Riptide

empty corridors.
    White, so much white, unending, going on and on, forever.
    She was looking for her mother. She smelled ether fumes, sweet

and heavy, the ammonia scent of urine, the stench of vomit. She
    opened each white door along the corridor. All the beds were
    empty, the white sheets stretched military tight. No one. Where
    were the patients?
    So long, the hallway just went on and on and there were moans
    coming from behind all those doors, people in pain, but there were
    no nurses, no doctors, no one at all. She knew the rooms were
    empty, she'd looked into all of them, yet the moans grew louder
    and louder.
    Where was her mother? She called out for her, then she started
    running down the corridor, screaming her mothers name. The
    moans from those empty rooms grew louder and louder until--
    "Hello, Rebecca."

Chapter 29

    Becca lurched up in bed, sweaty, breathing hard, her heart pounding.
    No, it wasn't her mother, no, it was someone else.
    Finally he was here. He'd come to her first, not to her father. A
    surprise, but not a big one, at least to her. She lay very still, gathering
    herself, her control, her focus.
    "Hello, Rebecca," he said again, this time he was even closer to
    her face, nearly touching her.
    "You can't be here," she said aloud. He'd gotten past everyone,
    but again, that didn't overly surprise her. She wouldn't be surprised
    if he'd gotten both the house plans and the security system plans.
    And now he wasn't even six inches from her.
    "Of course I can be here. I can be anywhere I want. I'm a cloud
    of smoke, a sliding shadow, a glimmer of light. I like how frightened
    you are. Just listen to you, your voice is even trembling with
    fear. Yes, I like that. Now, you even try to move and I will, very simply,
    cut your skinny little throat."
    She felt the razor-sharp blade against the front of her neck,
    pressing in ever so slightly.
    We knew you would come," she said.
    He laughed quietly, now not even an inch from her ear. She felt
    his hot breath touch her skin. "Of course you knew I'd find you. I
    can do anything. Your father is so stupid, Rebecca. I've always
    known it, always, and now I've proved it the final time. I figured out
    now to find his lair, and poof--like shimmering smoke--I'm here.

You and your bastard father lose now. Soon, you and I are going
    down the hall to his bedroom. I want him to wake up with me
    standing over him, you in front of me, a knife digging into your
    neck. Even with those hot shot FBI guards he's got positioned all
    around this house, I got through with little effort. There's this great
    big oak tree that comes almost to the roof of the house. Just a little
    jump, not more than six feet, and I was on the roof, and then it was
    easy to pry open that trapdoor into the attic. I took care of the security
    alarm up there, cut it off for all of the upstairs. No one saw me.
    It's nice and dark tonight. Stupid, all of you are stupid. Now, get up."
    She did as he said. She felt calm. He kept her very close, the
    knife across her neck as he opened her bedroom door and eased
    her out into the hallway. "The last door down on the right," he
    said. "Just keep walking and keep quiet, Rebecca."
    It was nearly one o'clock in the morning; Becca saw the time on
    the old grandfather clock that sat in its niche in the corridor.
    "Open the door," he said against her ear, "slowly, quietly. That's right."
    Her father's bedroom door opened without a sound. There was a
    night light on in the connecting bathroom off to the left. All the
    draperies were open, beams of the scant moonlight coming in
    through the balcony windows. There was no movement on the bed.
    "Wake up, you butchering bastard," he said, one eye on the balcony
    windows.
    There was still no movement on the bed.
    She heard his breathing quicken, felt the knife move slightly
    against her neck. "No, you don't move, Rebecca. Just one little slice
    and your blood will spew like a fountain all over the floor." Suddenly,
    he said, nearly a yell, "Thomas Matlock! Where are you?"
    "I'm right here, Krimakov."
    He whirled Becca around, facing Thomas, who was standing,

fully dressed, in the lighted doorway of the bathroom, his arms
    crossed over his chest.
    "It's about time you got here," Thomas said easily, his eyes on the
    knife that was pressing into Becca's neck. "Don't hurt her. We've
    been waiting for you. I was starting to believe you'd lost your
    nerve, that you'd gotten too scared, that you'd finally run away."
    "What