The House That Death Built Read Online Free

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down on top of James' head. He could feel the bore, the black circle on his
head a brand that burned through hair and flesh and scorched his skull and the
curled brain matter beneath it.
    "Now get the safe open,"
said the man. His voice was tight. Under control for now, but ready to burst
into mayhem at any moment.
    James looked at the other man in
the closet. The man kneeling beside him, close to the safe. The man with the
eyes that said he didn't want to be here, didn't want to be doing this.
    "Please," whispered James.
Not knowing what he hoped the sad-eyed man would do. But something –
someone had to be able to help them.
    The sad eyes stared at him for a
quick moment, then flicked away. Down. No help to be found.
    The gun ground harder into his
head. "Listen carefully, James. If you don't get this safe open I will
kill you. But first I'll make you watch my colleagues kill your family.
Slowly."
    James barely managed to process
the words. Everything was –
    ( What's happening? )
    – a jumble. All was a blur.
    "James. James?"
    He managed to find the source of
the words. The sad-eyed man. "Please," said the man, gesturing at the
safe.
    James nodded. The bobbly motion
of a man so terrified he can't reliably control his own muscles.
    That was why he'd hit the wrong
numbers before. He wasn't trying to stall or keep the robbers away from the
safe's contents. They could have everything he owned as long as they left his
family alone. Alive.
    But his fingers were twitching.
His body wasn't acting the way it should.
    What's happening?
    He reached a finger for the safe.
    Get this wrong and the safe won't
open and we're all dead. Beth and the kids – gone.
    ( What's happening?
    They'll all die. Open the safe or
they all die.
    What's happening? WHAT'S
HAPPENING? )
    "Come on, James. Think
hard," said the gunman. "Don't screw this up or –" The gunman
stopped speaking, and suddenly James was aware that the man had turned toward
the closet door.
    "Bring in one of the
kids!" he shouted.
    That penetrated. Ripped away the
fog and left James gasping.
    "Please! No!"
    "Wait, what –" said the
sad-eyed man.
    "Shut up, Aaron,"
snarled the gunman.
    Sounds erupted in the master
bedroom. A struggle.
    The circle of hot metal
disappeared from James' head as the gunman pulled his gun away and moved to the
doorway. Reached out into the dark room beyond, then yanked a struggling,
screaming form into the closet with him.
    "Evan!" The cry tore
free from James' throat.
    The gunman threw James' son to
the floor, then stepped on the teen's back. The man's gun was no longer pointed
at James, but rather ground into his son's temple.
    "We don't need –" began
the sad-eyed man. Aaron.
    "Shut up," said the
gunman before returning his gaze to James. "Listen, Pops. I know you're
scared. But you've got two minutes to get this door open. And if you get it
wrong…." He shifted his grip slightly, then brought the butt down against
Evan's shoulder. Evan screamed, and beyond the doorway, out of sight, so did Beth,
shrieking in anguish.
    She can see this. Can see him.
    Can Ashley see it?
    ( What's happening? )
    "Please," he said.
"No."
    The gunman just stared at him.
Even without the mask James suspected he wouldn't have seen anything he
understood. These people – they weren't men, they weren't women. Just monsters.
    "Time's a-wastin',
Pops," said the gunman.
    James heard a low groan roll
through the closet space. Realized after a moment it had come from him.
    He turned back to the safe.
Trying not to think about his wife and daughter, held in the room by people
willing to kill without a moment's thought. Trying not to think of his son,
bruised and crying on the floor only inches away.
    Trying to get his hand to stop shaking .
His mind to focus .
    The moan disappeared, replaced by
a shivering cry. Tears dripped down his cheeks; obscured his vision and made
everything seem like a nightmare and somehow at the same time more real than
anything James had ever