Split (25 page)

“Do you know where my daughter is?”

Andy blinked and looked at the digital alarm clock in his hotel room. It was twelve twenty-five.

“I said, do you know where my daughter is?”

Andy’s voice cracked when he tried to speak. He had been woken out of a dead sleep. “Is this Mr Vanderwall?”

“Yes. Do you know where Makedde is?”

Andy wanted to ask why he was calling at such an hour, but the question did not seem appropriate. There was alarm in the former detective inspector’s voice, and his tone didn’t have the air of a social call.

“We tried to contact Makedde earlier tonight, but with no luck,” Andy admitted.

He refrained from telling Makedde’s father that they had wanted to ask her about a possible murder suspect she may have been dating. They had eventually packed it in for the night, thinking that they would
have to wait till morning to ask her what she knew about a man named Roy Blake.

“She’s not with you?” Les said in a slightly accusatory tone.

“No. She’s not. Is something wrong?”

“My daughter is missing. She’s not home. She’s not at Ann’s house.”

“Les, hold on, what are you saying? Who is Ann?”

“Ann Morgan is a lovely dear friend of ours who was attacked tonight. She’s in hospital now, drugged to the gills. Makedde’s purse was in her living room. Her car is parked outside. She’s gone.”

Oh Christ,
Andy thought.

“I want to know where she is. I’ll be touching down at the helipad near the Trade Center in thirty-five minutes and I want you there. It’s not far from your hotel. Any cab driver will know it.”

“Les, I’ll be waiting for you when you arrive,” Andy promised, flinging back the sheets even as he set down the phone.

“ We have to do this right,” Daniel Blake said, eyes ablaze with excitement. “I can’t show you unless you do it exactly right.”

“Okay,” Roy agreed, unsure of what else to say.

Though Daniel was Roy’s mirror image, his other half, and the closest person to Roy’s heart, there was something foreign about him at that moment. There was something in him that was unsettling, and that Roy had not seen for a long time. It was something he had thought, or hoped, had been banished.

Roy and Daniel knew each other so well. They were twins—split from the same egg, and they were alike in ways that no other person could be. Yes, Roy was the “older” one, born two minutes before Daniel, and he had always taken on the big brother role, but still they were one, they were brothers, they were blood, and they had an unbreakable bond.

Now Roy did not know what to do. This was
something else. When Danny was like this, it was as if he was not Roy’s brother at all.

“Zip it up,” Danny said.

Roy himself was now dressed in identical head-to-toe black hunting gear. He zipped it up as his brother told him.

They had gone out in day gear this way before, but never at night. Roy didn’t even know his brother owned such outfits, but he was willing to play along with Danny’s wishes so that he could find out exactly what was going on.

“Here,” Danny said, passing him a hunting rifle. Roy took it.

“Danny,” he finally dared to ask his brother, “how can we go hunting at night? How will we be able to see?”

“It’s okay. I’ve got everything we need. I’ll show you. I’ll show you how I do it.”

Roy considered the consequences of what his brother may have done, the consequences of what he had let his brother do.

Will we have to go south and start again? Or north? We could get jobs in Alaska and no one would ask questions up there. Whatever he’s done, we could leave it all behind and start again…

The twins walked down the hall, Roy tagging along behind, still in shock, and still suffering some
after-effects from the small dose of Rohypnol his brother had given him. Before long Danny brought them to the door of the den.

When the door opened, Roy saw that a woman was handcuffed to a metal chair in the centre of the room.

The woman was Makedde Vanderwall.

Mak heard footsteps.

He’s back.

But she could have sworn she heard two sets of feet. Her heart rate sped up as she watched the doorknob turn, and when the door finally opened, Makedde couldn’t believe her eyes.

Two Roy Blakes.

Two.

Identical.

Both in matching black commando gear. Both armed with rifles.

Holy fuck.

Okay, stay calm. You are looking at twins, Makedde.
She fought to keep her breathing even, to slow the panicked racing of her heart. Ann told you Roy has a brother. So, Roy’s brother is a twin.

But which one is Roy?

The one she’d fought at Ann’s place, the one who had punched her in the eye, the one who had driven her here—had that been Roy?

If she had been dealing with one of them all along, she had to try and keep track of which was which. She had to try to regain his sympathy.

Stay calm. Just try to stay calm.

Gradually, the initial shock passed and she noticed that one of them seemed more animated than the other. Yes, the one on the left was looking at her with absolute bewilderment. Why?

He grabbed the other by the elbow, “Come with me,” she heard him say gruffly, and he pulled his twin out of the room.

“What the hell is she doing here!?” Roy exclaimed.

“The girl? She was a witness,” Daniel said plainly. “I had to take her, and she’s a pretty one, too, isn’t she?” He smiled. “It was a perfect stroke of luck. Now, my brother, I get to show you what I do with the girls. It’s great fun. You’ll see…”

Roy felt ill.

“My God, Danny, that’s Makedde!”

