He clearly hadn't gotten any smarter. what on Earth had possessed him to come into the house? Gunshots were ringing out behind him, but when he reached the top of the stairs and slipped quickly into one of the darkened bedrooms, the open window though was a clear giveaway that the bullets were flying in the back garden once again.
The bed looked freshly vacated. so, somebody was sleeping here, but Billy's actions had roused them. The lights weren't on. There was nothing special about this room - nothing to suggest that a serial killer and megalomaniac had grown up here, but somehow Billy just knew. The comfortable double bed, the Transformers poster over the tidily kept desk, the fact that the curtains weren't quite closed to let in just enough light to illuminate the singular trophy on a shelf amongst dusty books and folders. Billy couldn't see what the trophy was for, but he doubted it was anything of significance. Killers often became so because the world failed to notice them.
The door had been open when Billy came up the stairs. He had kept his footing quiet, but there must simply have been nobody left up here when he came up. He didn't close the door behind him, worried that this would give the game away, Instead, ears carefully scanning each and every noise, Billy drew himself close to the loosely shut curtains and peered out through the crack available to him.
There were three bodies in the back garden now. A handgun in either hand, Robin Harris was standing over what was clearly his latest victim. His foot was on the dead man's chest, and his weapons were pointed at those around him. A clearly horrified Clarissa was standing not far behind him, leaving Billy the chance to see her expression at this showdown. All of the others were men, judging only by their muscled backs and deep voices. Billy couldn't see all that much of them with only the street lights offering anything to see by.
"Any pride you have is now meaningless," Harris was declaring to those around him. "If you flee, you will die. If you try to reason your way away from here, I will laugh. I am the only thing that keeps you alive now. To stray from my commands is to welcome death, as has just been shown. I am tired of your inconsequential drivel. Whine on your own time. Complain behind my back where I do not have to hear it, but above all else, remember what happens when you cross me."
"We're not afraid," one of his accomplices mumbled.
Harris looked at him and, dropping one of his weapons casually to the ground, clicked his fingers, and the only one brave enough to speak drew his gun from an inside pocket, pointed it at his chin and shot himself up through his head in one fluid motion. His companions winced as they were splattered with bits of skull and brain matter, but they did not raise objection.
"Find him," Harris commanded. His minions moved.
As he was left alone with Clarissa, Harris knelt down to retrieve his gun and, dual armed once again, he turned towards the woman who thought herself his family. "Who could possibly be aware of our location, Clarissa?" he asked calmly. "I happen to have been extremely careful in ensuring that our whereabouts do not fall into the hands of the casual observer. A lot of people have died to protect you, and your secret. I would be greatly upset to discover that you knew something, but had chosen not to tell me."
"You can read me easily," she told him with a waver in her voice. "You always told me you knew my heart before I did, and proved it more often than not. You know I'd never hurt you."
"Oh, so sweet, but I would hurt you, wouldn't I?" threatened Harris, almost casually. His hands moved as he spoke, directing his weapons wherever they might aim. Clarissa was scared. "Words alone could hurt you more than any bullet. After all, this is all for you. Everything I've ever done has been to protect you. So many good people, gone to a better world for a greater purpose."
"And we'll go there together one day, right?" she asked him, sounding every bit the carefree child she should have been.
"Oh yes," Harris told her. "If you're very good, I'll lead you to a place where there is no pain and no suffering, where all the people who have died for you will live to forgive you, along with all the people you are going to kill before this is over. Chin up my dear. You're my favourite person in the world, but-"
"Robin!" came a shout from somewhere far beyond Billy's vision. He turned on the spot, knowing that the sound came from behind him, but the bedroom door did not hold any secret for him. "It's Jess!"
This was not going to end well. Billy caught a glimpse outside of Clarissa charging off around the house, looking terrified, while Harris marches stoically behind her. The next move was one born of survival instinct. He glanced around the room for hiding places. The closet? Textbook. Obvious. Under the bed? Childish. Out the window now that there was nobody holding down the fort and everybody was round the front? That could work.
