Now there were footsteps in the hall outside. Someone new was approaching.

“Here’s Waylon,” the second voice said.

The footsteps stopped outside the door. The first voice spoke again-louder this time, clearer, more formal than before. It was the voice of a man speaking to his superior. It was easier for me to make out the words.

“Did you reach Prince?” the voice said.

The new voice answered-the voice of authority. Waylon. It sounded like an American name, but the voice had a thick foreign accent of some kind.

“I reached him. I told him everything.”

“We did exactly what he said. Exactly what he told us,” the first voice went on. I could hear his fear, his fear of what Prince might do to him if he failed.

“The kid may be telling the truth. You have to consider that,” said the second voice. I could tell he was frightened too.

Waylon answered them with a voice that was ironic and smooth. He was enjoying their fear. I could hear it. “Don’t worry. Prince understands. He doesn’t hold you responsible. But whatever the truth is, the West boy is useless to us now.”

I was straining so hard to hear that my body had gone rigid, my head leaning toward the door, my neck stretching out, my hands pulling hard against the straps.

But for another second or two, there was nothing. Only the silence and my trembling breath, my wildly beating heart.

Then in the same smooth, cool, ironic voice, Waylon said softly, “Kill him.”

CHAPTER FOUR

The Word of the Day I’ve heard that when you’re about to die, your whole life flashes before your eyes in an instant. That’s not what happened to me. I was too wild with panic, too crazy with confusion to remember my whole life. Instead, my brain was desperately trying to grab hold of something- of anything-anything that made some kind of sense, that offered some kind of explanation for this sudden madness, this pain and terror. But there was nothing, nothing that explained it, nothing I could hold on to. I felt as if I were slipping down a sheer wall of ice, slipping down and down and down into emptiness, my fingers scrabbling for even the smallest handhold in the smooth, unbroken surface.