At the bottom of the hill he took a hard left, sprinting ahead. Something felt different from his two previous visits. The air was noticeably cooler, the sky not nearly as dark. He’d been brought back to the same place, but it was not at the same time in the future.
The Volvo’s wheels skidded as Dr. Death took the turn and goosed the accelerator. Peter knew what came next. Dr. Death would stick his handgun out his window, take aim, and shoot him in the leg, delivering a nasty flesh wound. The beginning of the end, unless he did something drastically different from the two previous times.
He bolted to his right. Maybe he could change the outcome of this. At the edge of the road he tried to jump into the forest, only it was as dense as a jungle, and there was nowhere to escape to.
“Damn it,” he swore.
He wondered if the shadow people heard him, or if they cared. Ghosts and spirits were bad that way. Divorced from human feelings, they often forgot what it was like to suffer.
A gunshot ripped the still night air. He groaned and grabbed his thigh. Blood was pouring down his leg, and he pressed his hand against the gaping wound to stop the flow. The Volvo parked in the road, and Dr. Death climbed out. The serial killer wore the same college professor clothes and the same lunatic smile. Gun in hand, he told Peter to kneel. The young magician complied.
“Want to say something before you die?” Dr. Death asked.
Peter told himself that he was going to somehow escape, and that he must learn who Dr. Death was before he was sent back to the real world.
“What day is it?” he asked.
“What kind of stupid question is that?” Dr. Death replied.
“I was brought here against my will. I want to know.”
“Very well. It’s Wednesday evening. Happy now?”
Today was Wednesday. The shadow people hadn’t taken him to Westchester County on Friday night like the previous times. Instead, they’d transported him to a Westchester County in the present. Had Rachael’s encounter with Dr. Death been moved up two days?
“Close your eyes, and I’ll make this painless,” the serial killer said.
Dr. Death glanced at his watch as he spoke. Was he going to meet someone? Then it hit Peter why the shadow people had brought him here.
“Rachael is coming out tonight instead of Friday, isn’t she?” Peter said. “You’re going to the train station to pick her up, aren’t you?”
Dr. Death blinked. Peter had nailed it.
“You know too much,” Dr. Death said. “Shut your eyes, and I’ll get this over with.”
“I don’t think so.”
“What did you say?”
“You heard me. I’m not shutting my eyes.”
Dr. Death shoved the barrel of the gun against his temple, its muzzle still warm. “I’ll splatter your brains across the road.”
“You don’t have the guts.”
“I didn’t have the guts. But I do now. Let me show you why.”
Reaching up with his free hand, Dr. Death undid his necktie, unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, and jerked back the collar. Tattooed to his neck was the shimmering symbol of the Order of Astrum. The tattoo looked alive, and glowed mysteriously in the dark. “I have the Order of Astrum on my side,” he said with a sick smile. “Now say good-bye. I have a train to meet.”
He’s really going to shoot me this time. The expression “three strikes and you’re out” came to mind, and he prayed for Liza to pull him back to the other side.
Then the shot rang out.
Peter had always wondered what it felt like when you died. He’d imagined the sensation would be similar to hurtling at the speed of light through the universe with no idea of his final destination, if there even was a final destination. A journey that would be both amazingly beautiful and terribly frightening at the same time.
Wrong.
The afterlife felt surprisingly like this life. In fact, it felt exactly like it. He was still kneeling on the side of the road, with blood streaming down his leg. Dr. Death had not moved either, and was still holding the gun to his temple.
Nothing had changed.
Except the look on Dr. Death’s face. The sick smile had been replaced by a mask of fear. His eyes were trained on the forest directly behind them.
“Munns-let him go!” a woman’s shrill voice called out.
Peter turned his head to see a rather small woman in hiking clothes burst through a dense wall of shrubs. In one hand was a flashlight, in another a smoking handgun. Moments later a panting chocolate Labrador with a huge stick clenched in its mouth came through behind her.
“Gladys Hadden,” Dr. Death said in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“Taking my evening constitutional with Brewster, just like I do every night.” She stopped a few yards from where they stood, her gun pointed at the ground. “Oh, my God, you shot him.”
“He was breaking into my house,” Munns said defensively.
“You don’t say. Do you know who he is?”
“I think he’s a drug addict. He was going through my things when I caught him,” Dr. Death lied, his gun still pressed to Peter’s temple. “He ran away, and I got into my car and chased him. I was just about to shoot him when you fired your gun.”
“Why were you going to shoot him, Doc?”
“I just told you, he was robbing me.”
“That doesn’t give you the right to shoot him. I’d suggest you call nine one one, and let the police deal with this. I’ll call them myself if you like.”
Gladys Hadden was talking down to Munns like he was a child. Munns acted confused, and didn’t seem to know what to do. His cell phone rang. He jerked it from his pocket to stare at the face.
“I need to take this,” he said, and stepped away.
“Thanks for saving my life,” Peter mumbled under his breath.
“You’re not a drug addict, are you?” Gladys Hadden asked. “You certainly don’t dress like one.”
“It’s a long story. I’m helping the FBI catch your neighbor.”
“Really? What did Doc do?”
“His name’s Doc? Is he a doctor?”
“No, it’s just his nickname. He likes to pretend he’s one. He’s really the janitor over at the local college, has been for God knows how long. Now, tell me what he’s done.”
“He’s a serial killer,” Peter whispered. “He brings women to his house, and kills them.”
Gladys Hadden gasped. “No.”
“Yes.”
Munns was talking excitedly into his cell phone. They heard him say, “Your train is running ahead of schedule? I’m glad you called to let me know. Yes, I can be at the station when you pull in. I’m sure the dean won’t mind if we show up for dinner a little early.”
“Who’s that?” Gladys Hadden asked in a whisper.
“His next victim,” Peter replied.
“Oh, my Lord. What should we do?”
“Shoot him.”
“You want me to shoot him?”
“Yes. Otherwise, he’s going to kill her.”
“You’re certain about this?”
“On my parents’ graves.”
Flipping his cell phone shut, Munns stared at Peter and his neighbor. The glint in his eyes said a decision was being made. Peter didn’t have to use his psychic powers to know what that decision was. Munns was going to shoot them in cold blood, and deal with the consequences later. Rachael was drawing closer, and he could practically taste his next kill.
Munns stepped forward, prepared to gun them down.
Brewster stopped him.
The Lab had been lying in the grass gnawing on his stick. Sensing that his owner was in danger, Brewster jumped up and tried to bite Munns’s hand off. He jumped back in fear. Brewster kept barking, and Munns started backing up.
“He’s getting away,” Peter said.
Gladys Hadden aimed her gun. “Stay right where you are.”
“Gladys, you can’t shoot me,” Munns begged her.