His brother’s expression was blank. The name meant nothing to him, Roy had not told him about Makedde. In fact, Roy had not told him much about any of the girls he had seen over the past few years, for fear that it would make him jealous or cause some discontent. After all, he wanted his brother to be safe and happy up at the cabin, not thinking about what he was missing in the big city, and not feeling as if he were losing his brother to someone else.

“I know her. I know that woman,” Roy tried to explain, shaking his head with disbelief. “What have
you done? What have you done by bringing her here?”

Makedde had been kidnapped. She had witnessed Daniel do whatever it was he had done to Dr Morgan. She had seen all of it, and he knew that his brother’s plan was to kill her now. And if they didn’t kill her, she would have them both in jail for the rest of their lives. He will have ultimately let him and their mother down in the worst possible way.

If they didn’t kill Makedde now, they would be locked up forever, and worst of all, they would be separated.

Andy could hear the helicopter. He stood on the bridge that led to the floating helipad, bracing himself against the cold Canadian wind.

Where is she?

He hoped to God that they were all overreacting. He hoped to God that Makedde was okay. Perhaps she was with this man—this Roy Blake—and she was sleeping peacefully, and he was guilty of nothing more than driving around the Nahatlatch and being a security guard at her university. Andy tried to imagine her safe in the man’s arms, but his jealousy would not allow it.

The helicopter descended over the water, causing it to ripple into small waves. His hair whipped, with the turbulence and the sound of the blades was deafening. Andy stood with his hands in his pockets, his jaw tensed, wondering how his life had come to this moment; watching a helicopter land in the middle of the night carrying the father of the woman he
loved—a woman who did not love him back…a woman who might well be in danger yet again.

Makedde sat up when the Blake twins entered.

Here we go…

They filed in, one behind the other, and she met their eyes with a steady glare. They stopped less than two feet from her chair, one of them standing slightly behind the other. Her gaze flicked back and forth, trying to find some familiarity, trying to figure out which one of these horrible, identical men was Roy Blake.

Boy I can pick ’em. Or they can pick me.

Can’t handle rejection, can you?
Makedde thought.
You can’t handle anything where you are not in control, you psychopathic bastard.

She chose the one she thought might be Roy—the less confident one who was standing back a touch, and she shot daggers of hate at him with her eyes. “So you think you could pick a psychopath, then?” he had asked her. Did he know that’s what he was? Was that some kind of perverse test?

The two of you combined don’t even equal half of a real human being, she wanted to say, but the rifles gave her pause. She would say it before she died, she decided, if that’s where this was headed. When the time came, she would say anything she wanted, but she should just observe now. She would watch what they did, she would look for an opening. It wasn’t over yet.

The one she guessed was Daniel walked around behind her. She watched the other one again.
What are you two up to? What comes next in this little charade?
The other one appeared to be looking at whatever his brother was doing behind her back.

She heard a door open and close. She wondered where that door could lead. The outdoors? No, there was no draft. A closet space? A bedroom? What was he doing?

Both twins disappeared behind her. She heard something metallic clink, then felt the hard shape of a gun barrel between her shoulderblades. One of the twins bent down in front of her, and she felt the urge to kick him in the face. He reached his hands around her ankles. “You be good now, and we won’t have to kill you…”

Bullshit.

Her legs were free, but she did not move. She watched them carefully. They would have to undo her arms before they did anything else. The same twin, be it Roy or Daniel, went around to her back, and she
felt his hands on her wrists, twisting them, and then the handcuffs came off; a momentary tightening, and then release. Her hands were free.

“Get up.”

This is what they did to all of them,
she thought with grim surety.
This is when they kill them. This is when they kill me.

“Get up. If you cooperate, you’ll have a chance.”

They will lead me into the woods and execute me. It’s not so messy in the woods. They won’t want to kill me in here—not with that shotgun. I would mess up their precious rugs and trophies.

A numbness had taken the place of everything else. She wondered if her nerves had been fried, if she had become incapable of feeling. She decided that this new-found serenity in the face of horror was a proud and beautiful thing that she would hold dear forever, whether it be in this life or the next.

“So what’s your game, then? Why the charade? You know me, so talk to me.”

One of them went to open his mouth, and the other stopped him. “Cuff her.”

He grabbed her wrists and shackled them together again.

Damn.

Fuck you. Fuck you and fuck your brother, and fuck the Stiletto Killer and all the wuss-bags like you who are afraid to act like real human beings.

“Walk.”

She hesitated. “You’re making a big mistake. You were seen with me.” She directed it at both of them. “Talk to me. Tell me why you are doing this. I want to understand.”

Don’t let them get you outside. They’ll shoot you in the back like the others the moment you’re away from their precious home. Think of another way. Your legs are free. Run. Run somewhere.
She wanted to turn her head to see the door behind her, to see where it led, and as she turned she was bumped hard in the back with the rifle.

“Walk.”

If it was a storage room of some kind and they had more guns in there, they would not be loaded and ready for her to use. The twins would kill her without hesitation if she went for their guns. She mustn’t do that—yet. She would have to distract them first.

