A/N: Haven't replied to all the reviews yet, but I thought you might like the next chapter first...:)

Chapter 14

For the umpteenth time, Alex tensed the muscles in his arms, trying to snap what was left of the tape. Then he relaxed again, breathing deeply. He was still holding the card-knife in his slippery fingers. It had gotten increasingly difficult to cut through the tape, so his progress had been excruciatingly slow. He was able to move his hands more freely now, but it seemed Carnegie had used about half a roll of tape on his arms. He wasn't there yet.

Resting his arms, he surveyed the cellar once more. He now knew its contents by heart, the cardboard boxes in the corner, the rack with old cans of paint, a rusty old bike without a chain and some old garden furniture. None of it was of any use to him. He studied it anyway, so he wouldn't have to look at Craig.

Silence in the cellar. They hadn't heard a sound coming from the house for a while now, and Alex wondered if Jennifer and her father had left. If they hadn't, they were being awfully quiet.

"Alex?"

Alex closed his eyes in annoyance. Every time he had stopped, at some point, Craig would start talking to him. Didn't the man know just how much effort this cost? How difficult it was to cut through tape when said tape was around your wrist, severely limiting your movement and cutting of your bloodstream? He had cut himself twice, because he hadn't known he was no longer trying to cut through the tape but instead cutting into his wrist. He was going to have a hell of a lot explaining to do to his classmates if that was still visible when the holidays were over.

"Just shut up, Craig," he said.

"Just don't want you falling asleep again," Craig said.

Alex turned his head and glared at him. He had a point though. After about an hour of trying to cut through his bonds, hardly making any progress at all, Alex had put his head down on the floor and had simply drifted off into a dreamless sleep, ignoring Craig's increasingly insistent calling his name. He had woken up hours later, not exactly feeling refreshed, but feeling slightly better nonetheless. His headache had subsided to a mild throb, and he felt stronger and less prone to throw up suddenly. It would have been worth it if he hadn't been in such a precarious situation. Craig had chided him.

"You can rest as much as you want after we get out of this, Alex, now cut through the damn tape so we can get out of here. We're not on holiday here."

"Don't remind me," Alex had grumbled, before he had gotten back to the tedious work of cutting the tape and not himself.

And now he had cut as far as he could twist his arms. For the rest of it, he'd have to rely on his strength. Still, he tried once more to reach the tape with the card-knife, but it was no use. He let go of it, glad to be rid of it. It had seemed such a nice little tool before and he was glad he had the thing in his wallet, but if he never would have to hold the thing again, he wouldn't be sorry at all. His fingers cramped and bloody from the inadvertent cuts in his wrists, the muscle in his arm aching from the unusual strain, he was ready to fling the thing across the cellar. Of course, that would be unwise. If he did need it again, he would have to retrieve it. Not to mention he wouldn't be able to throw very well with his hands tied behind his back.

Now only if he could get himself loose...

The door suddenly opened, and light from the hallway poured in. With a start, Alex noticed that the light coming from the window had greatly diminished. It was getting dark out already? Surely he hadn't been in there that long...?

"Alex..."

Jennifer's voice, hesitant.

"Yes?" he asked.

He looked at her silhouette in the doorway. She looked over her shoulder, and then quickly started to descend. Alex quickly rolled on his back, hoping she wouldn't check the tape. She hadn't before. All his hard work would be for nothing if she found out he was almost loose.

When she reached him, she knelt down, carefully put her hand under his head and lifted it up a little. He blinked in surprise, until he saw what it was she was holding in her other hand. A glass of water. He opened his mouth and awkwardly managed to gulp some water from the glass.

"I'm not supposed to go down," she whispered, looking up at the still open door, "We're leaving soon. My father said you were dangerous... you aren't really, are you?"

Alex laughed bitterly and lowered his head to the floor once more. If only she knew.

"I'm tied up," he said reproachfully, "I'm hardly a threat."

"I know..." she said. She hesitated, shot Craig, who was looking at them with an amused expression on his face, a dirty look, and then bent down and quickly brushed his lips with her own.

