Paying The Piper - 40. Chapter 40

Quent slipped in through the door and sidled into one of the small alcoves nestled in the foyer. In the distance, somewhere in the house, he heard voices. They didn’t sound close, but Quent knew in a house the size of the McCoy mansion the voices could be coming from the next room and still sound far away. His leg ached. Doing his best to ignore it, he freed his gun from its holster and eased his head around the corner. He saw no one, but both the foyer and the halls leading to the main rooms blazed with light. There were few shadows to hide in.

He was just about to slink into the open, his plan to make his way down the east side of the house, when a hand touched his shoulder. Quent spun with astonishing speed, knocking the hand away and jabbing his elbow backwards. He was rewarded with a soft grunt of pain. He cheered his victory for exactly five seconds. Until he turned and saw his best friend bent over double and clutching his stomach.

"For Christ’s sake, Quent," Cale wheezed.

"Shhh," Quent hissed. He grabbed Cale by the shirtsleeve and dragged him back into the partially concealed alcove. He pushed Cale into the corner. "What the hell was that all about? Do you want me to put a bullet in you, Cale?"

"What are you doing here?" Cale asked, his voice a matching whisper.

Quent straightened and sneered. "Saving your ass again, it appears. Do you have any idea what’s going on here?"

Cale nodded, face white. "It’s Stuart. Drew thinks he killed Cynthia. And I’m not sure, but I think he attacked Elizabeth. She called—"

"That’s enough. I get the picture." Quent pinched the bridge of his nose. "Dare I ask – where’s Marcus?"

If possible, Cale grew even paler. "There were some shots."

"How many?"

Cale opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

"Think, Cale. It’s important."

"Two," Cale breathed. "There were two."

"Is Marcus armed?"

Cale nodded and swallowed nervously.

Quent chanced another look into the foyer. It was still empty, but he could no longer hear the low mumble of voices. "Idiot," he mumbled. "I would have told you to stay by the car."

When no response was forthcoming, Quent’s eyes narrowed and he turned back. Cale gave him a rebellious stare. Quent groaned. "He did tell you to stay with the car. Well, I suppose I have to award him some points for that. But you—" Quick as lightning, his hand stuck out and smacked Cale on the side of his head. "—you get the award for sex-induced stupidity."

"I wasn’t leaving him," Cale shot back, his eyes flaming.

"And just what were you planning on doing when you came across Cobb? Negotiate a business deal?"

"Fuck you," Cale answered in a harsh whisper.

Quent had the perfect retort on the tip of his tongue, but before he could utter it, a clear voice rang out through the foyer. "Cale, is that you? We’ve been waiting for you."

Quent sucked in a breath and tightened the grip on his gun. He gave Cale a pointed look and pushed him back. Cale held his ground. Quent snarled and with an unmistakable gesture, ordered Cale to stay hidden.

Fuck you, Cale mouthed.

Quent cursed the day he had even laid eyes on little Cale McCoy. In fact, he vowed to sneer at every blond child he came across in the future.

Taking a deep breath, Quent spun around and stepped out into the open, gun raised. When he saw who was there, he cursed. Behind him, Cale gasped.

Stuart was standing in the middle of the foyer. He held Elizabeth in front of him. One arm circled her waist in a crushing grip. The other held a pistol to her temple. "Hello, Quent," he said. "Isn’t this a surprise?" He grinned. "Ah well, the more the merrier." His eyes caught on something behind Quent. "Oh, good. You’ve brought Cale. Now everybody’s here."

Quent didn’t speak at first. Instead, he let Stuart prattle on while he assessed the situation. It didn’t look good. Unless Marcus was lying in wait somewhere, it was a standoff.

"Come along now, everyone," Stuart said. He backed up, dragging Elizabeth with him. Quent and Cale followed. Stuart gave an evil laugh as they inched back toward the living room. "Leg bothering you, Quent? What did I tell you about staying off of it?"

