CHAPTER TEN

-Noodle-

Some people believe that there is great dignity in death. They see the passing of the spirit from one state of being to the next as a mystical act—one that must be commemorated with rituals which more often than not include a respectful disposal of the shell that the spirit has left behind. Some cultures bury their dead. Some burn them to ashes. Others embalm them and send them out to sea in tiny boats, or entomb them in shrines filled with treasures.

The truth is that the dead have only as much dignity as the living allow. For all the thousands of kings enshrined in elaborate mausoleums, there are millions of people who lie forgotten in unmarked graves. Even the pharaohs, the "living gods" of Egypt are not immune. If anything, they have it worst of all. Their graves are dug up, their tombs are plundered, and there are bones scattered and put on display for people to gawk and stare at them in museums all over the world. There is no dignity in that—and there was no dignity in what I saw in that narrow crack in the wall with Taro-kun, either.

These people had been victimized and then thrown away; left to rot with their heads open, their chests open—everything open. Exposed. Vulnerable to anybody who happened by to see. Carelessly stacked on top of each other, they looked more like nameless slabs of meat than people who had once been alive with friends and family. How many of them been mothers? Sisters? There was no question in Taro-kun's case that he had been somebody's son. Who would tell his mother? I have no memory of what it was like to live in a normal family—how it felt to be loved by a mother, a father, a brother, a sister. Even so, it still hurt to imagine the anguish that some woman was going to experience when she learned that her young son—not even ten years old—had died at the hands of a sick monster.

Taro-kun vanished soon after he led me to that foul grave. Perhaps remembering how he had died was upsetting. Maybe it was embarrassing. Either way, I felt bad that he had disappeared so suddenly. I wanted to tell him how sorry I was that there had been nobody to save him. I wanted to tell him that the man who had done these terrible things would never do them again; that I would not allow him to do them again. But he had already gone, and the best I could do was bow my head and offer him and all the other victims a moment of respectful silence.

I stood there alone in the dark with my head bowed and the heavy smell of rot coating the back of my throat for a long time. The car park was silent when I finally crept back through the crack in the wall. It was as if it too was taking a moment to honor the desecrated dead that had been lying hidden there for so long.

I ran across the abandoned parking area without taking my eyes off the door that would take me back to the corridor. Now that I knew what was there, the stillness in the air made me feel like I was an intruder in a private crypt, and all I wanted to do was get out.

Part of me wanted to find the man and put an end to all the horrible things that he was doing right then and there. I knew that I was capable of incapacitating him; of killing him if it came to that. But…but I was worried about Murdoc, Russel, and 2D. I knew that 2D needed a hospital. With that sick man after them, they all might need a hospital. More importantly, I knew that it was not my right to decide how to punish the man for the things he had done. That was a privilege that belonged to the mothers, fathers, husbands, brothers, sisters, children, cousins who had lost somebody important to them, and I knew that I was going to need help to make sure they got that privilege. That is why I stopped running when I got to the studio. My plan was to use the phone inside to call for the help I would need.

The studio was dark. That put me on edge. I did not see the man with the knife inside, but I knew that meant nothing. He could easily be lurking in the instrument room or the desk room, where the dim light filtering in from the hall did not reach. I did not like the idea of handing a cold-blooded killer an open invitation to take me by surprise. But I have no choice, I thought. I have to use the phone.

I took a cautious step into the dark room and after a moment's thought, I shut the door behind me. I felt better with the room back in pitch black. Fighting blindfolded is one of my specialties and knowing that he couldn't see me just as surely as I couldn't see him was enough to convince me that the dark would negate any advantage he might have gained from a surprise attack.

With my back pressed against the wall—Never allow your opponent to creep up on you from behind, I thought. Even now I can remember the urgency in Mr. Kyuzo's age-cracked voice as he said those words to me and all his other pupils—I began to edge away from the door. I held my breath as I went, listening for any sound that would tell me where the man was hiding. Does it even matter? I wondered. Even if he does not know that I want to use the phone, he will know where I am the second I—

Scritccch! My foot nudged something small and hard that scratched against the floor with a scrape of metal on tile. In a flash, I was in a defensive stance with my muscles coiled and all my senses on high alert. I stayed like that for a long time, waiting and listening. The only sound I heard was the adrenaline-laced hammering of my heart against my chest. That was enough to convince me that I was alone. The scraping noise had been quiet and brief, but if the man had been in the room it would have been enough to signal him to make his move.