When they get you outside, they’ll shoot you like an animal.

“Move!” She was pushed forward by the gun once more, this time much harder.

She walked. She held her head high and she walked. Roy thought Makedde would make a prime target because of what he had found out about her, was that it? She would be an interesting one to screw with? Well at least he didn’t get what he wanted. Not quite. She had her dignity.

The floor moved beneath her feet as she approached the door. She wanted to know which twin was which. She wasn’t sure why it meant so much to
her, but she supposed it gave her some sense of control to think she knew. Clearly it was part of their game to seem interchangeable, elusive. Why else would they wear those matching suits?

The doorframe moved towards her and then she was through it, out of that terrible room with all the staring animals, all the dumb staring beasts. She was being led down a short hallway—
Don’t let them get you outside
—and she considered where she could run to. How much time would she have? None. How much chance had she of outrunning them? None.

Your moment will come, Makedde. Your moment will come.

The front door was approaching now, she was moving towards it, Roy was opening it—that was Roy, wasn’t it?—and she could see outside. She could see all that untouched wilderness and she wanted to run through it, run away and be free. She would rather die out there trying. Anything was better than dying by the rules of these twin psychopaths.

A nudge and a shove and she was outside. One step, two. The air was cold. The sky was pitch-dark. Makedde wished for warm clothes, she wished for many things she did not have. She could not see, but now she sensed one of them had more than just a gun with him. He had grabbed something else for them from that room behind her.

Makedde turned her head, dared to turn it and look at what it might be.

She froze.

Oh, no…

The man was wearing something on his face. Some contraption with great long crab-eye stalks attached to it. She had seen something like that before. It was an instrument the military sometimes used. What was it?

Night vision.

He had night-vision goggles on.

She was shoved again, and this time she was caught off balance and she fell forward, tried to reach out with her hands but they were trapped behind her by the handcuffs. She stumbled forward and caught her balance just before going down.

She looked again.

The other one was wearing the same horrible goggles now. The eyes were gone, replaced by those stalks.

“Move it,” one ordered her.

Shaken, she struggled on. She felt herself start to hyperventilate.

Stay calm, stay calm…

She thought of the other dead girls. She thought of what they had been through, what they had endured and how they were left. Had the twins got what they wanted from them? Had they obeyed and been murdered anyway? Of course they had. Had they expected freedom, compassion, mercy?

Shot in the back.

Hunted.

Like animals.

The procession stopped at a spot on the edge of the woods. Makedde felt hands on her, releasing the handcuffs from her wrists. Her arms were free.

“Run,” came a voice from behind her. “Now.”

They had their night-vision goggles, their guns. Did they honestly think this was a fair game? That she had a sporting chance?

She turned and spoke to their dual shapes in the thick darkness. “You must know that they have an FBI Profiler on this, right? He’s one of the best in the world. Sees your type all the time,” she spat. “You know what the first thing was that he said? He said you were cowardly. He said, ‘Shot in the back with a high-powered rifle…a coward.’ How does it feel to be a coward, you two?”

Thwack.

One of them struck her on the side of the face with the barrel of the gun. It knocked the words out of her mouth.

“Go. Now.”

She turned to them one last time before she obeyed the command, her face stinging from the hit. “How many minutes does a sportsman give his game?” she said defiantly. “How many for the handicap? There’s two of you. I have no shoes. None of those…goggles.”

“You’ve got sixty seconds. I suggest you get going.”

One of the twins fired off a warning shot. It hit the ground somewhere near her feet. A rush of adrenalin filled her body and she set off on a run, as fast as she could.

She ran straight through the trees ahead. She would run seventy-five paces forward, then a sharp left, and another and another. Lead them away from the cabin, and try to circle back.
You can get back to the cabin and find a weapon and hide. But don’t get lost…

Go.

Go.

Go!

Her watch glowed faintly in the dark. The second hand seemed to move so fast. She believed what they had said. They would give her sixty seconds. Not a moment less, and not a moment more. They would follow in thirty seconds…twenty-nine…twenty-eight…

Run…

Twenty-five paces forward now. Could they still see her through the trees? She had to be out of their sight before she turned off. The woods had to be thick enough to shield her movements. And they would listen for her, too. Forty paces now…

It had been forty seconds. She had to run faster, faster…

Please don’t let me trip.

She ran forward, dodging tree trunks and branches as their great shapes threw themselves up in front of
her. Fifty paces, now, and she knew she would not have long before they came after her. Turn soon…turn, and run for a few minutes, then another seventy-five paces back towards the road. It had to work.

I can do it. I’m fast enough. I can run in the dark. I can do this.

Sixty paces…They would be after her soon. She looked at her watch—it had almost been a minute—here they come—and then she was falling—
NO!
—tripping over a great slippery patch of moss and gnarled roots. She slid and hit a tree, her already sore wrist scraping painfully against the coarse bark.

No!

They are after you now. Get up! Go!