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"Linda," Freeman ordered, "get back. Get away from him!" |
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"Do something," Linda pleaded as she stumbled away. |
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"It is pointless to run, Ruthie. You are Ruthie, aren't you?" |
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"I'm not Ruthie!" she screamed. |
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"I was sent here on a mission." Bartholomew's voice was no longer human. It was a thingmechanical, menacing, maddening. "I am a present for the one called Ruthie." |
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Freeman continued to play the eerie yellow light over the man's contorted features. "Linda," he whispered, "listen to me. He's heavily drugged; I don't think he can get up. I'm not sure what's going on here, but you've got to get out of here." |
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"But he's sick," she whimpered. |
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"Yeah, Bartholomew's sick . . . but we're dealing with something else now," Freeman hissed. "I don't know why, I don't know how, but somehow that thing in the jar has possessed him. He thinks he's somebody else, somebody whose sole mission it is to destroy this person called Ruthieand we can't stop him." |
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"Damn it, Linda, do what I tell you. You've got to get out of here!" |
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