“Xandria,” Dr. Winter said. He muttered something over and over under his breath as April punched in the digits from her last call to August, making sure to first enter a code to block her caller ID. Three rings later a woman’s voice answered.

“Who is this?” Xandria asked, her voice tinny on the cell’s small speakerphone.

April held out the phone to Dr. Winter, who struggled to come back to his senses. “It’s me,” he finally said. “I had to use another phone. My apologies.”

“What happened to your phone?”

Dr. Winter looked over to April, not knowing what to say. April made a face like an animal dying, sticking out her tongue and leaning her head over.

“It died on me,” Dr. Winter said. “Bad batteries, perhaps.”

Xandria didn’t dwell on the topic. “We’ve just deciphered the second set of images. We’re waiting for the third set to arrive.”

“There’s been a change of plans,” Dr. Winter said. “I’m afraid I’m going to need to call off the mission.”

“Why?”

“You won’t be getting the third set of images. They’ve been taken out of our control.”

“April didn’t come through?”

“The Order got to her first,” Dr. Winter said.

The phone crackled. “That’s terrible news,” Xandria finally said. “So what am I supposed to do now?”

“When the plane lands, walk away. Say good-bye. I don’t care how you do it, but the plan is off.”

“We were so close,” Xandria whispered. She hung up.

April put the cell phone in her pocket. “Why do you look so upset? You just put an end to all this madness.”

“I’m afraid this is only the beginning,” Dr. Winter said. “Something else is at work here. I only agreed to terminate the mission because I knew my order would be dismissed. But they said yes. They agreed and they quit. Which could only mean one thing.”

“What?”

Dr. Winter opened both eyelids wide, revealing his dueling features in their horrible fullness: a crimson abyss and a blinding fear. “You’re in the hands of the Order now.”

Fifteen

fifteen

Stanley threw Joe’s phone aside, unzipped the bag, and examined the contents: bone saw, mortise chisel, three-inch nails, a hand drill with a diamond-point bit, other assorted toys, and rags— lots of extremely absorbent rags.

He peered down at his three playmates, supine on the dining room rug, wondering which one would go first. Joe, Charlie, and Grandma Rose were wound tightly in their silver cocoons, wrapped from shoulder to toe in duct tape.

He always liked to save—when time permitted—an eyetooth from each of his victims. He had a necklace full of them. The skin around his neck had become raw from where it wore on him, but he didn’t mind. It seemed like penance, his personal style of self-flagellation, so the necklace remained, despite the constant pain.