"You got banged up a little."

During the fall, his Van Gogh bandage had fallen off. He had the ear after all, but now it was bright with real blood. Above it, his bloody hair was matted to the side of his head.

His paint-spattered shirt was torn open. His khaki trousers were twisted crooked and down so low around his hips they looked as if they might fall off if he stood up. If he stood up, however, his pants wouldn't be his biggest problem.

His legs, slanting upward at a steep angle, were still on the stairs. The left leg was crooked below the knee, the high-top walking shoe sideways so it pointed toward the banister.

"Well," Hunter said, "at least you got your ear back." He realized he didn't sound very sympathetic.

That's because I'm not, he thought. Why should I feel sorry for this guy? Or for Tony? Roughing me up, treating me like a criminal from the moment they laid eyes on me.

Shannon and Laura seemed too nice to be going with a couple of guys like these.

Maybe they're just casual acquaintances.

Shannon won't be going with Tony anymore.

Probably a good thing for Shannon, he thought.

Is she even still alive? Is Laura? Connie? I have to go after them.

But what about Charles?

Charles raised his head, winced but raised it higher. "My leg," he muttered.

"I think it's broken," Hunter said.

"Oh, my God." Charles lowered his head gently to the floor.

"You were lucky, though."

"Oh, yeah. Real lucky."

"Luckier than Tony."

He blinked a few times. "Tony?"

"Your pal Tony. Sherlock Holmes."

"I know who Tony is, for... oh, my God!"

"Yeah."

"Oh, my GOD!"

Charles suddenly shoved at the floor, got to his elbows, pushed at the stairs with his right foot and scooted himself backward, his face crimson and twisted. He cried out when his left leg dropped to a lower stair. "Help me! We've gotta get outa here!"

"Take it easy," Hunter said. "You're hurting yourself."

"Help me!"

"Just settle down. It's not gonna get you." Not completely sure of that, Hunter glanced up the stairway. "I don't think it cometh downstairs. It might, but..."

"Get me out of here!"

His broken leg dropped to another stair and he squealed.

"You shouldn't be moving," Hunter told him. "Why don't you just lie still?"

"Please!"

"It's not gonna get you."

His shoe slid off the edge of the next stair, fell and thudded. He cried out.

"It's an upstairs ghost."

"Witherspoon?"

A smile broke across Hunter's face. He couldn't help it, but regretted it. Not so much because of Tony or Charles, but because of the girls. The smile felt like he was betraying them.

Charles's foot dropped from the bottom stair. It struck the floor and he shrieked.

"Look," Hunter said. "I've gotta go. I just stuck around to make sure you're all right."

"I'm not all right!" He was scurrying backward toward the front door, his rump sliding over the floor, his right leg pushing, his left leg dragging.

"I'll call 911 for you."

"You haven't called them yet?"

"I didn't think I should leave you by yourself."

Alarm in his eyes, he blurted, "Why?"

"I wanted to make sure you kept breathing and everything. And I didn't want the ghost to get you."

"It's an upstairs ghost!"

"Seems to be. But I'm not so sure it plays by the rules."

"Huh?"

"Not even so sure it's a ghost. I don't know what it is, but it only seems to nail people when they're alone. Now that you're awake, it'll probably be safe for me to leave you. You can yell if something happens." Hunter raised his left hand and pointed the pistol toward the living room. "I know right where the phone is. It's just in there."

"Wait. No. Don't leave yet."

"I'll be right back."

"No! Help me get outside first! Please! Just on the porch. Okay? Please? I don't wanta be in here."

"We'll get you outside after I call the paramedics."

"Damn it, no!"

Hunter almost smiled. Though slightly ashamed of himself, he liked how it felt to give Charles a taste of trouble.

You should've treated me better, he thought, when you had the upper hand.

"I'll be right back," he said.

"Don't you dare leave!"

"Yeah, sure."

Hunter turned away and walked into the living room.

The two people hurrying silently toward him wore gray robes. The hoods were up, but didn't hide their faces. Hunter knew the faces. Bryce and Simone. Bryce held a very large knife. Simone carried a hatchet.

Hunter gasped.

They rushed at him.

But froze when he jammed the pistol in their direction and shouted, "Hall or you're dead!"

"Hunter?" Charles yelled.

Ignoring him, Hunter commanded, "Drop your weapons! Right now! Now! Drop 'em or I'll shoot!"

They stood side by side, staring at him.

"The knife!" Hunter shouted. "The hatchet! Drop'em!"

Bryce and Simone glanced at each other.

"Drop 'em!"

"We just came for the woman," Bryce said.

"Woman?"

"Our friend."

"Where is she?" Simone asked.

"Gone."

"Gone where?"

"Away. I don't know. She ran out the door and got away."

"That's her saber," Bryce said.

"She gave it to me. Now drop your knife and put your hands up." He jerked the muzzle toward Simone. "You. Drop the hatchet."

Frowning, she lowered her arm.

"I'll be damned," Bryce said, sounding suddenly, strangely pleased. "What's that on your piece, kid? Is that a trigger lock?"

"Drop your knife or you'll find out!"

"I'll drop it, all right. I'll drop you, you dumb fuck." He charged.

Simone charged, raising her hatchet.

Hunter whirled around and ran, yelling, "Watch out, Charles!" A moment later, he saw Charles in the foyer. Squatting, leaning back against the front door, trying to stand up. He was sobbing. He had terror in his eyes.

Shit! Dead meat!

Hunter ran for the stairs.

Worked before.

I run get 'em one at a time when they come up...

"Get that one!" Bryce gasped.

"No!" Charles squealed.

Hunter changed course. Threw himself against the newel post. It hurt him, but it stopped him. Pivoting, he slashed sideways with the sword and Bryce ran into its path. Bryce's hood had already slipped off. He had short, neatly trimmed hair as if he'd recently had a haircut. He looked young and powerful like a Marine. The blade of Hunter's sword clipped off the top of his ear and chopped into the side of his head.

As Hunter jerked the blade free, Bryce veered off to the side and crashed into the wall beyond the stairs.

Simone, hatchet raised over Charles's head, turned to see what had happened. Then she gave Charles a shove. As he cried out and fell to the floor, Simone turned to face Hunter.

She reached up with one hand and swept her hood off.

My God, she's beautiful. Are they all this beautiful?

Sleek, black hair draped the sides of her head. A loose hank of it dropped across her brow. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips a glossy crimson.

She was breathing hard. She didn't look frightened, though.

"Where's Eleanor?" she asked.

"I already told you."

"She really isn't here?"