Slowly, I knelt down and picked up the thing I'd kicked. It was cold in my hand. Light. Square. Definitely metallic. I could feel something etched into hits surface—a word or some simple design—but I could not decipher what it was. I squeezed it in my hand and its sharp edges bit into my palm as I felt along the wall for the light switch.

When my fingers found the switch, I flipped on the lights and stared down at the thing I held in my hand. It was a small, square-shaped metal button, smudged a dirty brown-green with age and use. A number was cleanly etched into the middle of its surface; a meticulously printed 3. There were three letters under the number, each printed with the same precision: D, E, F. I stared down at the button in my hand and whispered, "Oh…."

I did not need to look at the phone. I already knew what I was going to see. I looked anyway.

The phone was a mess of broken plastic and torn wires. The receiver was missing, its cord so violently severed it was a dangling tangle of shredded plastic. The number keys were scattered across the floor like broken teeth.

I knew then that calling for help was no longer an option. There is no other land line telephone in Kong and I had carelessly—foolishly—left my cell phone behind in the hotel room. I have to find the others, I thought. They may need help.

Another thought occurred to me as I tossed the useless number key to the ground, cutting through my head as sharply as the clipped tap of metal button against hard floor: What about the man with the knife?

I frowned at that. If I see him, I must stop him. But Murdoc, Russel, and 2D come first.

With my mind made up, I crept out of the studio and backed out into the hall. The last place I had seen any of my friends had been upstairs on the first floor. I had no way of knowing whether or not they were still there, but I decided that it was the most logical place to start looking.

I held my breath as I waited for the lift. Under normal circumstances, the lift is loud enough to hear from anywhere in the building, but on that day it worked as quietly as a freshly-oiled new machine. It was as if the stifling silence from the car park had spread while I was in the studio to force the rest of the building into choked silence.

I took up a fighting-ready stance as the lift began to rise. Although the ride was quiet, there was always the possibility that the man would be standing at the elevator doors, waiting and ready with the knife. I was ready when the doors slid open—but the hall was empty.

The first thing I saw when I got off the elevator was the blood. There was blood on the floor; an irregular trail that alternated between scattered drops and puddles the size of my fist. There were brownish, half-dried smears of it on the wall, too. I didn't see or hear any sign of the man in black. I didn't see or hear any sign of 2D, Russel, or Murdoc, either. There was just the blood and the silence.

I decided to follow the trail. One step. I had no idea whose blood it was. Two steps. It would be a wild stroke of luck if it was the man's blood. Three steps. I did not know what I would do if it was Russel's blood. Or Murdoc's. Or 2D's. Four steps. Where did this trail start? Where did it end? Was I even going the right way? Five steps. It was on the fifth step that I saw the feet poking out of the kitchen. The feet were attached to a pair of gangly limbs that were impossible to mistake. 2D!

The blood had come from him. The blood had to have come from him. There was nobody else in sight; nobody to claim that thick, dangerous trail of smeared reds and dried browns. In that moment, I forgot stealth. I forgot caution. All I could do was run.

I was so certain that I was going to see another scene of carnage I felt my knees go weak with relief when I got to 2D's side and saw that he was alive and in relatively one piece. His skin was pasty and his whole body was shaking—both signs that he still needed to get to a hospital—but there was no blood aside from the bruises and scrapes he'd acquired in his fall from the Geep.

I started to kneel down to see if he was conscious and noticed that my shoes and legs were splattered with cold blood. I had not noticed the blood splashing up onto me when I ran down the hall. I had been in too much of a hurry to see if 2D was still alive. Now it was impossible to ignore the wet, sticky feel of it against my skin. I tried not to think about it as I sat down on the ground to take a closer look at 2D.

"2D? Can you hear me?"

There was a long stretch of silence, long enough that I began to worry that I had imagined that first low groan. Then: "N-Noo…dle?"