Quent didn’t answer. Despite his uneven gait, his gun never wavered. They passed through the arched doorway and into the living room. Behind him, Cale gasped. Quent risked a side glance toward his friend only to find Cale’s mouth hanging open. He was staring across the room. Quent followed Cale’s gaze and his own breath caught. Marcus was slumped in a chair, his left hand cuffed to its steady frame. Blood covered the left side of his head and face and had soaked a fair portion of his shirt as well. His eyes, however, were mostly clear. His gaze wandered back and forth between Quent and Stuart.

Stuart saw their concern. "I’m afraid I had to have Elizabeth cuff him. Couldn’t have him wandering off while I wasn’t looking, you know. Although, I’m not sure he would have made it very far in his condition," he added with evil glee.

Cale made a distressed sound in the back of his throat and tried to push past. Quent caught him under the arm. "Idiot," he hissed. Cale tried to wrench his arm away, but Drew’s voice stopped him.

"No, Cale."

At the sound of Drew’s voice, Cale stopped struggling, for which Quent was glad. It was difficult enough to keep his gun hand steady without having to hold back a one-hundred-sixty pound lovesick puppy. He pulled Cale back behind him. "Stay. There," he ordered out of the corner of his mouth.

"I’m all right, Cale," Drew said. His words, gruff and slurred, concerned Quent more than he was willing to admit.

Elizabeth whimpered and Quent’s attention returned to Stuart.

"Put the gun down and kick it over here, Quent," Stuart ordered. "Now!" he added when Quent hesitated. With one final glance at Marcus, Quent obeyed. He leaned down and placed the gun on the floor. He gave it a hard nudge with his foot and it slid across the polished floor, past Stuart, before stopping a few feet beyond Drew’s chair.

"I said, over here," Stuart yelled.

Quent shrugged. "I tried. Bad leg."

Stuart growled and dug the gun into Elizabeth’s neck. He darted a glance at the gun and then at Drew, as though trying to decide if Drew could reach it. After a moment, he seemed to dismiss the threat and turned back to Cale.

"It’s time, Cale. First her, then you. So you'll know what it feels like." He inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring. "You’ll know how it feels to watch her die and understand that you couldn’t save her. You couldn’t save the one you loved." He dragged the gun up Elizabeth’s throat to her temple. Quent risked a glance at Marcus, but the boy wasn’t looking at him. He was staring at the gun sitting a few feet away on the floor. Good boy, Quent thought.

"Say goodbye, Elizabeth," Stuart said.

"Wait!" Cale cried. "You’re making a mistake."

Stuart sighed. He eased the gun off Elizabeth’s temple. "Save your breath, Cale."

Cale stepped around Quent and into the open. With slow, measured steps, he walked toward Stuart and Elizabeth.

"Cale, what are you doing?" Drew asked in alarm.

"You’ll only get one shot, you know," Cale said. "And you’ve made one very, very large mistake."

"Don’t come any closer," Stuart hissed. Cale stopped his advance and Stuart narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I don’t love Elizabeth. And she doesn’t love me. The joke’s on you, Stuart. We can’t stand each other."

Silence reigned for several seconds as everyone waited for Stuart’s reaction. After a moment, he laughed. "Nice try, Cale."

Cale never wavered. "It’s the truth."

Quent shot another glance at Drew. As he watched, Drew surreptitiously stretched his foot toward Quent’s gun.

Stuart sneered at Cale. "If you think I’m going to believe that, you’re crazy."

Quent snorted. "That’s rich," he muttered.

Stuart ignored him. Once again, he moved the gun to Elizabeth’s temple and pushed it hard against her face. She turned her head, stretching as far as she could, but there was nowhere for her to go.

Quent ground his teeth together. His body thrummed with tension. He ached to make his move, but Stuart, the clever little psycho, had yet to give him an opening. Unfortunately, Quent feared their window of opportunity was shrinking. In his peripheral vision, he saw Drew strain for the gun, but it seemed unlikely he’d reach it. And even if he did, it was unlikely he could grab it without Stuart noticing. The cuffs prevented that.

