Nightrise

really was like a teacher now, a headmistress about to select the punishment.
    "It was his fault!" Hovey had chipped in at once, eager to get across his version of events. He glanced at Banes. "He made serious mistakes. He should have known about the dog." He raised an arm, wincing at the same time as if to prove his point. Underneath his suit jacket he was covered in bandages where he had been bitten. He'd had to be injected against tetanus and rabies. "And he should have had more men waiting at the stage door."
    "Mr. Banes?" Mrs. Mortlake turned her head back to him. She was wearing long earrings that jangled as she moved.
    Banes shrugged. "It's true," he said. "I didn't know about the dog. The kids were lucky. Sometimes it happens like that."
    Mrs. Mortlake considered. She already knew what she was going to do. She hadn't risen to a position of power in the Nightrise Corporation without being able to make fast decisions.
    "It seems to me that you half succeeded," she began. "Which is to say, you half failed. One boy got away but we still have the other one. If both boys had escaped, I would have no choice but to make you both redundant. As it is, one of you can be spared." She smiled sweetly. "Mr. Banes, I'm very sorry…"
    In the chair next to him, Mr. Hovey relaxed.
    "…but I'm going to have to ask you to strangle Mr. Hovey. I know you're friends. I know you've worked together for a long time. But the corporation really cannot allow failure, and the fact that Mr. Hovey is a bit of a whiner, I personally find most displeasing."
    "Do you want me to do it now, Mrs. Mortlake?" Banes asked.
    'Yes. Please go ahead."
    Colton Banes stood up and walked behind the other man. Kyle Hovey sat where he was. His entire body had slumped in on itself. He was carrying a gun — it was in a holster under his jacket — but he didn't even try to reach for it. At least this would be quick. Fairly quick, anyway.
    Banes's hands rested briefly on the other man's shoulders. "I'm sorry, Kyle," he said. "But for what it's worth, you always were a loser." His outstretched fingers reached underneath the black ponytail and closed on the other man's throat. He began to squeeze. From the other side of the desk, Susan Mortlake watched with interest. It took just a minute. Then Colton Banes went back to his chair and sat down.
    Next to him, Kyle Hovey remained where he was, as if nothing had happened.
    "Will there be anything else, Mrs. Mortlake?" Colton Banes asked.
    "No, thank you, Mr. Banes. You can wait for me here in Los Angeles."
    Kyle Hovey slid gently to one side, then toppled to the floor.

    'You'd better get your friend cremated," she continued. "And send flowers if he has a family. As for me, I'll be heading out to Silent Creek. I can't wait to meet this boy, Scott Tyler. I think we need to begin his treatment straight away."
    SEVEN
    Jamie's Story
    They saw her come out of the office building, the woman dressed in black with the closely cut gray hair.
    There was a limousine waiting for her and they watched her as she was driven away, up West 4th Street toward the Harbor Freeway. But they didn't know who she was or where she was going. They would find that out later.
    Jamie and Alicia were sitting in a car in the business district of Los Angeles. It was the same car that Alicia had rented in Reno — the two of them had driven out the day before.
    Jamie had slept for much of the journey, although he had been awake at the start. An hour after they had left Reno, the highway had sloped upward and suddenly he had found himself passing through forests of fir trees that rose steeply on both sides. As he looked up to see the clumps of snow, still refusing to melt, he had realized that he was finally going over the mountains. Beyond the snow. He had once dreamed that he would make the crossing and that this was where he would find a new life. Now he wasn't so sure. All he knew was that his old life had been shattered and he was leaving the pieces far behind.
    Alicia would have preferred to take a plane. But Jamie had no picture ID. He couldn't fly. And with the police still actively searching for him, it wouldn't have been safe to go near an airport. And so she had driven, stopping overnight in another motel in Fresno before arriving in Los Angeles the following afternoon, grimy and bleary-eyed from so much driving.
    As they came down over the valley, Jamie had caught sight of the famous Hollywood sign, the white letters reflecting the last