Hearing him say my name was a relief. When we had first found him locked inside the freezer, he had not eve been able to recognize me or Murdoc or Russel. If he was able to do so now it was a definite step forward.

2D's lips were still moving, trembling and twitching to form words that I could not hear. I knelt down, brought my ear up to those cracked lips, and listened.

His teeth were chattering so vigorously I could hear them grinding together. Whatever he was trying to say, the words were trapped in his throat. Trapped behind those chattering teeth. The only word I could hear escaped in a stuttering grunt: "C—coun..nt-ter."

I frowned. "Counter?"

2D's lips moved again, as though he wanted to explain why that word was so important, but no sound came out.

Is he trying to tell me that there is something on the counter? Maybe I should check. "Wait there, 2D," I whispered. "I will be right back."

Under normal circumstances, it is impossible to find anything in the kitchen unless you know exactly where it is before you start looking. But all four of us had been busy with recording the new album ever since returning to Kong. Too busy to unpack anything more than the most basic kitchen implements. The counters were almost completely bare, and it was easy to see the cell phone lying on the counter against the back wall.

A heaviness I had not even noticed lifted from my chest at the sight of that flip phone. I can still call for backup, I thought. I can still call for an ambulance.

There was a terrible moment as I ran across the room in which I was certain that the phone would be out of power, but the screen lit up bright and strong when I pressed the power button. I grinned. The battery was fully charged.

Behind me, I heard a dull thud followed by a tired, pained moan. I turned around and said, "Do not try to move, 2D. You are still—"

I was certain that the sound I had heard had come from 2D. I assumed that it was nothing more than a clumsy attempt to stand up. The phone had made me feel safe. Stupid.

The man in black was standing over 2D with one leg up, ready to kick again. Without a second thought, I was running across the room, leaping up into the air, screaming, "Leave him alone!"

The roundhouse kick connected with his face on the word "alone", like an exclamation point that reverberated through my bones. The man was still staggering backwards when I landed on the ground, ready to hit him with a second strike.

I turned, every nerve in my body on razor edge, every muscle ready to fight, ready to attack, ready to snap into action—

BANG!

I dropped into a defensive roll, but too late. My right arm was already a blood-soaked firestorm of pain. I could feel my mind clouding over. Sinking down into a comfortable haze of numb shock.

No! I knew that I could not afford to lose myself to that inviting wave of nothing. Not with my life and 2D's life and possibly even Russel and Murdoc's lives hanging in the balance. Barely able to find myself in the opaque fog in my head, I put my tongue between my teeth and bit—hard.

The pain in my mouth was nothing next to the scorching waves that were traveling through my arm, but it was enough to clear the dizzy haze that was wrapped around my brain.

The gun, I thought. Where is the gun? Clenching my jaw against the pain in my arm, I looked up. The man had the gun trained on my head.

"That was a warning shot, sweetie," said the man. "You're going to stand up nice and slow now. Nothing funny or I'll shoot you in the head."

If he was a normal man, I would have ignored him and launched into another attack. But I knew that he was no normal man. Worse yet, I could tell by the way he held the gun that he knew how to handle it. If I tried to disarm him, he would have no trouble planting a bullet between my eyes.

I was so angry with myself I felt ill. How could I have not expected him to have a gun? How could I have allowed the situation to deteriorate so quickly? How could I have allowed myself to be trapped so clumsily, so stupidly?

I had still not moved from my place on the ground when the man nudged 2D's shivering body with the toe of his boot and then rested his foot on his back. "If you don't do as I say I will kill this little shit. And then I'll kill you. Now STAND THE FUCK UP!"

I did not want to listen to him. I doubted that he would be able to shoot both 2D and me before I was able to reach him, but I did not want to risk either of us losing our lives. Hating myself, I slowly stood up.

The man kept the gun aimed at my face. "And now," he said, "you're going to come with me."

I took a deep breath. "If I go with you, will you leave my friend alone?"

The man said nothing, but he took his foot off of 2D's back.

Slowly, I walked over to where he was standing. As soon as I was within arm's reach, he glided around me and pressed the gun to the back of my head. I could feel the metal muzzle there, still warm from the shot he'd fired seconds earlier as I stepped over 2D.

