There Fell a Shadow by Andrew Klavan Read Free Book Online Page B

groping for the handle. I was stretched out, reaching out, when he jumped back on top of me. He tried to bite my cheek. I raised my arm, and his teeth sank into my shoulder through my shirt.
    â€œAgh!” I said. I rolled onto my back. With my free fist, I hammered and hammered at his face. His mouth slackened. He dropped away. Wheezing, I went for the knife a third time. He grabbed hold of my ankles. The gold handle swam into my sight, but I could not get it. I stretched as far as I could and took a swat at it. The dagger spun away over the rug, out of reach.
    The assassin let go of me. He got to his feet and went for the knife. I swung my legs around and tripped him. He toppled forward with a grunt. He smashed face first into the coffee table. His nose exploded in a pink blast. He bounced onto the floor.
    Sobbing, I began to crawl slowly toward the open door. It heaved and yawed in front of me. Blood poured down my forearm. Tears poured from my damaged eye. Snot poured out of my nose. The door and the hall and escape got closer bit by bit.
    Behind me, I heard the killer moving, groaning, sobbing like me. I wondered if he’d try for the knife. If he went for the knife, I might have a chance, time to get out.
    I pitched forward about a foot from the door. My face fell into the soft carpet. It felt very comfortable, very warm. I considered resting there a while. Not long. A minute, maybe two was all I needed. Just enough for a little shut-eye. Instead I reached up, grabbed hold of the edge of the door. Pulled myself onto my knees again. Crawled a few more inches.
    I got out. I got my head out the door. My head was stretching into the hall. Then he got me.
    He must have left the knife behind. He must have chased after me, crawling, too. He collapsed on top of my legs. He wrapped his arms around them. I was flattened by the impact of it.
    Cursing in a language I’d never heard, he began to drag me back into the room. I had no more strength to fight him. I raised my head a little.
    â€œHelp,” I said.
    No one answered.
    When he had me inside, he dropped me. He pushed the door shut. I rolled onto my back. Wearily, he fell onto me. He wrapped his hands around my throat and squeezed.
    Everything seemed strangely silent then. Almost peaceful in a way. I saw his face contorting close to me. I saw the insanity in his eyes. I saw the dark circle of blood where his nose and mouth had been. I felt my lungs heaving for air. But there was no sound. Everything drifted before me in slow motion. It was as if I were underwater: the world was floating dreamily into darkness.
    Dreamily I lifted my hand and dug my thumb into the gory hole where his nose had been.
    I surfaced immediately as the silence was shattered by his squeal of pain. He flew off me like a man who’d accidentally sat on a hot stove, his arms wide, his mouth open. He sat down hard on the floor, not far from me, cradling his face in his hands. I propped myself onto my elbow, turned over, and vomited violently onto the rug.
    And, as there had at the beginning of this lovely winter’s morning, there now came a knock at the door. There came a shout: “Is everything all right? Is everything all right in there?”
    The knocking became a pounding. Someone was hitting the door with his fist.
    I tried to call out. I could only make a high, whistling sound deep in my throat. The knocking continued. I wondered if maybe I’d been struggling to wake up all this time, struggling to answer the door, to make the knocking stop. Maybe all this had only been the nightmare of a moment.
    There was a shout. “Open up in there. Now!” It was the voice of authority. Hotel security maybe. Or the manager.
    I began to think about getting to the door again. Maybe I could slide on my belly, dragging myself along the rug. As I was considering this, my old pal was on the move. He took hold of one of the chair arms and pulled himself to his knees. From his knees, he