Spencerville

Keith nodded. The moon was low over the southwest end of the lake now, barely ten degrees above the tallest pines. He'd have welcomed complete darkness and would have wanted to wait until between three and four A.M., when dogs and men slept soundest. But if he could eliminate the dogs now, while he could see them, he'd feel better about that open space between the trees and the house.

They waited, wanting the light in the house to go out before the moon set behind the pines.

Keith stared at the house without the binoculars. The longer he stared at it, the more sinister it looked, he thought, this dark triangular-shaped structure, sitting high above the ground in the middle of nowhere, bathed in moonlight, and surrounded by a purposely cleared killing zone, with a faint light glowing from somewhere in its unseen rooms. A mist rose off the lake now, adding to the spectral mood of the setting. Keith tried to imagine what was happening inside that house, what Annie and Cliff Baxter were saying to each other after all these years, what they were thinking and feeling now that both of them knew the end was near.

* * *

Annie continued to look at Cliff, and for the first time in the last three days, perhaps the first time in years, she thought, their eyes actually met. She hadn't loved him in many years, and they both knew that, and for the last few years, she hadn't even cared for him as a person. But she'd never really wanted him to suffer, despite all he'd done to her. And now, even after all the physical agony he'd caused her, she was sorry for his emotional pain, which she knew was real and deep. She felt no emotional attachment to him — he'd killed that long before this. But she did wish he hadn't seen what he saw in the motel room.

He seemed to sense what she was thinking and said to her, "You never would've done that for me. Not even twenty years ago."

"No, I wouldn't." She added, "I'm sorry, Cliff. I really am. You can beat me, rape me, do whatever you want, but all I feel for you is pity. Maybe some of it is my fault for not leaving you sooner. You should have let me go."

He didn't reply, but she could see some of this was sinking in. Her words, she knew, would only cause him more pain, but under the circumstances, with life stripped to its bare essentials, and since he'd brought it up, it was time for honesty and reality. She didn't think what she said would snap him out of his insanity, and in fact it would probably make it worse. But if she was going to die, or both of them were going to die, she wanted him to know how she felt at the end.

* * *

Keith felt that familiar pre-combat calm come over him, that almost transcendental disassociation between mind and body, as though none of this were actually happening to him. This was how most men went into battle, he knew, but later, when it began and the adrenaline kicked in, you snapped out of denial, and your mind and body got together again.

He thought about Annie. He hoped that she believed help was on the way, and that she could hang in there and not give up and not push him over the edge.

* * *

Baxter pulled the pistol out of his holster. He held it up and said, "This is his gun. I stole it from his house. I want you to know, if I shoot you, it's gonna be with his gun."

"So what?"

He pointed the Glock 9mm pistol at her. "You want to get it over with now?"

She looked at the black pistol pointing at her. She said, "It's your decision, not mine. Nothing I say matters to you."

"Sure it does. You love me?"

"No."

"You love him?"

"Yes."

He stared at her down the length of the barrel, then raised the pistol to his head and released the safety. "You want me to pull the trigger?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I... Cliff, don't..."

"You don't want to see my brains splatter?"

She turned away. "No."

"Look at me."

"No."

"Don't matter. If I blow my brains out, you're gonna die a slow, slow death chained to that floor. You can watch me rot. You can smell me rot, right here in front of you."

She put her hands over her face and said, "Cliff... please, don't... don't torture me, don't torture yourself..."

"It's you or me, sweetheart. Which one?"

"Stop it! Stop!"

"Bye, darlin'..."

* * *

Suddenly, a muffled shot rang out from somewhere, and Keith and Billy got lower. They waited, but there was no second shot, only the sound of the dogs barking.

Billy whispered, "Did that come from the house?"

"Don't know." But it sounded as if it did. It wasn't the distinct crack of a rifle being fired in the open, but was muted, as if a pistol was being fired indoors. Keith raised his binoculars and noticed that his hands were unsteady. He couldn't see anything through the windows, and his impulse was to rush the house, but whatever had happened was finished, and he was too late to do anything about it.

Billy whispered, "Stay cool. We don't know."

"No, but we'll find out soon."

* * *