"Tell her goodbye, Cale," Stuart said. Just as his finger started to squeeze the trigger, Quent heard a loud commotion in the hall. He didn’t dare turn to look, but saw Stuart’s eyes widen as Rob and Steve rushed into the room.

***********

Rob felt his heart lurch into his throat when he pulled up to Drew’s jeep. Stuart’s BMW, the same car that Rob had watched drive away from the station a couple of hours ago, was parked beside it. Rob also recognized Elizabeth’s Mercedes. An orange Volkswagen bug rounded out the collection.

Steve looked over the vehicles as well. "That’s either some party, or we’re in a shitload of trouble."

Rob murmured his agreement before jumping out of the squad car and making his way toward the front door. Halfway there, two shadows limped into view from the east side of the house.

"Oh, thank God," he heard a woman say.

Rob snapped his flashlight on and pointed it at the pair. Both he and Steve squinted at the two approaching figures. "Who is that?" the woman asked.

"Sarah?" Steve questioned.

"Steve? Oh thank God, thank God."

Steve and Rob rushed forward as Sarah and Braden shuffled into view. Steve drew back when he saw Braden. "What the fuck happened to you?"

"Dr. Jekyll snuck up behind me and hit me on the head with a poker. Stinking cowardly bastard."

Steve moved around to Braden’s other side and helped Sarah with some of his weight. When he slipped am arm around his waist, Braden cried out in pain. "Watch it, Goddamn it, Mullen. I have a couple broken ribs."

Rob moved to his other side and Sarah gave up her burden with a shaky sigh. "I thought you said he hit you on the head," he said.

Braden tried to laugh at the suspicion in Rob’s voice, but could only wheeze and cough. "Yeah. Then he went at me with his steel-toed boots," he said in a hoarse voice.

Rob considered his options. "Sarah," he said. "Is that your car?" He pointed to the Volkswagen and Sarah nodded. Rob jerked his head at Steve and they started towards it. Rob spoke to Sarah, hovering at his side, as he walked. "I want you to get him over to the hospital, understand?"

Sarah bit her lip. "Shouldn’t we call an ambulance? He looks pretty bad."

Rob threw her a sharp look. "You have a phone?"

Sarah nodded. As soon as they reached her car, she reached in between the seats and retrieved her phone. Rob snatched it from her hand. "No. No ambulance. I want you both out of here. I’ll call and have a county officer meet you there."

Sarah didn’t argue. She got in and cleared out the passenger seat, and Steve and Rob lowered Braden in as gently as they could. Braden tried to cooperate, but the pain in his chest was unbearable. By the time they had him secured, he was wheezing badly. A drop of blood appeared at the side of his mouth and trickled down his neck.

Steve shut the door and leaned in the window. "Hang on," he said.

Braden rolled his head in Steve’s direction. "Didn’t know you cared, Mullen," he whispered. Steve squeezed his shoulder and stood up.

Through the other window, Rob spoke to Sarah. "You’ve done great so far," he assured her. "Just get him there. They’ll do the rest. Okay?"

Sarah smiled through her tears. She nodded and started the car. Rob leaned back in one more time. "No headlights until you’re halfway down the drive. All right?" He nodded once in Braden’s direction. "Take care of him."

Sarah took a shaky breath and nodded again. As instructed, she swung around in the driveway and started out toward the road. She glanced back in her rearview mirror as she coasted away. Rob was snapping the cell phone shut. He and Steve exchanged a few heated words. Then, as one, they started jogging toward the house.

She didn’t turn on her headlights until the house was out of view. As she turned onto the main road, more tears leaked from her eyes.

"You okay?" Braden whispered.

Sarah looked over. Braden was curled onto his left side with his arms wrapped protectively around his ribs. "I’m fine," she said. She turned her eyes back to the road.

"What are these?"

Sarah turned her head just enough to register what Braden was holding. She snorted. "Battery powered self-warming slippers. The wave of the future," she whispered.

"Really?"

Sarah sniffed and raised her chin, ready for the inevitable insult.

