The Bin Laden Plot

She slammed into him with both feet, hitting him in the chest, sending him staggering back toward the railing. He weighed over two hundred pounds, and the railing splintered under his weight and momentum, and he fell backward onto the ground below.

Christine released the beam and dropped onto the loft, then peered over the damaged railing. Mixell was lying on his back, his eyes closed, motionless.

After descending the ladder, she grabbed the shovel Mixell had left behind, then slowly approached him. He hadn’t moved, but in the dim lighting, it was hard to tell if he was dead or just unconscious. She stopped above him, the shovel in both hands, debating whether she should wait for law enforcement or take the matter into her own hands as Khalila had done with Rolow.

As she contemplated the matter, Mixell opened his eyes, and she realized to her dismay that he still had the knife in one hand.

He drove it into her left thigh, then grabbed the shovel with his other hand, ripping it from her grasp.

When the knife sliced into her thigh, Christine’s knees went weak from the pain, and she collapsed onto the ground as Mixell stood. She crawled away, clambering to her feet as Mixell whacked her in the back with the shovel, knocking her to the ground again.

He stood over her and tossed the shovel aside, switching the knife between hands, then knelt with one knee on her back, pinning her down with her face turned to the side.

“You’re a tough broad to kill. But you’re going to die tonight. Slowly, just like Harrison.”

He placed the end of the knife on the back of her shoulder, in the same spot she had shot him, then drove it into her flesh.

Christine cried out in pain as he twisted the knife inside her, then pulled it out.

“How’s that feel? An eye for an eye, right?”

She was now bleeding from her calf, thigh, and shoulder.

“Now, where shall we cut next?”

“Lonnie, stop,” Christine pleaded. “You don’t have to do this. If there’s anything good left inside you, please stop.”

“If there’s anything good left inside me,” he mused. “That implies I might be pure evil.” He placed the blade on the back of her neck, directly over her spine. “You aren’t a very good negotiator.”

“Everyone can be redeemed. You just have to want it.”

“I guess that’s the problem, Chris. I don’t want redemption. I wanted Jake to pay for what he did to me and Trish, and now it’s time for you to pay, for siding with Jake against me.”

He leaned closer as he pressed the knife harder against her skin. “Goodbye, Chris. As the saying goes, it’s time for — lights out.”

Christine heard a twang as something slammed into Mixell, knocking him off her back. She rolled over, spotting Maddy with the shovel in her hands.

Mixell lumbered to his feet as he searched for the knife, which had been knocked from his hand when he’d been hit with the shovel. Maddy swung again, missing him as he backed up. She swung once more, but this time Mixell blocked the shovel with one arm and grabbed the shaft with the other, then yanked it from her.

His face lit up in rage as he swung the shovel toward Maddy, striking her on the side of her head. Christine heard a sharp crack as Maddy flew through the air, her body falling lifelessly to the barn floor, a red stain spreading out from her head.

Mixell pointed at her as he shook in anger. “I told you not to come out of your room!” He turned to Christine. “Look at what she made me do!”

Still enraged, he moved toward Christine, tightening his grip on the shovel. He swung, but Christine avoided it, backing up quickly. He swung and she avoided the blade again, but barely this time. She was running out of room as she retreated, and her back hit the wall.

There was nowhere else to go.

Mixell twisted the shovel, lining the blade up to slice through her. As he pulled back into his swing, Christine spotted the knife on the ground a few feet behind him and to the right. When the shovel started moving forward, she ducked into a roll, the blade swishing through the air above her, regaining her feet for two steps before pretending to stumble to the ground.

As she turned to face Mixell, she held the knife, now in her right hand, with the blade facing up alongside her forearm, hidden from view.

Christine waited, balanced on her haunches, as Mixell approached.

This time, when he pulled the shovel back, she launched herself toward him, driving the knife into his abdomen.

Mixell stumbled backward, the shovel still in one hand, dragging its blade along the ground. She charged him again, jamming the knife into his chest as she fell on top of him.

He grabbed Christine’s right wrist, immobilizing the knife with one hand and her throat with his other, cutting off her airway. But Mixell was now bleeding from his shoulder, abdomen, and chest, and was slowly weakening. Christine tried to pry his grip on her neck loose with her left hand, and eventually, his fingers relaxed enough for her to breathe again. Not long thereafter, his body went limp, both arms falling to the ground.