The Lover's Children

Chapter 131 – Autumn’s Fury – Part 23

KLEMPNER

Screams give way to silence. Sunshine yields to shadows under the canopy. Leaf litter fades to a

blanket of pine needles…

Where are they?

Where the fuck are they?

My question is answered by a yell from offside. Then a gunshot. “Stay back. I'll shoot the bastard. Her

too.”

Where the hell’s he got the gun from?

Still, at least I know where he is…

The pine needles work for me now, cushioning my footfall as I work my way around.

There…

It's Harkness, limping, bleeding. He looks wild, half-crazed. He has a gun in his hand, aimed at Mitch,

but that hand drips blood.

She’s on the ground, bound at the ankles, wrists behind her back. Silent now, she’s half-naked,

stripped to the waist, her face, chest, and breasts bloody.

Gagged?

Yes, gagged… Something stuffed into her mouth. I can’t make out what.

But she's struggling.

She's alive.

Harkness hooks an arm under hers, hauling her upright by one hand, his weapon in the other, the

muzzle pressed to her neck.

Police issue?

He mugged a cop for his weapon? This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

Local then. Not a pro.

So where're the specialists?

The van…

They arrived as I rounded the chalet…

So they’re coming up from behind…

And now, looking back I see them: body armour, SMGs. Fanning out to surround. Moving like they

know what they're doing. A couple look like snipers, shifting behind trees, positioning themselves so

Harkness would have the sun in his eyes

From behind me, the tinny call of a loudhailer. “Patrick Harkness. Give yourself up and surrender your

hostage.”

“Fuck off! Fuck off! I’ll shoot her. Don’t think I won’t!”

Slipping off to the left, silently, I work my way around.

*****

JAMES

Sprinting out, I follow the chaos and the yells. The woods are thick with police, converging on some

point I can’t make out through the trees. Gasping for air, gripping my ribs against a stitch, I follow the

flow.

The trees thin out to a clearing. A wall of uniforms form a barrier two bodies deep.

A pair of medics tend to one officer, apparently half-conscious, blood spilling from a slash over his face.

Another pair trot up carrying a stretcher between them.

I spot Chad in the line, then Michael with him, both with their attention fixed on something I can’t see.

Catching up with them, wheezing, I blurt out. “What’s happening?”

Michael nods ahead. “They’ve got him cornered. Harkness. But he’s got Mitch. And a gun against her

head.” He jerks a thumb back to the injured officer. “A police weapon.”

“Where’s Klempner?”

“Good question.” The two words boom. Will Stanton. “We don’t know. You don’t either?”

Michael shrugs. “He came out ahead of me. I’ve not seen him since.”

Stanton’s eyes ring white against his dark skin. “Not that I would grieve over Harkness if anything

happened to him, but I’d rather not see Klempner facing a murder charge on this particular issue.”

“Murder? Defending his wife against a serial killer?”

“Let’s keep it at that level.” Will nods to James. “You’d better come with me. All of you.”

He muscles his way through the press of police. Harkness, his back pressed to a great old oak, stands

at bay with Mitch, her neck locked into the crook of his elbow, his gun against her head. Ankles bound,

arms locked behind her back, her face is swollen and bleeding, her glorious eyes closing under deep

purple-black bruising. Blood streams from her mouth and nose.

“Ye gods,” mutters Michael. “What’s he done to her?”

I call out over the crowd. “Mitch, Vicky is safe. Charlotte has her.”

I’m not sure she can see me, but she hears me, lifting her chin, gurgling something through her gag.

Harkness whips her around. In a split second, striking forward, he backhands her across the face. She

cries out, crumpling at the knees, but he tugs her upright, locking his arm around her again, the gun

once more pressed to her temple, his body shielded by hers. “Back away or I’ll blow her fucking brains

out. And those snipers can fuck off too. If I go, she goes with me.”

Mitch trembles, chest heaving as she struggles for air through her bloodied nose.

Stanton, speaks slowly and deliberately. “Put the gun down, Harkness. You can’t win. The best you can

get out of this is that you might live through it. Trust me, taking that woman as a hostage is the

dumbest decision you ever made.”

The end of the barrel doesn’t waver. “You think I won’t blow this bitch’s head off? You think I’m scared

to do that?”

Stanton opens his mouth to reply, but the words don’t come out…

Harkness freezes, his gaze slanting sidelong and back. At his throat, a hand. And a knife-blade,

jagged, glinting.

From behind the oak, Klempner appears, his blade edge poised over the pulsing vein in Harkness’

neck. Pale, gaunt-faced, exuding menace, he could be summoned from the darkness, bearing a

message from God.

“Jesus Christ,” mutters Stanton.

*****

KLEMPNER

The edge of my blade at his throat, “Drop the gun. Release my wife.”

“Fuck off. You use that knife and I’ll still pull the trigger…” He’s trying for bravado, but I felt the jolt as he

realised I was there. My chest pressed to his spine, the shudder running through him transmits like a

telegraph signal. “… She’ll be dead.”

“So will you. Be sure of that. Be very sure.”

“So? What have I got to lose? You’re not locking me up.”

“You think you have a better option now? That you’re going to get out of this?”

Stanton edges forward, a hand outheld, his voice urgent. “Harkness, give me the gun. You won’t live

through this otherwise.”