The man stepped over 2D and snatched my shoulder in one of his big, heavy hands. I stopped and held my breath, certain he was about to pull the trigger. Certain I was about to die.

But then I heard a weak, pained voice—2D. "P-please…."

Moving only my eyes, I looked back and saw 2D pulling at the cuff of the man's trousers. "Pl…please don't hurt her," he whispered. "Please."

The man did not even look back as he raised his foot and rammed it into 2D's face. 2D flopped back down to the ground and stayed there. He did not move or speak again. I saw a trickle of blood roll from his nose, over his bluish lips. Then the man gave my shoulder a shove and we left the kitchen.

As we walked out into the hall, I noticed that I was clutching something small and hard and plastic in my good hand. 2D's cell phone. I had been so shocked by the sudden appearance of the gun I had completely forgotten about the cell phone. That the man had not noticed it was a miracle. Quietly, careful not to attract his attention, I slipped the phone into my pocket.

I knew as we continued down the hall that I needed to shift the man's attention away from the gun long enough to disarm him or get away. I knew that I needed to talk to him. The thought of exchanging even one word with that monster was enough to make me feel ill, but I knew that it was the best—and maybe only—way to help Murdoc, Russel, and 2D.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked.

The man pressed the gun against my head and snarled, "Shut up. Open your mouth again and you're dead."

I did not speak again. I did not want to risk fighting him with a gun to my head. No matter how fast or how strong you are, nobody is faster or stronger than a bullet to the brain.

Before I could form an escape plan, the man stopped us in front of the lift. "Right then. Listen up, sweetie. Right now, we're on the top floor. If you take a look at the lift call panel, you'll see two buttons. One of them calls the lift to take you down. There's a small, white button just below that. Do you see it?"

"Yes," I whispered. He did not explain the function of the second button, but I knew what it was for. I had used it often in the months I had spent renovating Kong. The maintenance button.

"You're going to reach out, nice and easy, and push that button for me," said the man.

With the muzzle of the gun still pressed against the back of my head, I did as he said. There was a loud, mechanical whir; the sound of reinforced lift cables straining, and then the doors slid open to reveal a dark, gaping hole.

Even though I knew what his next words would be, they still came as a shock. "In you get."

I stared into the empty elevator shaft. I can't help anybody if I fall down there….

I did not realize that the gun was no longer against my head until the gunshot exploded through my ears. It had been so close I felt it reverberate in my skull. There was something warm and wet in my hair—blood from my ear. The shot had nicked my ear.

With the gunshot still ringing in my ears, the man's voice was a faraway buzz. "You've got five seconds to jump before I put the next one into your head. Five…."

There was nothing I could do.

"Four…."

If I tried to fight I would be dead before I could land a hit.

"Three…."

I did not know what would happen if I fell.

"Two…."

I decided to opt for the unknown. I spread my arms and tumbled down into the darkness.

-Russel-

I don't know how long I laid there completely out of it. That gunshot had brought back a lot of bad memories. That 7-Eleven. Icy rain pouring down, hitting the car like a drumbeat gone wild. It was cold outside, but inside the car I was sweating. My friends and I, we were talking about something. I don't remember what. The record store? Murdoc's stab wound? 2D's hypothermia?

No…Murdoc and 2D didn't come until after that night. Whatever we were talking about, it was long before Murdoc or 2D or Noodle.

I saw the black Humvee, and then…OH JESUS THE UZIS WERE FIRING I COULD SEE THE LIGHT OF THE GUNSHOTS POPPING LIKE FLARES IN MY HEAD AS SOMEBODY SCREAMED AS I SCREAMED THERE WAS BLOOD EVERYWHERE ON THE SEATS ON MY FACE AND THE REAPER—ALL IN BLACK JUST LIKE THE MAN WITH THE GUN—HE WAS HERE! OH GOD THE GRIM REAPER WAS HERE IN KONG NOW AND—

—I woke up drenched in sweat. I felt weak. Shaky. Vaguely, I realized that my leg ached and I was lying on a hard, narrow surface that was slick with blood. A bench in the café. I was in the café.

The booth across from me was streaked with blood. There was a body there, so bloodstained it was almost impossible to recognize. Even so, I knew who it was.