"He's in the house!" somebody shouted behind him. There was a crash, probably the front door being kicked when it was already wide open, and then came shouts of anger and a scream from Clarissa that sounded exactly like utter and intolerable anguish. That settled it.
There were three rectangular panels arranged side by side that made up the window, with the panel on the far right the one that opened. Billy turned the handle smoothly, pushed the window open and stuck out his head rather recklessly. He was lucky. He clambered out as quietly as he could to perch on the windowsill. He wobbled there for a moment, determined to close the window, but the effort of attempting to push it shut made him lose his balance and fall, diving from the thin ledge as if into water and landing face first in the mud. It gathered around him almost embracing him in filth as he hit the ground with a thud.
There were people coming, but, for a blessing, there was suddenly another sound in the distance. Somewhere, far away but not quite too far, there were police sirens coming to his rescue. He dragged himself to his feet, confident that if he revealed himself to them, all the while ensuring that Harris did not escape, Billy could get his man, save the girl and be a hero, as well as closing a case that had opened on his watch many years previously.
He vaulted the fence at a run into the next garden, where the attached side of the semi-detachment was a house that was obvious vacant. That or the locals were used to hearing gunfire. Word had got out though. He went around this other house, knowing from his earlier scouting that there was still a fence separating the two front gardens that could protect him.
As Billy reached the point of no return, with the street out in front of him, , he knelt against the side of the house and poked his head forward to glance across into the other garden. The fence obscured his vision of anything below the chest line, but Harris was there, flanked by a tall and particularly nasty looking man of mid to late thirties. Looking out into the street, he looked completely at ease, even with his doom coming. The sirens became louder and louder until, just as the shining lights started to show, Harris' thug threw something out into the road. Just as the car began to slow down, and the bonnet and engine reached just over the device now in it's path, it exploded, sending a blast wave of pure force straight upwards, forcing the front of the car into the air and, while the momentum of the back wheels continued to carry it forwards, the entire vehicle flipped from the front and landed on its roof.
Blinded and distraught, Billy ducked back into his hiding place. Out there, he heard Harris began to laugh.
"I smell roast pork," he told his accomplice, continuing to laugh to himself.
Even hidden as he was, Billy still couldn't draw his eyes away from the wreckage burning merrily in the street before him. The sirens had been crushed and the noise collapsed, but a solitary arm, crushed under the wreckage, was lying out of the broken window. Another nameless, boring officer that, hopefully, Billy couldn't name.
Hopefully. It was Danny Morgan. He could recognise the combination of the wedding ring and the friendship bracelet from the best man. Danny had been a young officer, idealistic and optimistic about saving lives. He hadn't learned the whole crushing truth of the world business that, eventually, everybody in the police learned. Danny Morgan's wife had just lost her Husband.
"There'll be more to follow," continued Harris. "We need to leave. You need to retrieve my wedding ring. It was expensive."
"What? No. You can't do that," Clarissa threw back at him.
Billy realised abruptly that a window was presenting itself. He could do something stupid and dangerous, and angry. And so very angry. Was Mrs Morgan supposed to go back to being a Miss? Did he have children? What had been lost today? Who else had been in that car, coming to save Detective Riggs?
Once more unto the breach.
Billy darted out of his hiding place, his gun ready and aimed, with a squelch, but no slip. He took his shot as Harris turned towards the noise, the bullet landing in the shoulder of the hairless man with the yellow teeth. Clarissa's head quite literally popped up from behind the fence, catching Billy's eye for just a second too much. He adjusted to his next target, but Harris was way ahead of him. Both of his guns fired almost in sync. The first landed in Billy's gun arm, and the next ploughed through his gut and into one of his Kidneys.
Billy hit the ground heavily, and felt mud rushing into him as the rainwater poured onto his face and into his eyes. Words flowed, reminding him that ninety percent of gunshot victims died of shock and to stay calm. A moment later, the face of his assailant entered his vision, shielding him from the rain.
"Dead man walking."
