Final Breath (42 page)

She didn't see any cars coming up the street in either direction. Sydney remembered Joe telling her not to go in there alone. She tried waiting for a few moments, but became impatient and ducked inside. She rang for the elevator, and then searched inside her purse for the cheap little canister of pepper spray she'd been carrying around for ages. She found the canister and shook it.

Jabbing the elevator button again, she finally gave up and headed for the stairs. The stairwell was gloomy, gray cinderblock and smelled musty, but at least, she had somewhere to run if attacked. Between the stress and all those stairs, her leg was starting to give out. Winded and clutching the banister, Sydney hobbled up the last two flights.

She was still gasping for air as she staggered out of the stairwell toward Rikki's unit. But when Sydney saw the door to 808, she stopped dead. The door was slightly ajar.

With the pepper spray in her grasp, she rang the bell, and then knocked.

No answer.

"Aidan?" she called tentatively. Sydney stepped inside and got a waft of ammonia smell. He'd said he'd been cleaning. Stuffed garbage bags and stacks of boxes had been shoved against one wall. Piles of folded linen and blankets occupied the tattered sofa. On the coffee table were a bunch of envelopes and photos.

"Aidan?" she called out again. Peering into the bedroom--with its stripped bed and stained mattress--she saw no one. Off the bedroom, the door to Rikki's bathroom was open a crack, and beyond that, darkness.

Sydney wandered back to the living room. There was no evidence of a struggle anywhere. She picked up a photo album from the coffee table and glanced at the family photographs: Rikki, Aidan, and whoever happened to be Rikki's boyfriend at the time the photo had been taken. In the pictures, Rikki and her suitors looked like lowlifes; Aidan was beautiful and somber. There was an envelope full of Aidan's modeling shots when he'd been a child--national ads. Sydney recalled her ghostwriter friend, Andrea Shorey, mentioning that Aidan was the breadwinner in the family.

Amid these professional modeling shots, Sydney discovered a group of Polaroids, all of them of that same handsome boy--only shirtless. The snapshots focused on bruise marks and cuts on his thin body. There was even a close-up of a spot on his arm where someone must have burned him with a cigarette. "My God," Sydney whispered, grimacing at the photos. Her heart broke for him.

She set them down again on the coffee table. Why in the world would Rikki keep these horrible, incriminating pictures?

The window curtains fluttered, and Sydney noticed a small piece of yellow paper drift past her feet, then a piece of turquoise paper. It was Monopoly money. She glanced over toward the corner of the living room and saw more loose Monopoly currency scattered there. The board was set up on the floor--like someone was about to play a game.

Sydney shuddered. She took a few steps closer to the board game on the floor. The thimble and top hat tokens were on the board. Nearby was the Monopoly box, old and faded, with layers of withered tape holding together the corners. Sydney remembered Eli trying to tell her about the little train token.
"Well, it was on my desk,"
he'd said.
"And I didn't put it there. Do you think your stalker guy broke in and set this on there?"

More brightly colored, fake bills drifted past her as she moved the old Monopoly box to the sofa and opened it. She examined the other tokens.

"Are you looking for the train?"

She swiveled around and gaped at Aidan in the doorway. He closed the door behind him. "You have the train token, Sydney. I gave it to you."

Joe had gotten Eli into a wheelchair and rolled him down the hall to Luis's room so they could keep each other company for a while. After what they'd been through together, they were like old army buddies. Joe had caught a taxi outside the hospital, and was now on his way to Rikki Cosgrove's address. But there were traffic problems, and Sydney wasn't answering her cell.

As he sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic in the back of that smelly cab, Joe began to wonder about that burnt little boy china figurine Sydney had found on Eli's bed. He began to wonder--if heroes were being murdered--whose life had Aidan Cosgrove ever saved?

"I wanted you to see those photos, Sydney," Aidan said. "I wanted you to see the extent of my mother's abuse." He stood between her and the doorway, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He wore a white button-down shirt, untucked. His stance wasn't threatening, and yet Sydney knew he wouldn't let her leave.

