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Disclaimer: I don't own Crossing Jordan. Yet. If this changes, you will be the first to know.
And now, without further ado, onto Chapter 15.......
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I decided I needed to do whatever I could to stall for time. I hoped my cell phone had stayed connected and that Woody had been able to get a trace on it.
"Yeah, Lyle," I said softly. "I thought we could have something real."
He looked at me eagerly. "Really?"
"Yeah," I said. I reached over and took his hand, swallowing my revulsion.
"What are those other books?" I asked, meaning the binders he had laid out on the coffee table.
"Oh, I'll show you!" he said eagerly, his eyes lighting up. He pulled one of them out and opened it.
My eyes widened as he flipped through the pages.
It was me; pages and pages of pictures of me, from high school straight into pictures of me at crime scenes.
"I missed you when you moved to California," he said. "But I knew you'd be back. Otherwise I would have moved there."
I struggled to stay calm. "Really?" I said.
"Yeah, of course. But you came back, I was so happy!" he exclaimed, looking at the pictures.
"What's in the other ones?" I asked, afraid to ask, but morbidly curious.
"Oh, these?" he said and pulled out another one. "This one is notes."
I scanned the pages and realized he had written a how-to for the perfect crime.
"I studied a lot," he said seriously. "There's lots of information. I knew when I decided to take my revenge that I would have to make sure there was no chance that I'd get caught."
There was information on defensive wounds, fibers, trace evidence, everything. "Wow," I said. "You did a lot of research."
"Yeah. I wondered if you would be the ME on the murders of your friends. I thought that they wouldn't let you, but they did. It didn't matter, though. I covered my tracks."
"Yes you did," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "We didn't find anything."
"I know. I've been keeping track of what's going on," Lyle said. He opened up the other book and I gasped. It was the before and after pictures of my friends. One taken the day that he'd posed as John Newman and the other after he'd killed them.
He laughed. "I told them there'd be before and after pictures."
My God, I thought. The guy was completely insane. The icy cold of fear slid down my spine as I the deadly seriousness of the situation hit me and I started to wonder how I was going to get out of this.
"C-can I see a picture of your sister and your niece and nephew?" I asked.
He looked at me, surprised. "Sure, Jordan," he said and he walked over to the bookcase and pulled down a framed photo. He brought it back and handed it to me.
"That's them," he said.
"Oh, they're so cute," I said automatically, glancing around furtively to see if there was anything around that I could possibly use as a weapon. There wasn't. "Is this your only sister?"
"No, I have four sisters, all older." There was a pause. "I'm done talking," he said. He gathered up the books and put them carefully back onto the bookshelf, leaving the picture with me.
I weighed my options. I was a lot smaller than him. Most definitely he was stronger than me. So what was my best chance? Whatever I decided to do, I would have one try, if it didn't work I had no doubt he would kill me.
Lyle sat back down on the couch next to me and I quickly tucked the picture into the couch behind me. He scooted over until our bodies were touching. I wanted to jump up, get as far away from him as possible but I decided to bide my time, hoping some idea would come to me.
"You're so beautiful, Jordan. You've always been beautiful," he said softly, reaching over to stroke my cheek with his hand. I clenched my jaw against the urge to jerk away from his touch. But I knew I couldn't afford to make him mad.
"Thank you," I said. I decided than my best and possibly only chance would be to surprise him, catch him completely unaware.
"Lyle," I whispered, looking at seductively. At least, I hope it was seductive. Hell, I was happy with any kind of a look other that the complete and total loathing that I felt.
"What, Jordan?" he said.
"I really do like you," I said breathily, mentally crossing my fingers that he'd fall for it.
"You do?" he said, looking suspicious. "But what about your friends? You were really upset about it."
Anger boiled inside of me when I thought of what he had done to them, but I just smiled coyly. "I was upset," I said. "But that was before I knew. Now that I know, I can't believe that we treated you that way. It was so wrong of us." I opened my eyes wide, trying to look innocent.