I tried to sit up, but a sickening pain screamed up my leg. With a groan, I laid back down on the blood-soaked bench. I waited for the pain to recede back to the constant but manageable throbbing. Then I croaked, "Murdoc?"

There was no answer. Just an ugly, gut-twisting silence. Is he even breathing? I wondered.

I laid there in the silence for a long time, listening for a grunt, a groan, anything that would tell me that Murdoc was still alive. I was still lying there when the door flew open and 2D stumbled through. He took a couple of uneven steps with his arms windmilling like somebody had pushed him from behind. Then his legs gave out and he fell to the floor face first.

The man in black stormed in after him, screaming, "Get up! You little shit! GET UP!"

2D didn't move. After a couple of seconds, the man growled through his teeth, hauled 2D up by the back of his shirt, and started dragging him across the floor.

2D's head flopped so far forward his chin almost touched his chest as he was dragged. With his head hung so low, I couldn't see his face clearly, but the glimpse of blood-slick chin and lips was enough to tell me that he was bruised, battered, and in even worse shape than before. He didn't even seem to have the strength to struggle as the man continued to drag him along.

The man stopped in front of the big bay windows that looked out over the zombie-infested graveyard. Outside, the sun was about to set. The last dying rays of sunlight that filtered in through the dirty glass bathed 2D and the man in a tired, washed-out red color.

The man stood there for a few seconds, staring out at the pinks and the reds and the oranges that were burning through the sky. Then he smashed 2D's face up against the glass and said, "Look at the sunset."

2D tried to pull away from the glass, but the man grabbed a handful of his hair and shoved him back up against the window with a dull thud.

"I said look at the goddamn sunset!" the man screamed.

The man let go of him, but this time 2D didn't try to move away. Instead, he sank down to his knees with his face still pressed against the window, leaving a watery trail of blood and snot on the glass behind him. He stayed like that, slumped against the glass and shaking while the man reached for something at his waist. And then I saw the gun.

Oh shit. I tried to get up because I knew exactly what he was planning to do with that gun, but when I moved my leg the sickening pain was back with a vengeance, popping in my head like the lightning gunshots on that cold, rainy 7-Eleven night. The back of my throat seized up in a scream that came out as a gag as I flopped back down onto my back.

Across the room, the man in black had the gun pressed to the back of 2D's head. "You don't even know how lucky you are," he said. "You don't know how goddamn lucky you are, do you?"

2D shuddered but didn't answer; not even when the man screamed "DO YOU?" so forcefully all the sinews in his neck stood out.

The man gulped in a couple of deep breaths before he went on. "Normally I'd never even consider…never even think about making a man into art. I'm not some goddamn Nancy boy. No way. It's just that hair…." He grabbed a handful of 2D's hair and ran his fingers through it as he said, "I've never seen hair that color before. That's why I have to add it to my collection. You understand that, right?"

Shit, I thought. Shit, shit, shit, SHIT! I struggled with the cuff around my wrist so hard it clanged against the table. My leg screamed against the movement, but I knew that 2D would be dead if I didn't get up. No matter how hard I struggled, the cuff held.

Knelt in front of the window with the gun pressed to his head, 2D's shoulders heaved. I couldn't tell whether he was crying or screaming or whether he was just shaking that hard. I knew that if I could just stand up I could do something to help—I could distract the man in black; I could bash that bastard's head in, I could—the man pulled the trigger.

CLICK.

Nothing.

2D let out a choked noise from somewhere in the back of his throat.

There was a gut-dropping instant in which I realized that the gun was empty; that the man couldn't shoot 2D or anybody else, that 2D wasn't dead. Then the man grabbed 2D by the hair, bashed his head against the window, and dumped him on the ground.

Arms and legs scrabbling, 2D tried to crawl away from the man. He made it about three feet before the man delivered a kick to his gut that flipped him onto his side and left him gasping. The man wound up for another gut-busting kick, but 2D managed to curl into a ball before it hit and the kick glanced off of his shoulder instead.

"You little shit!" screamed the man. "Don't you fucking move while I'm gone. You understand me? You'd better wait right there!" That said, he threw the empty gun at 2D's head and ran from the café.

I laid there listening to 2D's choppy breathing until the door slammed shut. Then I cleared my throat and said, "D?"

