The Guardian

He began to walk more quickly, excited by the thought of seeing her. Julie, no doubt, would be frightened when she saw him. She'd probably react the way Jessica had when she'd found him waiting in her car that night outside the supermarket. He'd tried to explain himself to her, to make her understand, but she'd struggled and dug her nails into his skin, and he'd put his hands around her throat until her eyes rolled back in her head, watching and knowing that she had forced him to do it, forced him for her own selfish reasons to let their future slip away.

But he would treat Julie with the patience she deserved. He would talk to her in quiet tones, and once she really understood the nature of his love for her, once she realized that he'd done all this for her-for them-she would acquiesce. She'd probably still be upset about Singer, but eventually he would comfort her and she would see why he'd had no other choice.

He'd want to lead her to the bedroom afterward, but he knew there wasn't enough time for that. Later tonight, once they were safely away, they would stop at a motel and make love, and they would have a lifetime together to make up for what they'd missed.

"He's coming, baby," Julie whispered. "He'll be here soon and we'll take you to the doctor, okay?"

She could barely see Singer through her tears. He was worsening with every passing minute; he had closed his eyes, and though he was still breathing rapidly, he was wheezing and there was an almost high-pitched whistle, like air escaping through a tiny hole in an air mattress, that didn't sound natural at all. It wasn't just his legs that were quivering; now it was his entire body. Beneath her hand, she could feel his muscles growing tight, as if straining to fight off death.

Singer whimpered, and Julie heard the panic in her own voice. She was running both hands through his fur, aching with him, feeling as if it were happening to her.

"You can't leave me. Please . . ."

Inside, she was screaming at Pete and Mike to hurry up, that they were running out of time. Even though it had been only a couple of minutes, it seemed an eternity, and she knew that Singer wouldn't be able to keep fighting much longer.

"Singer . . . you can make it. . . . Don't give up. Please . . ."

She was just about to shout out for Pete and Mike when the words caught in her throat.

At first, she refused to believe what her eyes were seeing, and she tried to blink the image away. But when she looked again, she knew she wasn't wrong.

Though his hair was a different color, though he wore glasses and the mustache was gone, she recognized him immediately.

"Hello, Julie," Richard said.

Jennifer sped through traffic, whipping between cars, lights flashing.

With her eyes on the road, she gripped the steering wheel so tightly that her hands ached.

Ten minutes, she thought. All I need is ten more minutes.

Julie stared at Richard without breathing as everything clicked into place.

He was here. He's done something to Singer. He's done something to Pete. He's done something to Mike.

Oh, God . . .

Mike . . .

And now he was here for her.

He was walking slowly toward her.

"You . . . ," was all she could manage to say.

A brief smile flickered across his face. Of course, he seemed to say, who were you expecting? He stopped a few feet away, and after holding her gaze for a moment or two, his eyes drifted toward Singer.

"I'm sorry about Singer," he said, his voice low. "I know how much you cared for him."

He spoke as though he'd had nothing to do with it. A bereaved expression crossed his face, as if he were someone attending the funeral of a close friend.

Julie suddenly felt as if she were about to vomit, but she forced the bile back, trying to maintain some control. Trying to figure out what to do. Trying to understand what had happened to Mike.

Oh, God. Mike.

"Where's Mike?" she demanded, wanting to know but suddenly afraid to find out. It was all she could do to keep her voice steady.

Richard looked up, the same sad expression on his face. "That's over now," he said matter-of-factly.

His words carried an almost physical impact, and all at once she felt her hands begin to shake.

"What did you do to him?" she choked.

"It doesn't matter."

"What did you do!?" she screamed, unable to control herself. "Where is he?"

Richard took another step toward her, his voice still gentle. "I didn't have a choice, Julie. You know that. He was controlling you, and I couldn't let that continue. But you're safe now. I'll take care of you."

He took another step, and Julie suddenly slid back, away from Singer.

"He didn't love you, Julie," he said. "Not the way I do."