Braden watched her carefully. "Got any in blue?" he asked after a moment.

Surprisingly, Sarah felt herself smiling back. "What’s your size?"

************

Rob relayed the details to the county dispatcher as quickly as he could. When she asked him to remain on the line, he snapped the phone shut.

"They’re on their way," he told Steve.

"So we wait?"

"No way."

Steve turned on him. "Are you crazy?"

"I’m going in, Mullen," Rob replied, not backing down. "There’s someone I care about in there. I’m not waiting. If they drop everything and come now, which they should, it’ll still be twenty minutes." He dropped Sarah’s phone into his pocket.

There was no mistaking the frustration and fear in Rob’s voice. It gave Steve pause. Perhaps this, he thought, is what he had sounded like recently – when he had been trying to help Cynthia. Scared. Desperate.

Rob removed his gun from its holster. "I don’t expect you to come. In fact, I insist you don’t. You’ll be safer here – I think – and you’ve been through enough already."

Steve narrowed his eyes. Had those words emerged from anyone else’s lips, he would've been suspicious. His mother was a particular fan of tossing about misplaced guilt. But Steve sensed none of that here. If fact, if anything, he felt a strange kinship developing. Rob was terrified. He feared the loss of someone he loved and he was willing to do anything to prevent it. Steve could relate.

"No," Steve said. "I’m going with you."

Rob studied Steve for a second before giving a swift nod. "Let’s go." Together, they jogged toward the house.

They exchanged few words, but by mutual unspoken agreement, snuck up the steps in a crouch. At the door, Rob signaled for Steve to stay behind him. Steve, unlike Cale, obeyed without question. He followed Rob into the foyer and crept behind him toward a large open archway. From beyond it, he heard raised voices.

Steve reached out and touched Rob on the arm, silently suggesting caution. But when the voices once again drifted into the hallway, Rob went rigid, and shook off Steve’s touch. They both held their breath as Stuart said, "If you think I’m going to believe that, you’re crazy."

Someone else mumbled something, and for a moment, all was quiet. When Stuart spoke again, Steve jumped. "Tell her goodbye, Cale," he said. Rob shot to his feet, and before Steve could stop him, barreled through the doorway and into the room. Groaning, Steve followed.

************

"Elizabeth!" Rob roared. He slid to a stop next to Quent and brandished his gun at Stuart.

Despite himself, Quent was impressed. Although a more stealthy approach, combined with the element of surprise, may have been more prudent, Quent would take what he could get. His chances had improved ten-fold in less than ten seconds. Rob had a gun and he was standing next to Quent. On the downside, his deputy was facing a madman who was holding his girlfriend at gunpoint. Quent gave a nearly inaudible sigh. Perhaps a tenfold increase had been too generous.

"Let her go!" Rob yelled.

Stuart jerked Elizabeth around in front of him, effectively using her body as a shield. "Go ahead, Skinner, shoot me," he taunted.

Rob’s legs turned to water when he saw the gun crushed against Elizabeth’s head. He took in her tear-stained face and round eyes. Her bra, a brilliant white, matched her pallor almost exactly. "Are you okay, babe?" he asked.

Elizabeth’s eyes filled with fresh tears. She bit her lip and gave a slight nod.

"Just hang on, okay, sweetheart?" Rob told her.

Stuart stared at Rob as though he had grown two heads. "What the hell are you talking about? Sweetheart?" he spat.

Cale saw his opening. "That’s right, Stuart. I told you, didn’t I? I mean nothing to Elizabeth." He looked Stuart directly in the eye. "And she means nothing to me."

Stuart’s face grew thunderous. "No! No, no, no. You have to be shown!"

Cale shook his head. "Not going to happen. I don’t love her."

For the first time that evening, Quent saw Stuart look lost. Although neither his hold on Elizabeth or the gun loosened.

Cale took another step forward. "Let her go."

Suddenly, Quent understood Cale’s plan. His stomach twisted. "Cale, no," he said in a strangled voice.

Cale refused to acknowledge the plea. He took another step forward.

