Page 223 of Irreversible

Scrambling to my feet, I dodge him, making a break for it. I shove at the door and am met with a wall of fog and heavy sheets of rain. Cold wind slaps me in the face as a salty tang fills mylungs. A hand clamps around my mouth. The handcuffs clatter to the floor.

I’m yanked back.

I struggle, my scream muffled.

Caught in a gust of wind, the boat joggles beneath us as my captor hangs on, my feet unable to maintain traction. A bottle of rum sits on the edge of a counter, close enough to graze my fingers along the glass, but it tumbles from my grip, crashing to the floor, its contents spilling out in a thick amber pool.

My stilettos slide across the puddle as The Timekeeper snatches me by the bicep and pulls me back. I shriek, scratch, sob, but it’s no use.

He knows how to handle his prey.

The sharp scent of salt and diesel mingle in the air. I’m half-dragged, half-stumbling, barely able to keep upright as he tows me across the slippery surface. My eyes dart to the dense fog through the swinging door, knowing there’s nothing but dark waves to greet me. A watery grave.

No.

This can’t be over. It can’t end like this.

But there’s nowhere to run.

Even if I broke free, I couldn’t swim to shore if I tried.

“Stop it! Get your fucking hands off?—”

A gunshot goes off.

My eyes flare as footsteps pound the deck.

The hand tightens on my arm. Then, wedging the umbrella beneath one foot, The Timekeeper jerks upward sharply, snapping it in half. The jagged edge is jabbed against my throat as he steadies his grip, his voice turning to a low hiss. “Where are you going to go, little girl?” His hot breath beats against my cheek.

I close my eyes as splinters scrape my flesh.

“If we’re lucky, Mr. Porter will still be in one piece when we join him.”

His words seep through my fog like sludge as the chilling rain falls harder. A downpour. Makeup fuses with tears, burning my eyes.

I swallow.

Oh, God…

A second gunshot rocks me off my axis.

The Timekeeper sneers, ramming the slivered umbrella harder against my throat. “I would love to have a final conversation with him before he meets his end.”

I rip the hand from my mouth.

And I scream.

“Isaac!”

50

I’m on a fucking suicide mission.

Driving blind across the Bay in a borrowed boat is just the tip. A mantra races through my head as I zip through a hazardous deluge of wind, rain, and fog.

Find Everly.

Kill Leonard Vincent

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