The silence emanating from the living room was unnerving. He knew Sykes had seen the ladder and was probably trying to figure out who had broken in and where they were. He was no doubt mouthing instructions to his sister about what he wanted her to do.
He strained to hear any kind of sound to tell him what was going on, but he couldn't hear a sound. Even more terrifying was the knowledge that Mike was somewhere in the building, and that he had been incapacitated. He had been hit at least once, as Sykes had confirmed, and if Carol had immobilized him somehow, then he must surely have been unconscious or badly hurt, or she never would have gotten the upper hand.
There was only one place on this floor that had a lock, he knew; he had to get to the office closet and he had to do it soon. But he also knew he had to get through two people who wouldn't be the least bit reluctant to kill him to stop him. They had killed before, and were preparing to do so again. And only he could stop them.
There was a creak of a floorboard. It was from down the hall near the living room. They had obviously checked that sparsely furnished room thoroughly and found it empty and were beginning to work their way towards him.
He was close to the stairs to the first floor, he knew, but he couldn't take the chance of ducking out into the hallway and starting down. They would hear him for sure, and give chase, and even though he was armed with a flashlight as well, they knew the building a lot better than he did and he really wouldn't stand a chance. And though he had his gun, he really didn't want to have to use it.
His only hope was that they didn't find him immediately; but that was a hope he knew was pointless. He was outnumbered and cornered… and had very few options. He slowly reached to his left hip and silently unsnapped his revolver.
There was another wooden creak, this one closer, and his heart trip-hammered in his chest. They were at the office door, and he could sense one of them enter the small room. After a lengthy pause there was another squeak from the old wooden floor and a soft footfall, and he could see a beam of light on the floor, coming nearer.
Very quietly he backed away from the crack in the door, pushing himself against the wall as close to the corner of the room as he dared and still be covered by the open door. The beam of the flashlight suddenly turned and illuminated the room in was in, playing quickly over the old sofa and the walls.
Whoever was on the other end of the flashlight took a step deeper into the room, playing the beam slowly over the sofa again. Steve could hear the soft but quicks breaths, catching his own when the beam suddenly swung in his direction. He was still concealed, and he watched wide-eyed as the beam crawled across the floor near his feet then play up the wall beside him. The person holding the light took a small step back and the beam shot through the gap between the door and the wall and, though he had turned away and was wearing dark clothes, he could almost feel the light play slowly up and down his back. And the ominous, overwhelming silence told him more than he needed to know.
He closed his eyes briefly, reluctantly accepting what he had to do. He raised both hands, hesitating a split second, knowing that the next few seconds or, if he was lucky, minutes could be the most consequential of his life.
Quickly and silently, and with all his might, he spun and slammed his weight against the door, going with it as it swung into the person standing just inside the room. And all hell broke loose.
There was a bellow of surprise and pain and the flashlight dropped to the floor, the beam streaking across the thin dirty carpet and up the wall before rolling under the sofa and plunging the room into darkness. Sykes was slammed into the doorframe and stumbled as Steve pulled the door out of his way and threw himself towards the street preacher, who had grabbed at his right shoulder, a tiny moan of pain escaping his lips.
"Ben!" he heard Carol shout and the beam of her flashlight illuminated Sykes in a half-crouch as the cop's full weight hit him and they both tumbled into the hallway.
"Help me!" Sykes growled in her direction as he fought to throw the younger man off, trying to stop him from throwing a punch. The flashlight beam disappeared.
In the dark, on the hallway floor, Steve grabbed at the priest's lapel with his left hand, trying to orientate himself enough to throw a punch that would connect. Sykes managed to grab Steve's right forearm and hold him briefly while he used his own right fist to throw a flailing punch that connected with the young cop's jaw. Stunned, Steve let go of the lapel momentarily and the bigger man bucked, throwing him off and against the kitchen doorframe. Steve gasped in pain as his ribs protested the violent contact, his breath momentarily frozen in his throat.
Disoriented in the pitch black, Sykes scrambled away, rolling over and trying without much success to get to his feet, unwittingly crawling deeper into the kitchen. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Steve followed on his hands and knees, grabbing for Sykes again, reaching out in the dark for any kind of purchase, his left hand closing around a piece of clothing and pulling with all his might.
"Carol!" Sykes screamed as he tried to kick Steve away, one foot catching the cop in the stomach. He was rewarded with a loud 'Oof' but the hand on the back of his peacoat didn't let go.
"I'm coming," came the frightened female voice from somewhere, followed by the pounding of feet and Steve knew he had to do something quick or he would be outmanned in seconds. Still hanging onto Sykes coat, he reached for the .38 on his left hip and found only air. For a split second he froze, his mind unable to comprehend what he his empty hand was trying to tell him; sometime during the brief fight his revolver had slipped from the unsnapped holster.
