But what if she couldn’t get the door open?

Panicked, Kevin slid along the wall, met a corner, and felt his way along the back wall. He put his ear on the plaster.

Breathing. Slow and deep. Not his. Slow shuffling.

A low voice reached through the wall. “Kevinnnn . . .”

He froze.

“Forty-six minutesss . . . Kevinnnn.”

The difference between innocence and naiveté has never registered in Slater’s mind. The two are synonymous. In fact, there is no such animal as innocence. They are all as guilty as hell. But he can’t deny that some are more naive than others, and watching Kevin creep up the stairs like a mouse has reminded Slater of how utterly naive his nemesis really is.

He’d been sorely tempted to kick the man in the head then, while Kevin was still four steps from the top. Watching him tumble and break would have held its appeal. But place-kicking has always struck him as one of sport’s more boring moments.

Welcome to my house, Kevin.

The man has gone and gotten himself a gun. He holds it like he might hold a vial of the Ebola virus and probably hasn’t thought to cock it, but he’s at least gathered the resolve to arm himself. And he is undoubtedly packing without Samantha’s knowledge. She would never allow a civilian to stumble around with a loaded weapon. Kevin has found a sliver of manhood. How fun! The man may actually try to kill him, as if he’s become the stalker instead of the victim.

In ways not even Kevin can yet know, this isn’t such a new thing. Kevin has tried to kill him before. Their lives are inseparably intertwined, each bent on killing the other. To think that this man who’s crept up the stairs holding his big shiny pistol has the stomach to pull the trigger, much less kill, is absurd.

Now the fool has wedged himself in the next room down and is undoubtedly wetting himself. If he only knew what lay in store for him in the hours to come, he might be lying in a puddle of his own vomit.

Here, kitty, kitty.

“Forty-six minutesss . . . Kevinnnn . . .”

Kevin nearly pulled the trigger then. Not with calculated aim, but out of sheer terror.

“Sam?” His voice sounded like a wounded lamb’s bleating. He was briefly revolted by his weakness. If this was Slater, he was getting exactly what he wanted. A face to face. A chance to blow him away.

The doorway stood opposite him, its gaping hole darker than the black surrounding it. If he were to run now, he could bound down the stairs and reach the front door, right?

A new sound reached into the room—the sound of something sharp scraping along the wall outside. Down the hall toward his door.

Kevin gripped the pistol in both hands, pointed it at the doorway, and slid down to his seat. If Slater stepped through that space, he’d do it. He’d see the dark form and start pulling the trigger.

The scraping continued, closer, closer. Closer.

“Kevinnn,” a voice whispered.

God, help me!His mind started to go fuzzy.

Take him out, Kevin.Jennifer’s voice echoed through his mind. Blow the scumbag away!

He could hardly see the gun in front of him to aim it, but he could point. And whoever walked through that door wouldn’t be able to see him, right? Not in this darkness. Kevin would only see a shadow, but he had that advantage.

The scraping closed in on the door.

Sweat slipped into Kevin’s eyes. He held his breath.

Sam’s voice yelled distant. “Kevin, you stay put! You hear me?”

He couldn’t respond.

“Stay right there.”

She was going to get something to force the door. Pick the lock. A brick, a crowbar, a gun. A gun! She had a gun in her purse. Hurry!

The whisper came again. “Kevinnnn . . .”

The doorway suddenly filled with the dark shape of a man. Kevin’s finger tightened on the trigger. What . . . what if it wasn’t Slater? A bum, maybe.

The form stood still, as if staring at him. If it moved . . . If it even flinched, Kevin would pull the trigger.

Blood pounded through his head as if pumps had been shoved in his ears and were trying to suck him dry. Whoosh, whoosh.He couldn’t move other than to tremble slightly in the dark. He was eleven years old again, facing the boy in the cellar. Trapped. That’ll cost you your eyeballs, punk.

A metal object clanged against the front door. Sam!

The figure didn’t flinch.

Now, Kevin! Now! Before he runs. Pull the trigger!

Clang!

“Why would I do something so senseless as blow up an old abandoned warehouse?” Slater’s voice asked.

“It’s so nice to meet you again face to face, Kevin. I like the dark, don’t you? I thought about bringing candles for the occasion, but I like this better.”

Shoot! Shoot, shoot,SHOOT!

“We’ve only been at this three days and I’m already tired of it. Practice is over. We start the real game tonight,” Slater said.

The sound of steel against steel echoed from the front door.

“We’ll be seeing you.”

The figure moved.

The pressure Kevin had exerted on the trigger finally sprang the hammer at the same instant. The room ignited with a brilliant flash chased by a horrendous thunder. He saw Slater’s black coat as he cleared the doorway.

“Aaaahhhh!” He fired again. A third time. He scrambled to his feet, leapt for the opening, and spun into the hallway. A door at the end of the hall swung closed. The man was gone. Darkness surrounded Kevin.

He whirled around, grabbed the railing, and stumbled down the stairs.

“Kevin!”

The door burst open to daylight before Kevin reached it. Sam jumped clear and he spilled out onto the sidewalk.

Sam had her weapon drawn. She took one look at Kevin and spun into the doorway, gun extended.

“He’s gone,” Kevin panted. “Out back. A window or something.”

“Wait here.” Sam ran to the corner, shoved her head around, and then disappeared.

The ground felt uneven under Kevin’s feet. He gripped a telephone pole and steadied himself. Why had he waited? He could have ended the whole thing with one shot, right there in the room. On the other hand, he had no proof that the figure was Slater. Could’ve been an idiot playing . . .

No, it was Slater. Definitely. You spineless punk! You let him walk. He was right there and you whimpered like a dog!Kevin grunted and closed his eyes, furious.

Sam reappeared thirty seconds later.

“He’s gone.”

“He was just there! Are you sure?”

“There’s a fire escape with a ladder. He could be anywhere by now. I doubt he’s hanging around for an encore.” She glanced back, considering.

“There’s no bomb, Sam. He wanted to meet me. That’s why the riddle was so easy. I saw him.”

She stepped up to the door, looked inside, and flipped the switches. Nothing happened.

“How did the door lock?”

“I don’t know. I was just in there and it slammed behind me.”

She stepped just beyond the door and looked up. “It’s rigged. He used a pulley with a string . . .” She followed the string with her eyes.

“What is it?”

“The string ends by the counter. He was down here when he pulled the door closed.”

The revelation struck Kevin as absurd. “In the lobby?”

“Yes, I think so. String’s pretty well hidden, but he was here. I don’t want to contaminate the scene—we need to get some light in there.” She walked back out and opened her cell phone. “You sure it was him?”

“He spoke to me. He stood right there and asked me why he’d be so senseless as to blow up an abandoned building.” Kevin’s legs felt like putty. He abruptly sat on the sidewalk. The gun hung from his right hand.

Sam eyed it. “This is what you found wandering your old neighborhood this morning?”