His expression softened. "Really Jordan?"
"Yes, Lyle," I said and I leaned over, fighting my disgust the whole time, and kissed him. He was tense at first, but he quickly relaxed. I reached back with one hand and grabbed the picture frame. He put his hands on my waist, returning my kiss eagerly.
As I felt him relax I jumped back quickly and swung my arm around with all my might, aiming the sharp corner of the picture frame straight at his eye.
He had amazing reflexes. Even as I pulled back he was alert, turning his head to the side and reaching for my hand as I brought the frame around.
Instead of hitting him in the eye it glanced off his skull as his hand gripped my wrist tightly.
"You bitch," he roared, backhanding me across the face so hard that I saw stars and was thrown back against the couch.
I struggled against the darkness that was threatening to overtake me, knowing my life depended on staying awake, trying to fight him.
He put his hand to his scalp and when he looked at his fingers he saw the blood coating them and his face turned purple with rage.
"You lying little slut," he hissed as I scrambled backwards and off of the couch. "You're all the same. You're no better than your friends."
My heart was pounding and my face throbbed where he'd hit me.
"I should have known. I should have known you hadn't changed. You're still the same stuck up bitch you were in high school, thinking you're so much better than everyone else."
He lunged at me and I dove sideways, scrambling to my feet and running into the kitchen. I skidded to a halt by the fridge and looked around frantically for a knife. As he came through the door I grabbed a long knife from a wood knife holder on the counter.
He laughed at me. "You think you can beat me?" he asked. "This should be humorous. I'm trained in Jiu Jitsu," he said.
"I'm impressed," I said sarcastically, holding the knife low, ready to defend myself if he came closer.
He snarled and lunged at me. I brought the knife up, aiming for his stomach. He deflected me, but the knife sank into his forearm and he growled with rage as I pulled the knife out and went to strike again. He held his injured arm to his side, blood flowing onto the white tiles and he struck my arm with his other hand, momentarily paralyzing my arm and causing me to drop the knife.
I was out of options. I was cornered, I had no weapons, and the injuries I had caused him hadn't even slowed him down.
Desperate, I dove for the knife on the floor but he grabbed me and threw me against the fridge. My head struck the corner of the fridge and everything went dark.
X
When I came to I didn't know where I was. It was totally cliché but it was true. My foggy brain tried to remember what the hell was going on.
It hit me at once, with the impact of a train and I tried to sit up.
My head swam as I sat up. I was on the couch and Lyle was nowhere to be seen. Anger surged through me. I was not going to die at the hands of a low life loser like Lyle Barton. I glanced around, trying to see him, but I couldn't. I didn't know how long I'd been out, but I didn't think it was very long.
The apartment was mostly dark, the only light coming from a floor lamp in the corner. Loud music was playing, the beat throbbing against my aching head. I caught the song immediately as I listened to the words.
It was an Oingo Boingo song, one that I'd always liked. When the Lights Go Out was the name of it. Monsters and madmen all come alive, when the dead start walking there's no place to hide. The words send a chill down my spine.
I tried to stand, looking around frantically for Lyle, but he was nowhere to be seen and I was so lightheaded that I couldn't stand.
No one can be trusted, when the lights go out. People act real crazy, people start to shout. People huddle together, try and hide their fear. People party down but they ain't goin' nowhere...
"You're not going anywhere, Jordan," Andrew said pleasantly as he walked around the couch and stopped to stand in front of me, one hand behind his back.
I glared up at him. "You won't get away with this," I snarled.
He raised an eyebrow. "Really? I don't know about that."
"My Dad knows I'm here," I said, desperate.
"Huh. That's interesting because when I called to see if he'd seen you he said he hadn't talked to you at all today," he stated.
I gritted my teeth and tried not to show my fear. He was insane, no doubt about that. But he was smart. Too smart.
"You're just a liar, Jordan. All you've done is lie to me. I don't like that, Jordan. I really don't," he said and before I could react, he hit me again. I scrambled backwards and tried to stand. My blood ran cold as I saw the large knife in his other hand. My nose stung and I felt the warm stickiness of blood running down my face.
