Snakes and ladders

The road was a strip of blackness.

He spotted a house at the end. Even in the pale glow of the cruiser’s headlights, the place looked ramshackle. Old. And dark. All the lights were off and the front door was wide open.

Striker wasted no time. He jumped out of the cruiser, taking out his flashlight and pistol at the same time.

He reached the front door, used the frame for cover, and flashed his light inside. Everything was dark and still and empty. He hit the light switch, but nothing happened. And he realized there were no sounds coming from the generator.

‘Larisa?’ he called out. ‘Larisa, it’s Jacob – are you here?’

When he received no response, he made the decision. There was no more time for delay. Flashlight illuminating the way, gun aimed ahead, finger alongside the trigger, Striker stepped into the darkness.

He moved quickly, not allowing himself to slow for even a second. He made his way out of the small foyer, through the living room, kitchen, den and then the bedroom.

But there was no sign of her.

He took the stairs into the basement more slowly, keeping his body tight to the wall. When he reached the bottom and his shoes touched the hard concrete of the cellar floor, he sca

The doorway on the right was open; the one at the end was closed.

Striker moved forward to the first doorway. He stopped and aimed his flashlight into the room, illuminating all four corners.

And that was when he found her.

Slumped in a chair at the far end of the room was the woman he had been searching for these last three days.

‘Larisa! ’ he said.

He moved forward through the darkness. Came to within ten feet of her. And stopped hard. Her head was turned down and her eyes were half open. Dangling from her right hand was an empty pill case, and at her feet was a DVD case with the name Sarah Rose on it. Striker gently placed two fingers against her neck and felt for a pulse. She was warm, but he could feel no beating of her heart.

‘Please, Larisa,’ he said. ‘Please.’

He was ru

One Hundred and Three

Desperation flooded him. Striker took out his cell to call 911; it rang on him before he could even dial. He stuck it to his ear.

‘Striker,’ he said.

‘Where are you?’ Felicia asked.

‘Number five Old Mill Road,’ he said. ‘No time for talk. I got Larisa here. She’s overdosed on pills. Call 911 for an ambulance and get your ass up here now.’

He hung up without waiting for a response, then grabbed Larisa and placed her on the floor, so he could begin CPR. Keep her heart going till the medics got here.

His phone vibrated again. He looked down and read the words:

I have proof, Jacob. I’m scared.

I have proof, Jacob. I’m scared

I have proof, Jacob. I’m scared.

;o)

He stood back up, momentarily confused. ‘What the hell?’

And his phone went off with another text:

Congratulations, Hero, you found her – or have I found you?

Snake eyes!

SNAKE EYES!

SNAKE EYES!

One Hundred and Four

Striker tore his eyes away from the text, knowing for certain the Adder was here. He placed his back to the wall, moved slowly to the corner of the room, and kept sca

There was only one way in, and only one way out.

For a moment, he considered staying put. Keeping all his attention on the doorway and waiting for back-up. Then he heard a door slam out front. Thoughts of being trapped in another inferno flashed through his mind, as did the notion of Gabriel Osterma

He got moving.

Gun aimed ahead of him, flashlight illuminating the way, Striker made his way back across the room and turned towards the front foyer. The door leading out front was just a stairway away.

It was closed.

Striker took a step towards it, then heard a shuffling sound behind him. He stopped and slowly turned around. He looked back down the hallway. On the right side was the doorway into the room where Larisa’s body lay on the floor. At the far end was the only other room the basement owned. The door there had been closed when he’d first come down the stairs.

Now it was open.

He moved to one side of the hall, out of the main line of fire, and took aim on the open doorway. He called out:

‘Vancouver Police, Gabriel. I know you’re here and I’ve got every reason to believe you’re armed and dangerous. Come out with your hands where I can see them and you won’t get hurt.’

No response.

Striker listened for a moment, heard nothing else. He slowly left his position of cover and made his way down the hall. When he came to within ten feet of the open doorway, he shone his flashlight inside the room.

From the cover of the door frame, the weak beam of his flashlight caught a vague shape. Someone was hiding in a small nook of the wall. In the closet. He took aim on the figure and called out once more:

‘I see you, Gabriel. Don’t move!’

But the figure only turned slightly and shuffled out of view; as it moved, Striker caught a brief glimpse of the man’s face. There was no doubt about it.

It was Gabriel.

The Adder.

‘I said, don’t move, Gabriel!’ Striker ordered again.

When the Adder disappeared from Striker’s line of fire, Striker seized the moment before it was lost. He moved forward, ready to fire. It wasn’t until he had stepped right into the room that he realized his mistake. What he was staring at wasn’t a closet; it was the wall. And as he looked at the wall, he saw a poster on it – but the writing was all backwards.

Then he realized. It was not a wall but a full-length mirror.

The Adder was behind him.

He spun to the right just as he felt an arm wrap around his neck from behind. There was a sharp pinprick and, almost immediately, a numbing sensation ran from his neck throughout the rest of his body, snaking out like long pulsating tendrils.

Striker shoved back, but it was too late. He felt his body melting on him. His legs gave out. And he went down firing.

He hit the floor hard. Felt the air explode from his lungs. And watched the darkness sweeping into his sight from all corners of his periphery. He thought of his daughter, Courtney, and then of Felicia and Larisa, whose life depended on him escaping this moment.

But the last image Striker saw, as he was sucked down by the heavy blackness, was that of Gabriel. The Adder was staring back at him, his pale twisted expression the only visible beacon for him in a dark and cold vacuum.

One Hundred and Five

First came the sound.

There was a faint, wailing noise in the background, like the soft banshee cries of some strange beast coming to take him away. The wail grew louder and louder until it was right on top of him – an overbearing echo in his ears. Until Striker realized the source of the call:

Sirens.

Striker tried to open his eyes, and then he realized they were already open. The strange supple warmth slowly washed away from him and was replaced by a stark coldness. The darkness slowly ebbed away, and Striker looked up to see three people on top of him.