Dead Harvest

  Kate stared at the blank screen for a while. Not blinking, not speaking. When she finally did speak, her voice was thin and frail.

  "I… I don't understand."

  The look on her face said otherwise. "Yes, you do."

  "There has to be some sort of a mistake."

  "There's not."

  "Why would they think I'd done such a thing?"

  "The cops found you at the scene, Kate. They saw you…" slit your mother's throat, I thought. "They saw enough."

  "But why? How?"

  I remembered the light that enveloped me as I'd clutched tight her soul. I remembered her song ringing loudly in my ears as I crumpled to the ground. "I don't know," I replied.

  "That's why you tied me up," she said. "You were afraid of me."

  "Yes."

  "Then why'd you help me escape?"

  "That's complicated."

  Kate eyed me a moment. "Yes," she said, "I imagine it would be."

  She fell silent for a while. I let her sit in peace. What could I say to her, really? Her family was dead. Dead by her hand. Words weren't going to change that.

  I set about cleaning up the mess from breakfast. I was halfway through the dishes when she found her voice.

  "This place," Kate said. "It's not yours, is it?"

  "What makes you say that?"

  "Doesn't seem like you, is all."

  I smiled. "It belongs to a friend of mine. He wasn't using it, and we needed a place to stay. I figured we'd be safe here for a while, while I sorted things out."

  "And have you? Sorted things out, I mean."

  "I'm working on it," I said.

  "Yeah," she replied. "Me too."

6.

"I need to use the bathroom."

  Kate hadn't said a word in hours – she'd just sat and stared at nothing. Of course, it's not like she had a lot of other options, being tied to a chair and all.

  "I'm not sure that's such a good idea," I replied.

  "I'm serious. I've really got to go."

  "Then I'll get you a trash can."

  "What's the matter – you scared to untie me?"

  "Something like that."

  "Well, it's got to happen sometime," she said. "You can't keep me here forever."

  She had a point. Of course, she'd left three solid counterpoints cooling at the morgue. Still, I'd snatched her for a reason. There was something sour about this collection, and I sure as hell wasn't going to figure out what by playing babysitter all day long. Besides, maybe I untie her and Kate tips her hand. She goes postal and my little moral dilemma gets resolved in a hurry. That happens, I finish the job, and to hell with the light show.

  Man, I hope she tries to kill me, I thought. I could use a happy ending.

  "All right," I said, fetching a chef's knife from the kitchen, "I'll let you go. But you're gonna get out of that chair and head straight to the bathroom. When you're done, you're to get back in the chair – no argument, no complaint. Those are my terms. You break them, things are gonna get unpleasant. We got a deal?"

  "Yeah," she said. "We got a deal."

  I knelt behind the chair back and cut through the makeshift restraints. As they fell to the floor, I took a big step back. The knife I kept at my side, all kinds of casual, like I wasn't figuring on how fast I could put it between us should things get ugly. Just because you're thinking about stabbing somebody doesn't mean you have to be a dick about it.

  Kate flexed first one limb, and then another. When she was sure all four still worked, she rose, unsteady, from the chair. She limped the length of the floor to the bathroom. If I had to guess, I'd say the cops were a little less than gentle when they finally took her down.

  "Three minutes," I told her as she reached the door. "Not a second more."

  She nodded, and shut the door behind her. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Then I set the knife on the coffee table and collapsed onto the couch. The clock on the cable box read one-fifteen. I kept an eye on the bathroom door and wondered for about the hundredth time just what the hell I'd been thinking taking the girl.

  Three minutes passed, and no Kate. I figured I'd give her a break – she'd been in that chair the better part of a day, and before that, she'd been cuffed to a stretcher. Besides, she was still decked out in a hospital gown; it's not like she was wearing a watch.

  When four minutes had gone by, I got a little irritated. Then five ticked past, and I was downright pissed. By the time six minutes rolled around, I was banging on the bathroom door.

  "C'mon, Kate, you've had your fun. Time to get back in the chair."

  No response. I tried the knob. Locked. "I'm not fucking around here, Kate! Open this door or I swear I'll break it down!" Still nothing. I put an ear to the door. I heard the sound of running water, and beneath it, something else. A low, wet gurgle. Like someone choking. Like someone dying.

  Shit.

  I slammed against the door, and rebounded hard, sprawling across the living room floor. Pain radiated outward from my shoulder in nauseating waves. I regrouped and tried again. I managed to stay up this time, but it still hurt like hell, and the door didn't give an inch. She must have barricaded it somehow. Didn't want me ruining her big exit.