"I really wish things were different," she whispered.

She got up. Alex looked at her. She had her back to Craig, so she couldn't see the man's expression on his face, but Alex could. He was scowling at Alex, and jerking his head, in an attempt to tell him something. Alex had a pretty good idea what that was.

"Jennifer..." he said, "I really am sorry. I didn't mean... I never wanted to hurt you."

Well, at least that was true, he thought.

She looked at him, showing both naïve hope and mistrust on her face. Alex pressed on.

"Please don't do this to me," he pleaded, "Come on, Jennifer, untie me. I don't want...." He swallowed. "I don't want you to leave."

She looked down on him, her face strangely impassive all of a sudden.

"Are you going to tell me you love me after all?" she said coolly.

He closed his eyes, feeling dirtier by the minute. "I thought there was something there," he muttered, "I've never... met someone like you before."

"My father said you might say this," she said, "He said, if he starts telling you he loves you, watch out. Don't fall for it. He will be trying to deceive you... and I thought he was wrong."

She took a step backwards, and then looked at Craig again, whose face was once more expressionless. Then, without a word, she turned around and rushed up the stairs. The door was slammed with a loud thud.

"Well," Craig said, "Not much left of the famous Rider charm, is there."

Alex responded with a growl. Then he laid still again, listening to the sounds coming from upstairs. A door, closing. A loud thump. Rushed footsteps, then another door closing. Silence. They waited.

"I think they've gone," Craig said after several minutes, "Now would be a good time to get through those bonds, Alex."

"What did I just do?" Alex asked, shaking his head, "I tried to play her again, let her think that I..."

"Would. You. Stop. That!"

Alex head jerked up from Craig's sudden outburst. "You're being insufferable. Stop complaining and do your job!"

A sound of a heavy door closing had then both look up.

"I thought they'd left," Alex whispered, "Jennifer said so. Who..."

"Clean up," Craig said grimly, listening intently.

Heavy footsteps, a soft thump, a clatter as if somebody dropped a plate. Laughter.

"Now would be a good time, Alex," Craig said calmly.

Alex, however, didn't need to be told. He tugged at the tape that now only held his lower arms together. His wrists were free, and he twisted and struggled, panting from the exertion. More heavy footsteps, coming closer. Whoever they were, they were in the hallway now. He tugged again. Something came loose, but not completely. He could move is arms a little more now though. A key in the lock. A voice, male, saying something in Spanish, words too muffled by the closed door to quite hear what he was saying.

Alex twisted his arms again. Somebody was making sounds, small, whimpering sounds, and it took him a moment to realize that it was him. He stopped. The door opened.

One last tug. The tape tore free, taking part of his skin with it. His left arm shot forward, shooting a painful jolt through his shoulder from having been bent backwards for too long. He was free. But his legs were still taped together.

Somebody peered down into the dark cellar. Alex could only just make out that it was a man, holding a gun which at the moment pointed down at the floor. He obviously didn't expect any trouble. The man couldn't see him, Alex realized, as he was just outside the bright rectangle the light coming from the hallway was making on the floor. The man raised his hand and started feeling the wall next to the door, obviously trying to find a light switch. Alex scooted backwards, out of sight from the man standing in the doorway. His back hit the rack with the cans of paint.

What to do? In a few moments, the man come down and see him anyway. There was no time to cut the tape from his legs, no time to cut Craig loose, he'd have to do something right now. He looked up. The man found the light switch and flipped it on, and then slowly started to descend, holding the railing with one hand like Jennifer had done. Alex could see his legs, then his hands, the ominous black shape of the gun.

Alex grabbed the rack and pulled himself up. His position was precarious and awkward, as he couldn't move his legs. The man's head came into view. He reached, grabbed one of the cans of paint and weighed it briefly before throwing it hard at the man coming down the stairs.

The man – a stocky built short guy with a bald head, wearing a black leather jacket – caught sight of Alex at that moment. Too late though. He had just enough time to widen his eyes at the heavy can of paint coming his way when it hit him square on the forehead. Alex had always had good aim.