He wasn't going to kill me without a fight. I pulled every bit of energy I had and I staggered away from him, towards the back of the apartment, looking frantically for anything I could use as a weapon.
"You've been more fun than the rest of your friends," Lyle said as he walked lazily towards me, taking his time and looking as if he had nothing more on his mind than friendly talk. "They didn't have nearly as much spunk, Jordan. They begged, they pleaded, but none of them fought. Do you think, Jordan that you will beg in the end?"
"Go to hell, you bastard," I growled.
He laughed. "Oh, I'm sure I will eventually, Jordan. But you'll be making it there before me."
He took another step towards me and I backed up. I wiped my face, my arm coated in blood. My heart was pounding painfully and I felt the sharp sting of tears as I realized I wasn't going to make it out of this apartment alive.
I refused to beg. He could kill me, but I wouldn't give this lunatic the satisfaction of pleading with him. I kept backing up, not wanting to turn my back on him. I hit the wall just opposite of the door and realized there was nowhere left for me to go. I thought of my father. He was going to be all alone in the world now. And Woody, poor Woody. I had never had the guts to tell him how I felt about him and now it was too late. He would never know how I felt. My clues to where I was hadn't worked, hadn't been enough. I was out of options, out of time.
I angrily fought tears, knowing that's what Lyle wanted. He wanted to know I was afraid, that I was desperate.
I would not show him how afraid I was.
"It's too bad you didn't just like me, Jordan, and all of this could have been avoided," Lyle said pleasantly. "We could have been happy together if you would just have loved me."
I looked him in the eye.
"In your dreams," I said, glaring at him.
His face changed. It was so drastic it was like watching a special effect in a movie. His features twisted in anger and he was shaking with rage.
"You think your so tough, Jordan Cavanaugh. You won't think that for long," he snarled.
Just as he was about to lunge at me there was a God awful noise from the hallway, thumping and crashing.
"JORDAN! Are you here? JORDAN?"
Lyle whipped around, looking at the front door, an odd combination of anger and fear in his eyes.
"Woody!" I screamed. "IN HERE!" And while Lyle was distracted I ran past him, towards the door, feeling a sudden surge of adrenaline.
He was quick. He lunged at me with the knife but he missed. He was thrown off balance and he fell, the knife skittering across the floor.
"JORDAN!" Woody shouted again.
There was a tremendous crash and the door flew open and Woody rushed in holding his gun at the ready. Five more cops followed and I got behind them, out of the way.
Lyle was getting to his feet, holding the knife. His eyes wild and darting from side to side, looking for escape.
"Drop the knife," Woody said loudly.
Lyle was breathing heavily and his long hair was mussed as he looked around frantically.
"I said drop the knife. Drop it now!" Woody shouted.
It was if Lyle couldn't, or wouldn't, hear. He looked at the cops and at the open door behind them and he made a dash towards the door.
A shot rang out and I jumped. Blood spread rapidly across Lyle's chest and he crumpled to the floor, the knife sliding from his hand and hitting the floor with a metallic crash.
Still holding his gun at the ready Woody crept towards the form crumpled on the floor. Blood was spreading across the floor.
Woody crouched down and felt at Lyle's neck for a pulse. He stood up and turned around to face the other cops and me.
"He's dead," he said tonelessly. He holstered his gun and walked quickly over to where I was leaning against the wall. My head ached and I felt lightheaded. The spot on the back of my head that had hit the fridge was throbbing.
"Oh my God, Jordan, are you okay?" Woody asked, his face white, his eyes wide with fear. I felt myself start slump to the floor. I barely felt strong arms catching me, holding me as the darkness overtook me again.
((well? How'd I do? Please please review and let me know!!))
A/N: Don't worry, there's more to come! :) I'm so sad to see this story end, I've had a great time writing it. I'm just trying to find ideas for a new story. Again, thanks to all my loyal readers for their reviews and support!