Sykes' wildly flailing boot suddenly found its mark and connected with the right side of Steve's face. Pain shot through his entire body as his head snapped back, and he lost his grip on the peacoat. In the dark of the kitchen, stars spun before his eyes and he could feel warm blood start to trickle down the side of his face.
He could hear Sykes scrambling away again and then suddenly a flying boot caught him square in the chest and all the air was suddenly driven from his lungs. As his unfocused eyes idly realized that he could see Benjamin Sykes terror-filled face illuminated by his sister's flashlight, he barely clocked the fist that shot out and caught him on the chin, his head jerking back before, as if in slow motion, he tumbled backwards onto the stained and cracked linoleum floor.
Barely conscious, he was staring up at Carol Stayner standing over him, a flashlight in one hand, a desk leg in the other, her face too dark to see. He could hear Sykes, breathing heavily, attempting to get to his feet.
Trying to drag air into his lungs, tasting copper as his lip starting to puff up and with blood now seeping into his left eye, which was slowly swelling and closing, he knew he had failed… failed not only himself but his partner.
Consciousness beginning to fade, he felt everything begin to spin and he retched, bile rising up to burn the back of his throat. He barely heard Sykes stagger to his feet and lurch closer, swaying over him as the disheveled and obviously livid priest reached for the already bloody length of wood in his sister's hand.
Then there was a sudden rush of noise, a heavy thudding, and simultaneously the light from Carol's flashlight disappeared and she screamed in pain and fright. In his semi-conscious state, Steve could hear shouts, deep and male, and the sound of flesh on flesh, muted feminine screams and masculine groans and he could sense bodies all around him, heavy feet stepping on his outstretched arms and legs, and he cried out in pain and confusion as he tried to roll out of the way, trying to stay awake and alert.
And then suddenly there was silence. The beam of a flashlight played quickly over the kitchen cupboards then dropped down to his face. His eyes snapped closed and he ducked his head slightly, moaning in pain at the effort, then he felt someone kneel close to his head. "Hey, man, are you okay?" It wasn't Sykes.
He rolled onto his back, trying not to moan. The beam moved away from his eyes, towards the floor, then flipped up quickly to illuminate the dark-bearded face hovering over him. Steve frowned slightly, breathing in short sharp gasps, and managed to whisper, "Jake?"
"Yeah, man."
He felt a comforting hand on his chest and a gentle pat. "I guess Alex and I got here just in time, hunh?"
Steve slowly put both hands on the floor and started to push himself up but Watson pushed him back down. "No no no, you're in no shape to go anywhere."
The battered and bleeding inspector shook his head, wincing in pain. "Mike…. I gotta find Mike…"
Watson frowned. "He's here too?"
Nodding slowly, Steve pushed himself a little higher and Watson helped him to sit up.
"Where?"
Gasping in pain, wrapping his left arm around his aching chest, Steve shook his head carefully. "I'm not sure… but I think he's in the office closet."
Watson frowned. "What?"
Without further explanation, Steve reached for Watson's hand as he tried to get up. The undercover cop hesitated a beat, then realized he wasn't going to be able to stop the determined inspector and grabbed for his hand. Gasping once more in pain, Steve staggered to his feet. With Watson's hand under his elbow, he took an unsteady step out of the kitchen.
Watson's flashlight beam played over the scene in the hallway. Benjamin Sykes was lying on his stomach on the floor, his hands cuffed behind him. Carol was in the same position a little further down the hall, and standing between them with a flashlight in one hand and his gun in the other was Alex Kendall.
Kendall's beam of light snapped to Steve's face and the afro'd undercover cop caught his breath. "Oh man, Steve…"
Watson nodded at his partner as they moved slowly towards the office, the inspector's swollen and bloody face etched in pain and anxiety. "Key…" he breathed as he slowly stepped through the door towards the desk.
"What?"
"Key… to the lock," Steve managed to get out, nodding towards the hasp on the closet door. Watson played the light over it. "She's got it…"
"Alex!" Watson called over his shoulder. "She has a key in her pocket. We need it."
"You got it!" Kendall bellowed back, and they could hear a struggle in the hallway as he obviously fought with Carol momentarily. He stepped into the room and handed a small ring of keys to his partner.
As Steve watched anxiously and Kendall illuminated the hasp, Watson found the right key, unlocked the closet and pulled the door open. Both flashlight beams dropped to the floor. Partially obscured by the clothes hanging from the rack, they could see khaki pants and black sneakers and Steve, who was standing unsteadily between his colleagues, gasped in fear.
Watson leaned forward and pushed the clothes back. Curled up on his right side on the closet floor, his hands tied behind his back, a gag in his mouth, his eyes closed and his hair matted with blood, lay Mike Stone.