Stuart’s breathing, previously calm, now rattled noisily through the room. A tremor passed through his arm and the gun against Elizabeth’s head shook. "Don’t come any closer." He cinched his arm around Elizabeth’s waist, hauling her flush against him.

Cale stopped walking, but continued to speak. "Look around you, Stuart. One shot is all you’re going to get, you know that." He took another step forward. "Don’t you want to save it for me?"

Quent saw the madness swell in Stuart’s eyes. The madness and the obsession. His heart sank as he realized Cale had succeeded. Elizabeth would live. But Cale would likely die.

"Turn around," Stuart hissed, "and back up toward me. When you’re close enough, I’ll let her go."

Cale did as instructed. When he turned around, presenting his back to Stuart, Quent made a sound, a low growl, in his throat. Cale looked up and their eyes met. Quent’s gaze bled anger and resentment. Cale’s begged forgiveness.

In desperation, Quent swept his gaze across the room to Marcus. Drew was watching the scene unfold with a horrified expression. Quent cursed and looked away, unable to shoulder Marcus’s guilt on top of his own. A second after his eyes left Marcus, however, they returned. He stared at him for several seconds, an eternity in this situation, before he understood what he was seeing.

Marcus was slouched in the chair, one hand cuffed to the frame. Blood still trickled from his scalp. His eyes were half-closed and unfocused, although his fear for Cale was evident. His other hand, the one not cuffed, was curled protectively around his stomach and tucked under his opposite arm. He looked exactly the same as he had two minutes ago, except for…. Quent squinted, willing his mind to work. His eyes dropped to the floor at Drew’s feet and his breath caught. His gun, the one he had kicked over, was no longer on the floor. Quent’s eyes darted back to Drew’s face, only to find Drew watching him. Drew gave an almost imperceptible nod and Quent returned it.

Beside him, Rob inched forward. Stuart saw the furtive movement and shoved the gun into Elizabeth’s hair, pulling a cry of pain from her. Cale darted a look over his shoulder. "Don’t," he cajoled.

Stuart’s attention shifted to Cale. "Closer," he ordered. Cale backed up another step and before anyone registered what was happening, Stuart had shoved Elizabeth forward and pulled Cale back against his chest.

Elizabeth darted across the room and into Rob’s arms. Quent cursed to himself. Of course the idiot girl had flown to Rob like a flame-thirsty moth. Unfortunately, in doing so, she had obscured Rob’s line of fire for the crucial seconds Stuart had been without a hostage. Now they were in the same boat as before. Officially, that is. In Quent’s mind, things had just gone from bad to worse.

Rob shoved Elizabeth behind him. Steve, who was standing behind Rob, grabbed her and pulled her behind his own back. Elizabeth sagged against Steve and sobbed in relief. Quent rolled his eyes. If she thought he was stepping in front of her, she was sadly mistaken.

Stuart stabbed the gun in Cale’s face. Cale winced, but otherwise didn’t react. He spied a tuft of Elizabeth’s hair behind Steve and called out to her. "You all right, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth poked her head around Steve’s broad shoulder. "Y-yes," she replied.

Rob took another look over his shoulder, reassuring himself Elizabeth was telling the truth. Satisfied she was none the worse for wear, he refocused on Stuart. "Let him go, Cobb."

"I don’t think so," Stuart snarled.

Quent took a step forward. His obsidian eyes bore into Stuart. "If you hurt him, Cobb, there will be no rest for your soul. I will haunt you forever."

"A bit overly dramatic, don’t you think, Quent," Stuart said. He took a deep breath and his eyes fluttered before refocusing on his prize. He leaned close and whispered in Cale’s ear. "I’m going to enjoy this, Cale. I had planned it differently, true. I wanted to prolong your pain. Your suffering. But the end is all that’s truly important."

