Brody nods to Regan, who presses his pistol against my spine. Then Brody lays a hand on Caitlin’s shoulder. “We’re going to step through this door over here, darling. Last one on the right. Nothing to worry about.”

How have we come to this point? Death stands behind us, and death waits before. In this situation, many people simply allow themselves to be led forward, grasping whatever extra seconds of life they can, until they get the bullet in the neck, or the gas, or whatever end has been devised.

I will not die that way. Better to fight here and force them to kill us both than to endure some depraved game like the one Brody forced on the two women from his insurance company.

I’m tensing my legs to hurl myself back against Regan when Caitlin says softly: “All right—I’ll tell you.”

Brody stops in mid-stride and turns to her. “What?”

“The witness. I’ll give you his name.”

Royal glances back at Regan, who shrugs.

The firing range door opens, and the two guards walk quickly to the staircase at the opposite end of the room. After they’ve gone, Brody looks at Caitlin and says, “I’m listening.”

Caitlin looks so shamefully resigned that a terrifying notion comes to me. Has she known the real name all along? Has she forced us to endure this in an effort to protect Henry’s witness? The “friend” who held his silence for forty-one years? With a rush of clarity I understand how she could justify such a thing. If she believed we were going to die no matter what, better to die saving the one man who might someday send Royal to death row for his crimes. Only now that we truly stand at the threshold of the abyss, she can’t resist the hope that giving Royal what he wants might spare us terrible pain, if not our lives.

Brody leans toward her like a Hollywood vampire, his cold eyes burning into hers, searching for deception. “Don’t lie to me, child. You’ll burn if you lie.”

Her chin is quivering, and when she speaks, two wheezing syllables emerge, but I can’t make them out. Neither can Royal, because he leans still closer and says, “Once more, dear.”

As the last syllable leaves Brody’s lips, Caitlin catches his shoulder and spins him against her with feline quickness. The bright steel of Pithy’s razor flashes beneath his chin as she lays the blade against his throat.

Regan knocks me aside and tries to get close enough for a shot, but Brody throws up a hand to stop him. As would I. Gone from her eyes is the dull glaze of a moment ago. Now they glow with green fire, and she holds the straight razor against his pulsing throat with the sure hand of an executioner.