“You’re not locking me up. I’m not going to prison.” The tone grows shrill. The shudder’s growing

stronger.

The gun arm swings on Stanton, then snaps back to Mitch. “I’ll kill her first. Then you and…” The

muzzle wavers between Stanton and Mitch, then swings wildly along the line of police before, once

more, pressing to Mitch’s temple .

Stanton’s breathing is heavy. Sweat trickles down his forehead. His eyes flick between me and the gun

hand. “Harkness, don't fuck around with this man at your throat. He doesn't play games with those that

seriously upset him. If you want to live, give me the gun.”

My knife poised, I angle close by Harkness’ face, speaking quietly. Stanton probably can’t hear me.

Harkness can.

“You’re an amateur, Ricky. You don’t know how to hold a pistol. Your grip’s wrong and you’re scared

shitless. I can feel you shaking. Assuming you could aim and fire fast enough to murder the

Commissioner without the snipers picking you off first, I’m right here behind you and I’m going

nowhere…”

He pants uncontrollably, struggling to speak. “Yeah… Yeah… You’ll kill me. We all know that… They

think you’re a scary bastard. You think you scare me? I’ve nothing left to lose.”

“You think?” I lean still closer, close enough that my breath washes by his face as I hiss my words. “You

think life can’t get any worse? Let me spell something out. If you shoot the police commissioner, I will

merely slit your throat…” Harkness jolts, lurching back, then swaying forward again, taking Mitch with

him as he moves. She moans, her pain audible.

“…However, should you in any way, further injure my wife, I will sever your spinal cord. I will slip this

blade between your lumbar vertebrae. You will never walk again...”

His breathing accelerates. His heartbeat too. I keep speaking. Stanton watches me, expression wary,

but he can’t hear me.

“… I will hack off your hands and your arms to the elbow …”

His heart yammers under his ribs. His breathing hisses… Stanton’s eyes are fixed on me, his stance,

statue-like.

“… I will remove your eyes and your genitals. I will slice out your tongue. I will destroy your eardrums.

But I will leave you alive, perhaps for days. Perhaps for years. Do you understand me…?”

His hand shakes violently, the pistol shaking with it.

“… And one day, when I decide that you have lived long enough in the dark and the silence, I will

return. I will come. I will find you. And then, I will slit you open, from crotch to collarbone, and I will

leave you to die trying to push your guts back inside yourself with the stumps where you once had

hands.”

“You’re bluffing… You’re f..f…fucking bluffing. We’re surrounded by police…” Stanton can’t hear me,

but he heard that. His eyes widen with alarm… “…They’d never let you do it…”

“Don’t fool yourself. I could do half of it before they got near me. And I know plenty on the inside who’d

finish it for me when I called in a favour or two.”

Stanton eases forward again, a footstep at a time, palm open, fingers making a Gimme movement.

“C’mon, Harkness, hand it over. Whatever he’s saying to you, he’s serious. This man doesn’t make

empty threats.”

The pistol wavers, shivering, then the fingers fall open and the gun drops.

Stanton’s hand snaps out, catching it mid-fall… and I brace, poised with the knife…

… but Stanton snaps out. “No! Larry… Not now…” I hesitate. Stanton holds up his free hand. “…

Everything until now was defence of Mitch. If you kill him now, it's murder.”

My mouth is dry…

My head throbs…

“Take your fucking hands off my wife.”

Limp-limbed, Harkness releases Mitch…

… and I release him…

Stanton blows air, tucking the Glock into a pocket. “Chansky! Right now.”

His sergeant is already moving, hauling Harkness away from me, clicking cuffs into place, hands

locked behind. Another fits ankle cuffs. A voice drones. “You have the right to remain silent…”

*****

JAMES

As Harkness releases his hold, Mitch drops, but Klempner’s there, breaking her fall, lowering her to the

ground. He tugs the gag away, carefully wiping blood and muck from her mouth and nose, clearing her

airways.

He slices through the ties at her wrists and ankles and she clings to him, sobbing into his chest. “Oh,

God, I was scared. I was so scared…” Her words slur… “… But I knew you’d come. I knew it.”

He presses lips to her forehead. “I’ll always come, Mitch. I made you that promise long ago. I’ll always

keep it.”

The sergeant strips off his jacket, makes as though to nudge Klempner, then thinks better of it. Instead,

he coughs meaningfully, offering it at arm's length. Klempner lays it over Mitch’s shoulders, concealing

her naked torso. Then, kneeling on the ground beside her, unspeaking, he touches her cheek, looking

around and over her face and body, examining her closely.

Mitch whimpers, trying to turn her bloodied and swollen face from his but, his palm cupped around the

back of her skull, he steers her back. “Open your mouth.” Sobbing, she does so. Klempner looks then,

hissing, he pulls back. “Medics!”

But they’re already there, hovering close.

Klempner stands, snapping the words. “Where’s Jenny?”

“I’m here.” Charlotte pushes through, puffy-eyed, Vicky cradled in her arms.

“Look after your mother. Go with her. Take Vicky with you.”

She chews at her lip. “Of course, but what’s wrong? Why did you react like that? Mom’s not so badly

hurt, is she?”

“Her teeth. He’s knocked out her fucking teeth.”

*****