Cale licked his lips and closed his eyes, unable to face Quent any longer. His friend looked desperate – desperate and resigned. Cale didn’t want to remember him that way. And although he ached to look at Drew, see him one more time, he refused to give Stuart even the slightest hint of his true feelings. He hoped they understood, both Drew and Quent, that Elizabeth didn’t deserve this. Just as she hadn’t deserved ten years of a loveless relationship. And although Cale didn’t agree with everything Stuart had said, he appreciated the reasoning behind it. He was Angus McCoy’s son. The only heir to a legacy built around the suffering of good people. Of anybody in the room, this fate was best suited to him.

**********

Drew knew the exact moment that Cale gave up. His mind screamed for him to do something, but seeing Cale so close to death made his throat close and his fingers go numb. Quent’s gun, concealed under his arm, slipped in his grasp. He ached to pull the gun out and shoot, but knew he couldn’t. The angle was wrong; he could too easily shoot Cale instead. Even at his best, targeting Stuart, who was nearly concealed behind Cale, would be risky. If he missed, Stuart would shoot reflexively, killing Cale. And the bottom line was, Drew was not at his best. He felt shocky from blood loss and though he was a capable shot with either hand, he was more accurate with his left. His left hand, however, was cuffed to the damned chair, which weighed three hundred pounds if it weighed an ounce.

The rules of engagement dictated a conservative course of action. Drew took one close look at Cale and threw the rules out the window. They never much worked for him, anyway. "Stuart," he called out.

Cale’s eyes snapped open and he turned to Drew.

Stuart didn’t twitch. "No more stalling, Drew."

"But I thought you said you wanted Cale to watch."

Stuart gave an affronted sigh. He did ease the pressure of the gun against Cale’s head, though. "Watch what?"

Drew took a deep breath. "Watch the one he loves die."

Cale’s eyes widened. "No, Drew."

Stuart blinked and studied Drew. "And who would that be?"

Drew smiled. "Me."

Quent groaned something that sounded like, "Marcus, you idiot." Rob and Steve gasped simultaneously. A hysterical giggle burst from Elizabeth’s throat, and she clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle it. For several seconds, silence reigned in the wake of Drew’s confession.

Stuart’s hand, the one holding the gun against Cale’s head, relaxed a fraction of an inch. Quent noticed and tensed in anticipation.

"You?" Stuart repeated.

Drew shifted in is chair. "Yes."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"Actually, no, I don’t. But it is the truth."

Stuart’s viselike grip on Cale’s waist eased a bit. Forcing himself not to react to the sudden change, Cale sought and found Quent’s eyes. A silent signal passed between them.

Through it all, Drew talked as though he and Stuart were exchanging pleasantries in the hospital cafeteria. "Although I admit, he wasn’t an easy nut to crack. If you get my meaning."

Stuart’s jaw dropped and the gun eased another inch from Cale’s head. Quent knew their time was up. There would be no more distractions. No more chances. He caught Cale’s eye and gave the slightest nod. He didn’t dare do more than that. The best he could hope for was that Marcus was expecting what Quent was about to do. Strangely, Quent felt with certainty that Marcus did, and was in fact expecting it.

Quent leaned a fraction to the left and curled his hand around one of Elizabeth’s tacky knick-knacks – this one a statue of some wild animal. The sculpted piece of stone slipped easily into his hand. While Stuart stared slack-jawed at Marcus, Quent took a deep breath – and threw the statue. He aimed for the mirrored mantle behind Stuart and his aim was dead-on. The mirror shattered with a resounding crash. Stuart jumped and spun around, raising his gun instinctively toward the sound. In his shock, he lost his grip on Cale, who slithered out of Stuart’s grasp and threw himself to the floor.

Twin gunshots thundered through the room as both Rob and Drew fired. Stuart arched into the air, blood blossoming between his shoulder blades. He crashed face first into the mantel. With a gut-wrenching cry of denial, he jerked around, fell to his knees and pointed his own gun at Cale’s prone body. Quent saw Rob take aim again, but before he could shoot, Drew fired Quent’s gun. The bullet struck Stuart squarely between the eyes. The gun tumbled from Stuart’s hand and he fell to the floor, dead.