His head bobbed backwards and his knees buckled. Then he fell forward, dropping his gun in the process, and rolled down the stairs. The gun clattered down the stairs and came to rest on the bottom step. Alex winced at the noise he was making as he hit the boxes stored right next to the bottom of the stairs. He stared at the man, laying on the floor, stunned. He was moving his hands, groping aimlessly around.

"Nice shot," Craig called out, "Get the gun!"

Footsteps from above. A voice, calling out. "Enrique? Que pasa?"

Alex grabbed another can of paint and let himself drop on his knees. Then he quickly crawled to the man on the floor, who was just about to push himself up with one hand, his other hand pressed against his head. Alex could see blood seeping through his fingers.

"Oh, no you don't," Alex said.

He swung his arm and landed the can he was holding on the man's head, full force. The man went down without a sound. Alex hoped he hadn't killed him, but he had no time to worry about that. He rolled over the man to get to the stairs, grabbed the gun – another Glock, same type as Carnegie had, he noted – and aimed it at the figure appearing in the door frame.

It was the easiest shot in the world. Alex, on the floor on his back, at the bottom of the stairs. The man upstairs, clearly outlined in the door frame, stupidly looking down at his comrade, laying there between the overthrown pile of boxes. He pulled the trigger.

The noise of the shot was extremely loud in the confinement of the cellar. Ears ringing, Alex lowered the gun. Then he slowly placed it back on the bottom step of the stairs and worked himself into a sitting position, back against the wall. His arms were shaking, his whole body was shaking. He couldn't allow himself to relax, though, not yet. He looked up at Craig, who was looking at him, eyes unreadable.

"Did you get him?" he asked.

"He's dead," Alex said.

His eyes roamed the cellar, until he caught sight of the small but effective Chelsea Fan Club membership card, which he had abandoned a few moments ago. Only a few moments ago. He stared at the card. Less than a twenty seconds had passed, and he had killed one, possibly two men. He looked at the man on the floor, only a meter away from him. He didn't move, Alex couldn't see if he was breathing. Then he looked up at the door. He could only see the man's feet, sticking out into the cellar. The impact of the bullet had made him fall backwards.

"Come on, Alex, let's get out of here," Craig said.

His voice sounded placating. Alex narrowed his eyes in suspicion as he looked at him, but as always couldn't figure what it was about the man that set him on edge. He worked himself on his hands and knees and crawled towards the card-knife. Cutting through the tape around his ankles only took a moment. Then he walked to Craig, all the while listening for sounds in the house that would indicate that there was somebody else there. But, he figured, if somebody else was there, they certainly wouldn't show themselves now that the guy he had shot was laying in the doorway upstairs. They would just wait for him to come out.

Cutting through the rope tying Craig to the drain pipe took a bit longer than cutting through the tape around his legs, but at long last Craig was free too, rubbing his wrists with a pained look on his face. His hands, Alex saw, were swollen, and he had trouble standing up. He didn't waste time though, as soon as he was more or less stable, he set off to the stairs.

"Wait," Alex whispered, "What if there's another one?"

Craig stopped and half turned. "I don't think so, he'd have tried something already. These guys are morons. Besides, it's not even a two-man job, let alone a three-man job. But you're right. Let's be careful."

He picked up the gun Alex had left on the stairs and slowly started to ascend, keeping his feet to the side of the wooden steps for the least likely chance they would crack. Halfway up, he looked down at Alex and motioned him to wait. Alex complied, gladly. He was in no hurry to see the man he had killed.

At the top of the stairs, Craig stopped. He seemed to think for a moment, and then bent over and pulled off the dead man's shoe. He listened for a moment, and then threw the shoe into the hallway, where it bounced against the wall and fell on the floor with a thump. Anybody up there waiting, nervous and tense, would probably react to it. All remained quiet though. Craig crawled further and stuck his head around the bottom of the door frame for a quick look. Then he looked down at Alex again, raised his eyebrows and rushed up the last steps, jumped into the hallway and quickly turned to check the door openings. Then he disappeared.