Slowly, 2D came out of his protective huddle and crawled towards my booth. "R-Russ," he whispered. "Oh God, Russel, he killed Noodle."

A sick, cold feeling twisted through my gut. "What?" No way…there's no WAY….

"He killed Noodle! He shot her!" His arms gave out from under him and he collapsed face-down on the ground. His voice was shuddering at the edge of tears as he laid there talking into the ground. "I heard him do it. I heard him shoot her. I couldn't—he…he killed Noodle. He killed Noodle!"

He's wrong, I thought. He has to be wrong. Noodle can't be dead. That bastard couldn't kill her. She wouldn't LET him kill her. I couldn't listen to 2D's hysterical babbling any longer. I yelled, "D!"

2D cut himself off mid-sentence with a gulping hiccough and laid still.

I took a shaky breath and said, "Do you have your cell phone?"

"W-what?"

"Your cell phone!"

"No…it's still in the kitchen. But Russel, Noodle—"

"I know, I know! We'll worry about that later." My gut did another uncomfortable twist at those words. As sure as I was that 2D was wrong, it was impossible to ignore the fact that Noodle was still unaccounted for. But we don't have much time before that guy comes back. If any of us are getting out of here alive, this is our last chance to make a move. "Listen, D, can you walk?"

"I…I don't know," he mumbled.

"Can you move?"

"I don't know. I think so."

"OK," I sighed. "That's good. The kitchen isn't far from here. Try to get to the kitchen and call for help with your phone."

He lay still for so long I started to worry that he'd passed out. Then, finally, half-dragging himself, he started towards the door.

2D's progress was painfully slow. I had no idea how long the man in black was going to be gone, but I knew that he could return at any second, crazy as ever and ready to kill. Still, I watched as 2D made it past my booth, made it to the end of the dining area, made it to the door. He was lying directly in front of the door when it flew open and hit him hard enough to send him rolling in a tangle of arms and legs.

The force of the hit sent the door swinging shut. There was a muffled string of swearing from behind the door before it opened again and the man in black burst through. He stood there in the doorway for a few seconds, darting angry glares around the room before he saw 2D lying on the ground in front of him.

I tried to yell a warning to 2D as the man started towards him, but I couldn't push the words past my throat. 2D was so stunned chances are it wouldn't have made much of a difference.

Once he was standing beside 2D, the man snarled, "I thought I told you not to move."

That nasty, angry voice was enough to snap 2D out of his stunned daze. He scrambled to right himself.

The man waited until 2D was on his hands and knees, ready to sit up. Then he planted his foot between 2D's shoulder blades and forced him back down to the ground. 2D let out a yelp that sounded like a kicked puppy and lay still. He didn't move or make a sound when the man lifted him up by the back of the shirt and started dragging him across the floor.

He's unconscious, I thought. Unconscious or dead. But when they got closer to my booth, I heard a low moan that was enough to convince me that 2D was still alive and still awake.

I knew I had to do something to help. As they passed by, I tried to stick my good leg out far enough to kick or trip the man—anything to distract him for just a couple of seconds. Even that effort was enough to make my vision swim.

I was going to be sick and the man in black—the Grim Reaper—was going to blow everybody away in a hail of bullets because he was there—HE WAS THERE IN THE BLACK HUMVEE SWEET JESUS HE WAS—

A dry cough cleared away the fuzzy, sick feeling in my head. The man had 2D on the ground in front of the windows. One of his knees was digging into 2D's stomach. In his hand was the hunting knife he'd been waving around the first time I'd seen him.

He was staring down at 2D like a butcher surveying a slab of cold beef. I saw him pull back the knife and—

"Don't."

The word was so quiet I wasn't even sure I'd said it out loud. But the knife hadn't plunged down yet. I licked my cracked lips and repeated, "Don't. Please."

The man didn't turn around but the knife was still up in the air. I said, "You don't have to do this, man. Just let him go."

Slowly, the man lowered the knife.

"That's right," I said. "Let him go."

The man sat there without answering for a long time. Then he said, "Didn't your parents ever tell you not to interrupt an artist at work? They're liable to snap and do something crazy."