Aidan had been manipulating her all this time. He'd played her perfectly. And just in case she still hadn't realized how he'd trapped her, he'd left her one final clue--the Monopoly game. Every time there was a slight breeze, more loose bills drifted across the carpeted floor.

Aidan's eyes stayed riveted on her. "I supported my mother--and her various scumbag boyfriends--with my modeling," he explained. "But I was still their punching bag. My mother said I deserved what I got, because I was a smart ass." He chuckled cynically. "She blamed me for the fact that she could never keep a man."

He nodded toward the coffee table. "One of the modeling people discovered what was being done to me, and she took those Polaroids for child protective services. They couldn't make the charges stick against Rikki and her current flame at the time, but it sure as shit ended my legitimate modeling career. Oh, I still got some assignments from time to time, but it was never the same.

"Then there was the fire, and that finished my modeling days for good. But you have to hand it to Rikki. She still used me to raise money--parading around her broken, scarred, burn-victim poster child. And you helped her. I was a cash cow for my worthless mother--and for you, too, Sydney. It's because of me you went into the
hero
business."

"I was trying to help you, Aidan," she murmured.

"Well, you didn't," he said evenly. "My life just got shittier. After the fire, I was still getting the crap kicked out of me by Rikki and her boyfriends, only it was worse. I was in constant pain from my back injury. And my dear, sweet mother was taking--or selling--all my pain medications."

Sydney was devastated by these revelations. She felt so sorry for him, but that didn't make her any less afraid and revolted. "I haven't talked with your mother in years, have I?" she asked. "It was you who called me this weekend, wasn't it?"

"Oh, yes, Sydney,"
Aidan said--in his mother's weak, whiny voice. He smiled a little.

Sydney remembered finding Rikki Cosgrove rotting away in her deathbed. The dying woman could barely talk. And yet, an hour before she'd been strong enough to call and ask her to come over. Why hadn't she realized it then?

"That story I told you about the woman in San Francisco is true," Aidan said, stepping closer to her--backing her toward the window. "Thanks to this rich bitch, I used to fly up here and look after my mother on weekends. Once she became immobile and helpless, I stayed on full time. I did a good enough job imitating my mother on the phone and through the door so no one knew how ill she really was. And I let her rot. I starved her. She was in a lot of pain, but I didn't give her any medication. I pretended to come and go on weekends, but for the last few weeks I've been here the whole time, watching her die--and thinking of you, Sydney."

"But why go after me--and all these people who never did you any harm at all?" Sydney asked. "For God's sake,
I saved your life
, Aidan."

"I didn't want to be
saved
, Sydney," he growled. "I wanted to die. I started the fire that day--on purpose. I was going to kill my mother. I planned to watch her burn, and then I was going to jump out the window--
to my own death
. But you had to play the hero. So what happened? I was left scarred, and in constant pain. And my mother just kept making money off me and letting her boyfriends slap me around. It was worse than being dead, Sydney. I would have been better off if you hadn't interfered. You're responsible for all those years I suffered after the fire. But you made out all right, didn't you? Hell, you made more money off me than my mother did."

Stunned, Sydney kept staring at him. She had tears in her eyes. She remembered calling to young Aidan as he'd stood out on the ledge of that burning building. She'd asked if anyone else was in the apartment with him, and the frightened child had shaken his head. And at that press conference--her first time meeting and talking with him--that burnt, broken little boy had whispered to her:
"I really, really tried not to land on you. I didn't expect you to catch me."

Part of her wanted to reach out to him--and reason with him. But she didn't dare. She stole a glance out the window, hoping to see Joe down there. But there was no sign of him. She looked at Aidan again. "Please, Aidan, there's already been too much killing and suffering. I know you've had a raw deal, but that's no reason..." She could see he wasn't listening. He was looking past her--at the window.

Sydney quickly glanced over her shoulder; still no sign of Joe.

"Listen to me," she said. "If you turn yourself in and tell your story to the police, they'll probably be more lenient with you, maybe even get you some help...."

"Did you call Joe?" he asked. "Is that why you keep looking out the window? Are you waiting for him to show up?"

