathroom door to help shoulder Dylan's struggling weight.
"This story is becoming more exciting by the moment," he gibbered. "What an exciting ending this is. I'm going to strangle Papa Bear. Slowly. Very, very slowly. And here's the fun part."
At that moment, Dylan made a lunge for freedom, trying to kick back at the killer. But he responded by bracing himself even harder against the door and clamping his hands around Dylan's throat so tightly he almost lifted him off his feet.
"Don't interrupt the story," he snapped. "Don't try to stop me. I'm explaining what's happening. You, Baby Bear, stay put,” he hissed at Cami. “You're not getting out of this. You're going to watch your Papa Bear die slowly. And then, when he's dead, I'm going to kill you.Slowly. Very, very slowly."
Cami took a step forward, raising the stick.
"You're not! You can't do that!"
"Come any closer, and I'll take his eyes out!" The killer raised one hand, the fingers curved in claws and raked it over Dylan's face. "One more step, and I jab his eyes right out of his head. Then he'll die in even more agony!"
"Don't you dare!" Cami countered, but she froze. That was a terrible threat.
"I'm very good at making people die slowly. I have an excellent imagination. You can't stop me."
