the corner near the window. Maybe, just maybe, the bright window would make it hard to see me in my dark clothing against the dimly lit woodwork until I could get the drop on whomever was coming up the stairs.
It was a man carrying a tray of food. Fortunately his head was down, watching the steps. I raised my pistol as he reached the top and looked up.
I had a finger raised to my lips. That and the large caliber handgun got his attention. He didn’t cry out, which is to his credit.
I nearly did. The face I was looking into was the same one I’d shaved that morning. Less the startled expression.
I gestured for him to turn around. When he did, I came up close behind him, grabbed his collar and put the barrel of my gun under his right ear. I leaned in very close and spoke low, so my voice wouldn’t carry.
“You know why I’m here,” I breathed. “Bring me to her and stay quiet and you get to live. Try anything to stop me and we’ll find out what that stolen face would look like with an exit wound where the nose should be.”
He stiffened a bit.
“Nod if you understand.”
He did.
“Which door?”
He pointed to one at the end of the hallway.
“Locked?”
He nodded.
“Key.” It was an order, not a question.
“Left hip pocket,” he said in a voice as quiet as a January snowfall.
I reached in and found it. “Now, slowly walk to the wall. Put that borrowed face against it and don’t turn around or call out unless you want to be shot.”
I kept the pistol trained on his back while I unlocked the door with my left hand. I grabbed the man by his collar and moved him back to the door.
“Open it.”
You never can be sure if there’s a guard inside. Not likely, but if there was, better to have one of his friends to use as a shield.
He turned the handle and I pushed into the room, shoving the man ahead of me. I saw Sarah sitting on a bed. She seemed unhurt, was appropriately dressed, not tied up, and looked healthy enough. The only window was shut and the room was stifling, but beyond that I didn’t see any evidence of torture.
She looked at me with more anger than fear. “What the hell–”
I held a finger to my lips. “We need to go. Quickly.”
“What?” she hissed. “You and your friends dragged me here.”
I spun my prisoner to face her.
“What’s your point?” she asked.
I looked at him. Saw a different face, saw him open his mouth to start to plead ignorance, to cloud the issue, to get her to scream or shout so he wouldn’t have to.
I closed his mouth by shoving the muzzle of my pistol under his jaw and pushing up until his teeth clicked.
“OK, one way or another,” I said in a low growl, “that face is going to change so she can see what’s going on. You can use your power, or I can use a bullet.”
I glared into his eyes, seeing the fear grow as the defiance evaporated. After a moment, his features blurred and shifted, swimming in the old familiar face I wore every day.
“Jesus!” said Sarah.
“Not even close,” I replied, “but this is what’s going on. I’m me. He isn’t. I don’t know everything that happened, but they took you and I’m getting you out.”
She stared from one of us to the other. “How...”
“Dunno,” I said. “More of my distant cousins, I guess. No time to figure it out right now.”
She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “OK,” she said. I could see rage boiling behind her eyes. She was furious and wanted an explanation, but she was bright enough to know we had to be quiet and get out of here first.
“You,” I said to the prisoner. “On the bed.”
I took the zip ties I’d bought and secured his wrists to the headboard. Pulled them tight, in case he tried to morph into somebody with thin wrists. I took the napkin from the tray he’d carried, wadded it up, stuffed it in his mouth, duct taped over it and tied a pillowcase around his head.
“Sooner or later,” I told him, “somebody will find you and let you go. While
It was a man carrying a tray of food. Fortunately his head was down, watching the steps. I raised my pistol as he reached the top and looked up.
I had a finger raised to my lips. That and the large caliber handgun got his attention. He didn’t cry out, which is to his credit.
I nearly did. The face I was looking into was the same one I’d shaved that morning. Less the startled expression.
I gestured for him to turn around. When he did, I came up close behind him, grabbed his collar and put the barrel of my gun under his right ear. I leaned in very close and spoke low, so my voice wouldn’t carry.
“You know why I’m here,” I breathed. “Bring me to her and stay quiet and you get to live. Try anything to stop me and we’ll find out what that stolen face would look like with an exit wound where the nose should be.”
He stiffened a bit.
“Nod if you understand.”
He did.
“Which door?”
He pointed to one at the end of the hallway.
“Locked?”
He nodded.
“Key.” It was an order, not a question.
“Left hip pocket,” he said in a voice as quiet as a January snowfall.
I reached in and found it. “Now, slowly walk to the wall. Put that borrowed face against it and don’t turn around or call out unless you want to be shot.”
I kept the pistol trained on his back while I unlocked the door with my left hand. I grabbed the man by his collar and moved him back to the door.
“Open it.”
You never can be sure if there’s a guard inside. Not likely, but if there was, better to have one of his friends to use as a shield.
He turned the handle and I pushed into the room, shoving the man ahead of me. I saw Sarah sitting on a bed. She seemed unhurt, was appropriately dressed, not tied up, and looked healthy enough. The only window was shut and the room was stifling, but beyond that I didn’t see any evidence of torture.
She looked at me with more anger than fear. “What the hell–”
I held a finger to my lips. “We need to go. Quickly.”
“What?” she hissed. “You and your friends dragged me here.”
I spun my prisoner to face her.
“What’s your point?” she asked.
I looked at him. Saw a different face, saw him open his mouth to start to plead ignorance, to cloud the issue, to get her to scream or shout so he wouldn’t have to.
I closed his mouth by shoving the muzzle of my pistol under his jaw and pushing up until his teeth clicked.
“OK, one way or another,” I said in a low growl, “that face is going to change so she can see what’s going on. You can use your power, or I can use a bullet.”
I glared into his eyes, seeing the fear grow as the defiance evaporated. After a moment, his features blurred and shifted, swimming in the old familiar face I wore every day.
“Jesus!” said Sarah.
“Not even close,” I replied, “but this is what’s going on. I’m me. He isn’t. I don’t know everything that happened, but they took you and I’m getting you out.”
She stared from one of us to the other. “How...”
“Dunno,” I said. “More of my distant cousins, I guess. No time to figure it out right now.”
She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “OK,” she said. I could see rage boiling behind her eyes. She was furious and wanted an explanation, but she was bright enough to know we had to be quiet and get out of here first.
“You,” I said to the prisoner. “On the bed.”
I took the zip ties I’d bought and secured his wrists to the headboard. Pulled them tight, in case he tried to morph into somebody with thin wrists. I took the napkin from the tray he’d carried, wadded it up, stuffed it in his mouth, duct taped over it and tied a pillowcase around his head.
“Sooner or later,” I told him, “somebody will find you and let you go. While
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