Shattered

one side of it. It would do. Again he turned toward the doorway and crossed the room.
        Those eight steps seemed more like eight hundred. By the time he had taken them, he needed to stop and rest. His chest was tight, and his breath did not come easily. He leaned against the wall just inside the door, out of sight of anyone in the second-floor hallway.
        You've got to do better than this, he told himself, closing his eyes to block out the dizzying movement of the room. Even if you do find him, you won't be able to stop him from doing whatever he pleases to Courtney and Colin. You can't be this weak. It's shock. You were shot. You're bleeding. And you're suffering from shock. Anyone would be. But you have to overcome it soon, or you might as well sit down and bleed to death.
        
        Leland pulled the tape off her mouth and touched her bloodless lips. “It's all right now, Courtney. Doyle is dead. We don't have to worry about him. It's just you and me against everyone.
        She was unable to speak. She was no longer the golden girl, but was as pale as milk.
        “I'm going to let you up now,” he said, smiling. “If you're good, that is. If you behave yourself, I'll untie your feet and hands-so that we can make love. Would you like that?”
        She shook her head no.
        “Sure you would.”
        On the first level, toward the back of the house, a window broke and crashed across a bare floor.
        “It's the police,” she said, not knowing for sure who it was, wanting to frighten him.
        He stood up without untying her. “No,” he said. “It's the boy. How could I have forgotten the boy?” Perplexed, he turned away from the bed and started for the door.
        “Don't hurt him!” she cried. “For God's sake, leave him alone!”
        Leland did not hear her. He was able to fully perceive and think about only one thing at a time. Right now, that was the boy. He had to find the boy and kill him, eliminate this last obstacle between himself and Courtney.
        He left the master bedroom, went down the hall to the stairs.
        
        When Alex heard the glass shattering downstairs, he thought that Colin must have brought help. But then he remembered that the front door was standing open. Why would anyone not use it?
        He knew, at once, that Colin had not gone for help. Instead, the boy had taken the pistol from the glove compartment, the pistol Doyle had not remembered at the right time. Colin had distrusted the open front door and had gone around to the back of the house to find a way in. He was coming to the rescue all by himself. It was a very brave thing to do. It would also get him killed.
        Doyle pushed away from the wall just as Courtney screamed, and he nearly tripped over his own feet in surprise. She was alive! Of course, he had been telling himself that she would be okay-but he had not believed it. He had expected to find a corpse.
        He turned toward the door to the hall just in time to see the madman reach the top of the stairs and start down.
        In the master bedroom down the hall, Courtney screamed again. “Don't hurt him! Don't kill my brother too!”
        Too? Then she believes that I'm already dead, Doyle thought.
        “Courtney!” He did not care if the man downstairs heard him. “I'm okay. Colin will be okay.”
        “Alex? Is that you ?”
        “It's me,” he said. Holding the crude weapon tightly in his good hand, he went across the landing and down the steps, hurrying after the madman.
        

    Twenty-six
        
        Colin tried the kitchen door. it was locked. He did not want to waste time trying all the windows, and he was not about to walk through the front entrance which had so completely swallowed Alex. He hesitated only a second, then reversed the pistol, held it by the barrel, and used the butt to smash in one of the large panes of glass in the door.
        He thought he ought to be able to get inside quickly enough to find a good hiding place before the madman reached the kitchen. Then he would come out of concealment and shoot the man in the back.
        But he could not find the latch. He thrust one arm through the empty windowpane, scratching it on the remaining shards of glass, and he felt around on the inside of the door. But the lock mechanism escaped his fingers. There did not seem to be a lock switch.
        He looked at the other end of the well-lighted