Sydney sighed. She locked eyes with him and nodded. "Yes. And he'll probably have the police with him--"

"No, not your Joe. He'll come alone, because he needs to play the hero." Aidan reached back and pulled a gun out from under his shirttail. "I'm afraid Joe won't be able to save you, Sydney. But I am giving
you
a chance to be a hero today..."

Backing up, Aidan kept the gun trained on her as he took a can of charcoal-starter out of the front closet. He handed the can to her. "Squirt some of this on the carpet and around the bedroom doorway," he said.

Sydney didn't move. She realized what he'd planned for her. She'd saved him from burning to death; so now she would die in a fire.

"Do it," he growled, eyes narrowed at her. "Or do I have to? You know, I might just spray you with this stuff, Sydney. Strike a match, and do you know how fast you'd be engulfed in flames? Would you like that?"

She reluctantly complied and squeezed the tin can. A braided line of charcoal starter shot from the spout, soaking the ugly beige carpet and dripping down the doorway frame to Rikki's bedroom.

"Squirt some over there," Aidan said, pointing to the bedroom's carpeted floor. He led her into the bedroom. "And get the mattress, too. You know, I've always been fascinated with fire. Kind of funny, coming from a burn victim, isn't it? But I think that just made me respect fire even more. Hit the wall around the bathroom door. That's it, get it real good..."

The sharp smell of charcoal starter began to overwhelm her. But Sydney followed his orders, and prayed Joe might get here on time--with backup. With her free hand, she furtively felt the outline of the pepper-spray canister in her pocket.

Keeping the gun at her head, Aidan opened the bathroom door and switched on the light.

Sydney gasped.

Lying unconscious in the tub was a half-naked young brunette. Her lip was bleeding, and her hands and feet had been bound with a black cord. Around her in the tub were wads of rolled-up newspaper. "Sydney, meet Jill," Aidan said. "She works at the flower shop. She's a very sweet girl, twenty-two years old. She wants to be a teacher, because she's crazy for kids. We had a date this morning, and she told me all about herself. Squirt some of that stuff on Jill, and make sure you soak the paper around her."

"No," Sydney said. "That's enough, Aidan. It's over..."

"Don't pull that strong-lady shit on me," he hissed, directing the gun at Jill. "Do what I tell you or I swear to God, I'll shoot her right now."

Tears in her eyes, Sydney swallowed hard and finally obeyed him. Her hand shook horribly as she squirted the flammable liquid around the helpless young woman. She kept trying to think of a way to distract him so she could reach for her pepper spray.

"Jill and I are offering you the opportunity to be a hero again, Sydney," he said. "You don't have a very good chance of getting out of here alive once I start the fire. Your leg is a bit of a hindrance, too. And if you do live, no doubt you'll get burned--badly. There will be scars and pain. Maybe you'll finally have an idea of what I endured for years and years. But I know you, Sydney. You'll want to rescue Jill, which will delay your escape, and then--well, if the two of you don't die in this fire, you'll both wish you had."

Horrified, Sydney glanced at the unconscious woman in the tub. Aidan was right, because all she could think about was rescuing her. Maybe if she turned on the shower and doused the young woman with water, she could get her through the blaze with only a few minor burns.

But then Sydney saw that he'd pried off the hot and cold water knobs, and her heart sank.

"C'mon, there's more to do," Aidan said, nodding toward the bathroom door.

Biting her lip, Sydney gave one last look at the young woman in the tub. As Aidan led her back toward the living room, she felt the soaked carpet squishing beneath her feet. Her hand strayed toward her pocket.

He stopped in front of the coffee table, where he'd set out the family album for her to find--along with those awful Polaroids and his old modeling shots and contact sheets.

"Did you like my pictures, Sydney?" he asked. "Wasn't I a beautiful kid?"

Nodding, she inched her fingers into her pocket. "Of course you were, Aidan."

"Take some of those eight by tens and the contact sheets and roll them up for me, real tight--so it's like a baton."

Reluctantly, Sydney took her hand out of her pocket. She put down the can of charcoal starter and did what he'd told her to do. She realized she was making a torch for him.

"All right, now, soak one end of it in the charcoal starter," he said. "I never did like any of those pictures. They just reminded me of how she used me."