Louis searched the cabinet carefully. He pulled out the drawers and examined the cavities. He dragged the next one away from the wall, watching carefully that Tim didn’t double back. He kicked the dead rat out of the way and took the cabinet apart.
Tim reached the last cabinet before the door that led into the room filled with hay. The door had been removed and hay spilled out onto the kitchen floor. Tim looked into the room but knew he didn’t dare go in there. Rats would be nesting in the hay.
He looked back at Louis. He waited until Louis’s head went behind the cabinet, then awkwardly ran across the five-foot space to the next cabinet.
The gunshot made him wince and scrunch his head into his shoulders. The wall exploded over him. Splinters and chunks of wood pelted him. He was behind the cabinet on the other side before the second shot brought a haze of dust sifting from the ceiling. He rubbed at the blood oozing from his arm where a splinter had broken the skin.
He stumbled over something that rolled noisily.
Louis grinned with satisfaction and trotted past the hay-filled door. He shoved the cabinet away from the wall. He held the gun ready and got on his knees to look underneath. He hissed a curse when he didn’t see Tim anywhere.
But Tim was behind the cabinet, clinging to a cross brace two feet above Louis’s bent head. He grasped the object he had found, his arms wrapped around it, hugging it to him. The ice pick was rusty and half the wooden handle had split off. He held it point down and leaped toward the back of Louis’s neck. He wrapped his legs around it as he fell, hoping Louis wouldn’t move or the point wouldn’t turn.
It wasn’t very sharp, but it had Tim’s weight on it and it fell two feet. It was enough. It plunged into the back of Louis’s neck. Tim lost his grip at the impact and scrambled for a handhold. He caught Louis’s collar and hung on.
Louis stiffened and began rising slowly. A low moan gurgled deep in his throat. He stood up carefully, holding his arms akimbo. The gun dropped from his loose fingers. He kept his head, neck, and shoulders perfectly rigid as if, even in his shock, he knew that any movement against the ice pick would be fatal.
The moan rose in pitch, continuing to rise, became a shrill keening, and ended when his lungs were empty of air. Louis took one, two steps, his head, neck, and shoulders welded solid. Tim clung to the back of his collar, hanging almost vertically.
Louis’s face was pale, his open lips almost white. His eyes stared and began to film. He fell, as rigid as a statue, slowly at first, then faster. He hit the floor and the side of his face was filled with shattered bone.
Tim’s teeth slammed together when Louis hit. He lay on Louis’s back for a moment, getting his breath, then slid off onto the floor. He went around Louis’s sprawled arm and looked at his face. One bulging eye stared at him but saw nothing.
Tim hawked and spat in it.
He looked up quickly when he heard someone in the other room and ran once more behind the kitchen cabinets.
Angel and Evelyn stood on the porch of the old house for a moment, watching the sun sink behind the horizon. Evelyn leaned her head against Angel’s shoulder, feeling incredibly happy and contented, all thoughts of Haverstock gone from her mind. Angel put his arm around her and they went inside.
“Henry,” Evelyn called. “Harold. Is anybody here?” There was no answer. The house was still, except for a couple of sparrows squabbling sleepily somewhere upstairs. They looked at each other and hurried to the room they had made their own.
Evelyn stopped suddenly when she saw Henry lying in his own blood. A whine rattled in her throat. Angel hurried to him and knelt, putting his hand on Henry’s neck.
“He’s still alive,” Angel said.
Evelyn knelt beside them. Henry’s face was the color of old ashes and his breath gurgled softly. “He’s been shot,” she said incredulously.
Angel nodded and straightened out Henry’s twisted body.
“Can you help him?” she asked.
Angel looked at her helplessly. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Repair his wounds; heal him; do something,” she said, hearing an hysterical edge on her words. “Can’t you do that?”
“I think I could if I knew what I was doing. I’m not a doctor. I don’t know the right things to do.”
She started to say something else, but stopped when she saw the concentration on his face. After a moment his body relaxed. He looked at her. “I stopped the bleeding, but I think it’s too late.”
Henry moaned softly and began to cough. Angel put his hand on Henry’s face and the coughing stopped. Henry opened his eyes weakly, but his eyes didn’t focus.
“Angel?” he said, his voice whispery like the dry blade of grass.
“Yes, Henry. We’re here.”
“Angel? Where have you been all day?” Henry’s voice drifted away for a moment and then came back. “Why did you leave us all alone? We need to make plans.”
Evelyn looked at Angel’s stricken face and felt an unbearable pain in her heart.
“Angel?” Henry said, his eyes closing. “Why didn’t you save us?” His breath escaped slowly and he was still.
Angel twisted his hands together between his knees. His eyes clenched shut and tears rolled down his face. His shoulders heaved and his mouth gaped as if he could not get enough air.
“No,” Evelyn whispered. “No.” She grabbed him in her arms, b it he twisted away and staggered to his feet. Then he froze, blinking the tears from his eyes. Haverstock leaned against the door frame, smiling pleasantly at them.
“Hello, children,” he said. “Having a nice holiday?” He waved his hand negligently. Evelyn saw Angel stiffen, heard his breath wheeze in his throat.
She jumped to her feet. “Angel?” she cried and grabbed his arm.
Haverstock repeated the wave of his hand. “The gesture isn’t necessary of course, but I fear I am a slave to theatricals. Don’t worry about him, Miss Bradley.” He walked casually to them. “He’s perfectly all right. I don’t know what little tricks he’s learned since he’s been out of my care. Whatever they may be, Angel, my boy, don’t try any of them or the young lady will suffer for it.” His eyes turned to agates. “Do I make myself absolutely clear?” he asked in a black voice.
Then his smile returned. “Did I interrupt at a dramatic moment?”
“Why are you doing this to us?” Evelyn said, her voice raspy.
“Now, now, my dear,” he tut-tutted, “don’t get upset.” He looked around impatiently. “Louis i” he called, but there was no answer. He looked at Henry and sighed. “Louis is so impatient, and so untidy. No finesse at all,” he clucked. “Louis! Where are you?” Dissatisfaction was sharp in his voice.
He motioned impatiently for Angel and Evelyn to move. She took Angel’s arm and glanced at him with worry. He had a vague, confused expression on his face and tears dried on his cheeks. He moved like a marionette. Haverstock followed them, guiding them through the large house, looking for Louis.
“Angel, are you all right?” Evelyn whispered.
His voice formed in her ear, garbled and indistinct. “He’s done something to my head. I can’t…” His voice faded to noise and was gone.
When they reached the kitchen, Evelyn stopped suddenly. Haverstock stepped around them and walked to Louis, lying face down on the floor, the rusty ice pick in the back of his neck. Haverstock nudged him with his toe.
Tim ran from behind the cabinet while Haverstock’s back was turned. He went to Angel’s foot and climbed his shoe. He ducked under the leg of Angel’s trousers and climbed his sock. Evelyn saw the movement and her eyes widened. Tim lowered himself to his waist inside Angel’s sock. He permitted himself a sigh of relief and a little smile of satisfaction.