Shit. "Look, man, I'm just saying—"

"One more word and I'll slit your throat."

"Please, just—"

"I said shut the fuck up!"

The man raised the knife and turned his attention back to 2D. The knife plunged down.

I closed my eyes and screamed, "D!"

I heard another scream over my own—somebody with a higher voice. 2D. 2D was screaming. I didn't want to look. Jesus Christ, 2D was dying. I didn't want to watch 2D die. I didn't want to watch anybody die.

2D was still screaming when I opened my eyes. But he wasn't dying. Instead, he was doing something I'd never expected him to do. He was fighting back. Punching, jabbing, clawing, and slapping blindly, it was a desperate, uncoordinated attempt at self-defense. Even so, a deep, fresh cut on his shoulder was evidence enough that he'd somehow managed to prevent the man from stabbing him someplace more serious.

The man was trying to pin 2D's arms down with his free hand, but 2D was so frantic the man couldn't hold him still with just one hand. I didn't know whether to laugh or cheer when one of 2D's wild punches hit the man on the nose, producing a wet crunch.

The man let out a furious roar, dropped the knife, grabbed 2D by the shoulders, and slammed his head against the ground. "You little fucker!" he screamed. "You broke my fucking nose! Son of a bitch!"

His hands moved up, easily wrapping around 2D's scrawny neck. I heard a choked gag, saw 2D kicking his legs and clawing at the man's hands.

The knife was lying on the ground where it had been dropped, close enough to 2D that I was sure he could reach it if he knew. "The knife, D! Get the knife!"

There was another painful gag. 2D's legs were still kicking, but weaker. His hands were still pulling at the man's hands around his throat. Oh Christ he didn't hear me.

"2D, GET THE KNIFE!"

His legs were barely moving. His hands were sluggishly batting against the man's iron grip. His face was turning blue.

There was a blur of motion. Something flying through the air so fast I couldn't even see what it was. The man fell backwards, letting go of 2D as he tumbled head over heels.

2D rolled onto his side, coughing with his hands hugged up to his throat. There was a small figure with dark hair standing in front of him. For the barest second, I thought it was Noodle's friend, the infamous Taro-kun. Then I realized that it was Noodle—Noodle who had just delivered a kick to the man's already broken nose; Noodle who was definitely not dead and standing in front of 2D ready to fight.

Two seconds later, the door opened and a stream of men decked in bullet-proof vests and armed to the teeth poured into the room. One of them was yelling, "On the floor, hands on your head! Now! Right now!"I knew the words were meant for the man in black, but I was so dizzy with blood loss and so shocked by their sudden appearance I had to fight the urge to roll off the seat and lay on the ground with my hands on my head, too.

The man in black was reaching for the knife, but Noodle was too quick for him. She ran forward, kicked the knife out of his reach, and landed a crushing uppercut. The man dropped like a sack of potatoes and didn't move again.

As soon as the man was on the floor, the men in vests were on him like a swarm of ants. I saw some of them hurry over to where 2D was still lying on the ground coughing, and more of them rushing over to Noodle to shake her hand—her left hand. Only then did I notice that her right arm was hanging limp at her side and bleeding.

From the booth across from me, I heard somebody say, "You were wrong, Johnson. This one's still alive. Get him out of here and get someone over there to check on that big guy, will you?"

It took me a second to realize that they were talking about Murdoc; that it was Murdoc who was still alive. I was so relieved I was willing to let the "big guy" comment slide. Besides that, I was so exhausted by that point I could barely even scrape together the energy to answer the questions they were asking me, let along raise a stink about a less than flattering comment about my weight.

The café was still swarming with police officers and EMT's when they got me onto a stretcher. The last thing I saw in all that chaos as they rolled me out the door was Noodle pressing something small and plastic into 2D's hands. A cell phone.

Between the blood loss and the noise in the room, there's no way I could have heard what she was saying to him. Still, I could swear I heard her say, "I borrowed your cell phone. I hope that is OK."

Author's Notes: Surprise! I'm not dead! And neither are any of the guys. Thanks to everybody who has put up with my wonky update schedule and stuck with this story for so long. I really appreciate all of your reviews, alerts, and favorites. One more chapter to go!

Next time: Not Another Press Conference….