He's going to kill me, she thought. He killed Mike and Singer and Pete, and now he's going to kill me. Julie began to stand as Richard closed in, her terror building with each step he took. She could see it in his eyes, she could see exactly what he was going to do.

He's going to kill me, but he'll rape me first. . . .

The realization was almost disabling, but something inside her screamed, Run! and Julie reacted instinctively.

She bolted, not bothering to look back, her feet slipping in the sand as she charged down the beach.

Richard didn't try to stop her. Instead he smiled, knowing there was nowhere for her to go. She would tire herself out, he knew; her panic would undo her. Instead, he hooked the gun into his belt and began to jog after her, enough to keep her in sight and close the distance when the time was right.

Mike was drifting in and out of consciousness. Trapped somewhere between a world of reality and dreams, his mind was finally able to latch on to the fact that he was bleeding heavily.

And that Julie needed him. Trembling, he slowly began to rise.

Julie tried to keep up a fast pace as she ran toward the lights of the only beach house that seemed to be occupied. Her legs were growing weary, and she began to feel as though she were running in place. The lights looked close, but she couldn't seem to reach them.

No, she said to herself, no! He won't catch me. I'll make it, and they'll help me. I'll scream for help and they'll call the police and . . .

But her legs . . . her lungs were burning . . . the pounding of her heart . . .

Only terror kept her moving.

Running as hard as she could, she stole a glance over her shoulder.

Despite the darkness, she could see Richard closing in on her.

I'm not going to make it, she suddenly realized.

She was stumbling now. Her calves were cramping. It was all she could do to keep upright.

And still he was coming. . . .

Where is everyone? she wanted to scream. Help me!

She knew with cold certainty that the sound of the waves would swallow her screams. Another few steps and she looked behind her again. Closer.

She could hear his footsteps now.

But I can't keep going. . . .

She veered toward the dunes, hoping that on the other side there might be a place to hide.

Richard could see her hair rippling out behind her. He was close now, close enough to try to reach for it.

Almost there, he thought, when suddenly she turned and began to charge up the dunes. Off balance, Richard stumbled slightly but was soon on the chase again. He laughed aloud.

Such spirit! Such effort! She was every bit his equal. He almost clapped his

hands in delight.

Julie could see a house towering behind the dunes, though climbing up the sand was almost too much for her; feet slipping, she had to use her hands for balance, and by the time she reached the top, her legs were buckling.

For a moment, she registered the home itself; built on pilings, it had room for cars to be parked beneath it, but little cover. The house next to it, however, was more heavily landscaped, and she turned that way.

That was when she felt Richard snare her feet like a football player making an open field tackle. Losing her balance, she tumbled down the far side of the dunes.

When Richard reached her, he bent over and took her by the arm, helping her to her feet.

"You really are a prize," he said, grinning as he caught his breath. "I've known it from the moment we met."

Julie flailed in his grasp and felt his fingers dig into her arm. She struggled harder.

"Don't be this way, Julie," he said. "Can't you see this was always how it was going to turn out?"

Julie jerked her arm. "Let me go!" she screamed.

Richard tightened his grip, making her wince. He broke into an amused grin, as if asking, See how pointless this is?

"We should probably be going," he suggested calmly.

"I'm not going anywhere with you!"

She jerked again, finally breaking free from his grasp, but as she moved away from him, she felt him push her from behind, sending her to the ground again.

Staring down at her, he shook his head slightly.

"You okay?" he asked. "I'm sorry I had to do that, but we need to talk."

Talk? He wanted to talk?

Screw you, she thought. And screw this.

As soon as he began moving toward her, Julie got to her feet and tried to run, but Richard suddenly reached for her hair and jerked it hard.

She heard him give a bewildered laugh.

"Why are you making this so hard?" he asked.

On the beach, Mike was trying to stand, reaching for the stairs, fighting nausea as the pain shot through him, his thoughts random and fragmented—

Getting up . . . have to call the police . . . help Julie . . . but the pain . . . shot . . . pain . . . where am I . . . that steady roar . . . again and again . . . pain . . . coming in waves . . . waves . . . the ocean . . . Julie . . . have to help her . . .