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In the darkness, she did her best to ignore the pain inher left arm, the sticky flow of her blood. She tried to think of that fourthvictim. A woman in a well-to-do neighborhood, killed in a small home library.Bludgeoned with a wine bottle and then stabbed for good measure…the wine bottleillustrating the sign of Christ turning water to wine.
She recalled the woman’s name, Sandra Berryhill theset-up in the house, bringing to mind everything she could process about thatparticular crime scene. And then it hit her. The woman’s husband had been outof town that night. He’d been on a business trip to Chicago. And he’d come backthe next day to find his wife dead. Only, the details of that trip had neverbeen confirmed by the husband’s employer. Not that it mattered. Samson had lefthis note, so it was assumed that he’d done the killing.
Until, of course, evidence surfaced that pointed atMorgan. Evidence she’d always assumed Samson had planted there.
“The husband?” she said.
“I don’t know. I suppose it would make sense.” He sigheddeeply and positioned himself to his knees. “I simply thought you should knowthat I had nothing to do with what happened to you. I was just as shocked asyou were.”
Shocked,she thought.Sure.
But deep down, she thought he was telling the truth. Asmuch as she hated to think it, there was a bit of logic to what he’d revealedto her.
Her right hand continued to search for the Glock but allshe felt was the cold, unforgiving rock floor. Of course he would have taken itand hidden it away. But he wasn’t going to use it on her. No, that would be tooeasy. If she was to be the last sacrifice to bring about his messiah, it wouldneed to be truly special.
“My poor, dear Agent Cross,” Samson said, watching as shereached around for the Glock. “I think not. I’ve removed your gun. Andthis…well, this is where we say goodbye.”
And with that, with no other form of warning, Samsonraised his knife into the air with both hands, directly over his head.
This was to be the death blow…the final act to bring hiswork to an end. The reality of it nearly froze her but in the last moment,Morgan drew back her right foot and sent it out hard. She connected with Samson’schest and the chamber was filled with a sound like the beat of a bass drum.
He let out a wrecked coughing noise as he was thrown backinto the wall behind him. Morgan sat up and watched him stumble. In doing so,she saw the Glock; Samson had stuffed it unceremoniously into the waist of hispants. She could see it poking out along his lower back.
Though it took her eyes a split second too long to getadjusted to the wavering light, she launched herself at him anyway. The tunnelwas narrow so she knew she was going to hit him. She made sure to drive herknee into his ribs, knowing it stood the highest chance of causing the mostdamage in such a confined space. As she attacked, she saw the flame from thecandle, saw shadows dancing along the walls, and the shape of Samson writhingbeneath her.
She fumbled along his back as they wrestled for position,trying to gain the advantage. She got to it rather easily, though when Samsonrealized what she was doing, he fought harder. He allowed himself to fall backto the floor, attempting to crush her. But by then, she’d freed the Glock and,though the rock floor against her back sent a flare of pain up her spine, shedid her best to remain in control as Samson pushed himself away and off of herfor better position.
She leveled the Glock and pulled the trigger at the exactsame time Samson attempted to flee. He dove into a small tunnel entrance to hisleft, letting out a scream of pain that was almost entirely drowned out by the echoof the gun going off in the tight, enclosed space.
Morgan even cried out a bit. The sound of the shot downhere in the mines was deafening. For several seconds, as she scrambled to herfeet, she could hear nothing. But as she started to move toward that tunnel,also thinking to stop and grab the flashlight she’d dropped at some point, herears began to ring, and sound started to slowly come back to her.
She moved forward so quickly that she nearly collidedwith the wall. She steadied the gun out in front of her with her right arm asher left wrist continued to bleed. Blood trickled down from her fingers as shepivoted into the tunnel.
She’d hoped Samson would be lying there on the floor,close to death from her gunshot. But the truth of the matter was that she hadno idea if she’d even hit him. For all she knew, the scream she’d heard couldhave been one of shock, surprise, or fear.
She held her breath and tried to listen for footfalls.But all she could hear was the resounding echo of the gunshot still filling herears.
She had no other choice. She had to go after him. She’dnearly gotten the drop on him once today in these very same tunnels, and she’dbe damned if she would let him get away again.
With her ears still filled with the echo of the shot,Morgan once again found herself exploring the unfamiliar tunnels, holding a gunand a flashlight in front of her as if to ward off the oncoming darkness.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Perhaps it was because she’d already been in these minesonce today…or maybe it was because her brain still hadn’t taken in the properamount of oxygen to get back into complete working order…but Morgan couldn’thelp but feel as if all of these tunnels were connected in some sort of long,never-ending loop.
She had come through two tunnels so far, each openinggetting slightly smaller. Oddly enough, the only thing that kept her fromfreaking out and losing her mind about being so far down in the earth were thelittle benches and tables set up in the chambers she passed by—little alcoveswith candles and melted wax.
She kept her flashlight low to the floor as she chasedafter Samson. She knew it would be foolish to turn it off completely, but shealso didn’t want to hold the light directly up in front of her, straight ahead.He knew these tunnels much better than she did. And she was not going to makethe same mistake she’d already made.
By keeping her flashlight low to the floor, she foundthat wherever he was headed, Samson appeared to be bleeding. She could onlyassume her shot had hit him. The question, of course, was whether it had simplybeen a glancing shot or if it had done some real damage. There were just enoughsplatters of blood on the floor to follow. She wasn’t able to judge theseverity of the wound based on the blood on the floor, but she took some solacein knowing that he was going to be slower and more cautious.
So she continued on, feeling fortunate that there were nobranches in the tunnel. This, however, only lasted for several more seconds.She came to an intersection where two tunnels that led straight into pitch-blackdarkness presented themselves.
“Shit,” she muttered.
If she chose wrong, Samson would get away. And thensomehow, they’d have to start all over. She knew he thought she was importantfor this last stage. That made her think he would not give up. One way or theother, they were going to finish this tragic little play down here in the darktunnels.
She trained the flashlight beam on the stone floor andsaw two splotches of fresh, wet blood at the mouth of the tunnel on the left.She sneered and said, “Got you.”