Alex looked down at the man who had fallen down the stairs, Enrique. He really was quite still. He was still debating himself whether he should take a look and see if he was alive, when Craig returned.

"All clear," he said, "You can come up now, Alex."

Alex quietly turned around and slowly walked up the stairs, picking up his backpack on the way. Once upstairs, he looked down again.

"What about him?" he asked.

Craig shrugged. "What about him. We leave them. Here." He pushed something cold and familiar into Alex's hands. "Take this one. Excellent shot, by the way."

Alex closed his hand around the gun and gripped it tightly, pointing it securely at the ground. Only then did he look down at the man laying in the hallway. He was on his back, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling with a surprised look on his face. Right in the middle of his forehead, a small red hole. He averted his eyes.

"Put on your shoes," Craig said, impatiently pointing at Alex's backpack, "We don't have a whole lot of time. It's already getting dark, which means it has to be close to ten already."

Jennifer and her father were leaving by boat at ten. They'd never catch them... Alex pulled out his shoes from the bag and quickly slipped them onto his bare feet, hopping after Craig, who was already running out the front door.

"Where to?" he gasped, trying to catch up with him.

He finally succeeded at when Craig was stopped by the iron gate. He tugged at it and then examined the lock.

"Damn it," he said, "We'll have to go over..."

"No, wait," Alex said.

He turned around and followed the wall to the small side entrance with the code lock. Quickly, he punched in the numbers Jennifer had so helpfully recited to him two nights ago. The lock sprung open and he pushed. Craig looked impressed.

"Nice work," he said.

Both of them rushed out and made their way to the road. Craig stopped and looked around.

"They took my car," he said, "We'll have to walk." He turned to Alex. "They were going on a boat. Do you have any idea where that might be? Something the girl said, maybe?"

Alex leaned against the wall. He felt better now, but his head was still aching. He looked back at the house. It had seemed like such a nice house before, friendly, welcoming. Now, it looked ominous, dead. He was looking at it with different eyes now, knowing that blood had flowed inside of it. Blood in the house. Blood on his hands. He blinked.

"Alex, snap out of it. Did she say anything, anything at all?"

Alex tore his eyes away from the house. "You heard everything she said," he snapped, "It could be anywhere. There's thousands of boats moored off the coast. Or maybe they're going to Barcelona."

Craig shook his head. "Carlos's yacht is moored about a kilometre out the coast, due east of Calella. It has to be here." He rubbed his tired eyes with both his hands, and then brought his hands to the back of his head and stared at the sea.

"We'll just have to guess, then. Can't call for backup, I have no phone, and the phone in the house is dead. Let's go down to the beach and try to find them." He turned to Alex and looked at him intently. "You up for a short run?"

Alex nodded and winced at the movement. Craig stepped closer, grabbed his head with both hands and stared into his eyes. "Head still hurt?"

Alex shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"It does. But I'm afraid we can't worry about it now. Let's go."

He tucked the gun in his belt in the small of his back and pulled his t-shirt over it to hide it. Alex did the same. He knew he shouldn't really do that, but he didn't have much option. He couldn't very well run around Calella holding a gun. People frowned on that, to put it mildly. He'd be arrested before he got twenty metres into town.

Craig started a slow jog and Alex followed him. It was all downhill, fortunately. He'd rather be laying down somewhere than run, but there was also something comforting in it. He had to concentrate on where to place his feet, had to concentrate on staying upright. It didn't leave him much time to dwell on what had happened in the house.

He had vowed he would never kill again. Looking back on that vow now, he realized how empty it had been. It had only been a matter of time.

Thanks so much for reviewing the last chapter, even if it was short:

Ponyboy65, arrowheadhunter, darkmoon999, Wolfmonster, Alo Amicus, Secret Spy Guy, delly, bookworm rider, Chaos Dragon, SakuraCa, Sofer

There's only one real chapter left, which I haven't quite finished yet, and I need to write the epilogue. Next update may take a while... besides, I think I deserve a break, my eyes are getting kind of cross-eyed from staring at the screen for so long :)