The Odds - Jeff Strand Page 0,27
lady might get her throat slit?”
“No.”
“So what do you enjoy?”
“I enjoy setting up the game. I wish the stakes were different.”
“They don’t have to be like this. You could run a Dungeons & Dragons campaign. Your players would only die from their bad eating habits.”
“I’d rather not talk anymore, if it’s all right with you,” said Rick.
Ethan shrugged. “You’re the boss. Obviously.”
A few minutes later, Rick said, “Do you have your GPS ready?”
“Yes.”
“Put in 1010 Harwind Way.”
Ethan put it in. “Twenty-three minutes away.”
“I’d try to get there faster.” Rick opened the door. “Good luck. I hope you save her.”
10
Ethan sped down the highway, cursing frequently.
He’d asked Rick one last question: If he got pulled over for speeding, did that count as contacting the police? Rick looked surprised by the question, as if he hadn’t considered that, and after a moment of thought said that, yes, getting pulled over by the cops would count as breaking the rule.
So Ethan was driving fast, but not too fast.
Why hadn’t he listened to the message in his note? He’d carried that note to himself in his wallet for years to prevent him from gambling, and he still went ahead and threw money into slot machines, and now look what was happening to him.
Right now you’d give anything to be able to take it all back. YOU ARE MISERABLE.
Rick had strapped his arm into a bone-breaking machine. Why had Ethan gone through with that? He should have said to himself, “Hey, y’know, if they’ve got this contraption set up to shatter your arm, perhaps these aren’t the kind of individuals to involve yourself with.” The arm-breaking machine was a gigantic fucking red flag! How could he have been so stupid?
Why did he even go on the business trip? He had no business being in Vegas. He should’ve known how weak-willed he could be. When Jenny said that maybe it wasn’t the best idea for him to go, he should have agreed with her and stayed the hell home. Right now he’d be at home eating tuna noodle casserole instead of driving to rescue a woman from a knife-wielding maniac.
Weirdly, it hadn’t occurred to him until this very moment that he might also end up on the receiving end of this knife. He could die tonight.
He had a wife and kids. Maybe he should decline to participate in this round.
No. He wasn’t going to let a woman die. Another woman die.
He could do this.
He saw the farmhouse up ahead. Rick had been right: it was definitely isolated. Somebody could scream bloody murder as a hunting knife slammed repeatedly into their flesh and no neighbors would hear.
He pulled into the driveway. There was only one other car. Did it belong to the woman who lived there, or the man trying to kill her?
Ethan shut off his car and got out. He hurried over to the front door and tested the knob.
Unlocked.
He went inside.
The house was dark and quiet. No sounds of a murder in progress.
“Hello?” he called out.
No answer.
He walked through the living room. Lots of clutter and dust. He stepped into a short hallway with three closed doors.
He opened the door at the end, which led to a bathroom.
The door on the right led to a bedroom, but it was empty, and nobody appeared to have slept there recently. No blood on the blankets.
The door on the left led to an office.
Ethan returned to the living room and hurried up the stairs.
Two more closed doors.
He opened the first one. A small bedroom. An old woman lay on the bed, under the blankets, eyes closed. She looked peaceful. A moment of observation showed that she was breathing.
Was this it? Had he won?
Downstairs, he heard the front door open.
He didn’t want to confront a madman with a knife head-on. He needed to surprise him. Ethan stood there, listening for the sound of creaking stairs, but didn’t hear it. It sounded like the intruder had gone into the downstairs hallway instead.
Ethan rapidly but quietly stepped out of the bedroom and opened the other door, which led to a bathroom. He went inside, leaving the door open for now.
He needed a weapon.
At a quick glance, this bathroom seemed woefully lacking in weapons. A toilet plunger probably wouldn’t do the trick. A nice jagged shard of glass from the medicine cabinet mirror would be helpful, but he didn’t want to make noise by breaking it.
There was a hair dryer. Better than nothing.
He slowly closed the bathroom door just enough that he