Erik. Are you all right? Why are you playing hero? Isn’t that why there’s a cop sitting in my foyer? Why isn’t he doing something?
Or can’t he?
Suddenly my claustrophobia rolls over me. I gasp, clutch my chest and try to remove the boulder, which must have landed on it. My heart might explode any moment.
I press my ear against the door and listen. All I hear is the blood pumping in my body. How do they get this to work in the movies? Jesus. This is bad.
I can’t leave Erik out there alone.
I pull the door open and listen again.
Nothing.
I step out and peek down the hallway.
Nothing still.
That’s good, I suppose, but it feels really bad. I just need to get to my cell phone. I’m gonna chain that thing to me in the future. I’m sorry for every bad thought I’ve ever had about it in the past.
I move down the hallway slowly, cautiously. Erik’s door is closed and I don’t even want to open it. Who knows what could be behind it?
When I reach the end, I see Erik’s stocking feet sticking out by the couch. No, no, no. This can’t be happening. God, let this be a dream, please.
I race to Erik and drop by his side. I see the little red dart sticking out of his shoulder. Pulling it out, I check him for a pulse.
He’s alive, thank God.
Okay, that’s good. Now, I just need to find my cell phone and we’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. We’re going to be fine.
I move over to the chair and dump the contents of my purse. Where in the hell is my phone? I know it was in here. I know it.
"Looking for this?"
Oh God.
I turn and see him standing there, holding my cell phone in his hand. A thousand thoughts come to my mind, but none make it past my lips before I hear the ‘puff’ noise and feel the stab. I look at the dart sticking out of my thigh.
It’s almost like it’s in someone else’s body, that’s how unreal this whole scene is to me. This is just a nightmare. I’ll wake up soon in Harper’s arms. Everything is going to be just fine.
I reach for the dart to remove it. If I take it out, the nightmare will end, I know. My vision is already cloudy and the room is spinning.
Harper, I’m sorry.
I press the buzzer.
I know the old guy who runs this thing is slow, but this is ridiculous. I mean, doesn’t he realize I want to get upstairs to Kelsey? I hated leaving earlier today, but I had errands I needed to run. And my Harley had to be driven. What use is all that power if I only have it sit in my garage all the damn time? I need to get Kels a leather jacket and a helmet so we can go out cruising together. It may be the only way she can have her hands on me in public.
I snicker. Kinda like that godawful movie ‘Grease 2’ which starred Michelle Pfeiffer and that flash-in-the-pan Maxwell Caufield. He was some geek loser until he got himself a bike, something I never suffered from. I think the big song about him was ‘Cool Rider.’ Oh, did I want to give Michelle a ride when I saw that movie.
Now I have my own cute blonde. And, oh, do I want to give her a ride.
I buzz the penthouse again and wait … again.
What the fuck is wrong with this guy?
Crap. What if something is wrong? Terribly wrong.
Kelsey.
I snag my cell phone off my belt and speed dial Bear’s number. Come on, buddy, have your cell with you. And have it turned on.
"Brice here."
Two of the sweetest words I’ve heard today. "Bear, Harper. I’m standing down in the lobby of Kels’ building and I’m not getting a fuckin’ answer upstairs. Don’t you have a man up there?"
His voice is immediately alert. "Yeah, we do. Let me try and reach him. Hold on." I hear him grab his radio and try to get through to the cop stationed in the apartment.
I know there won’t be an answer.
Even as I wait for Brice to confirm my fears, I am moving to the security desk where the guard has just returned from his rounds. I rap on the wood. "Do you have a key to the service elevator and the fire door to the penthouse?"
My question surprises him and he blinks at me. "Yeah, but…"
That’s all I need to hear, buddy. "Give them to me!" I bark.
"I can’t."
I reach across the desk and grab him by the front of his shirt, pulling him to me. "Give me the fucking keys!"
I see him reach for a small ring at his side and I snag it before he can.
"I’m calling the cops!" he protests.
"So am I, shithead." I release him and run to the service elevator.
"Look, Harper, I can’t reach our man. I want you to stay downstairs until I get there. I’m leaving right now."
I push the key into the slot and twist it, the doors closing in front of me. I press the penthouse floor and feel the jolt as the elevator begins to rise. "I guess you know what I’m going to say to that, Bear. Just get over here and bring the fucking cavalry!"
"We’ll be right there, Harper. Don’t do anything stupid."
Yeah, right.
I already did when I left this afternoon, I’m afraid.
The service elevator leaves me off at the back of the apartment. I step into the small alcove and fumble with the keys until I find the one that opens Kels’ fire door. Hearing the satisfying slide of the bolt, I pause for a moment to collect myself. If the bastard is in there, I don’t want to give him any more advantage over me.
I notice blood on the floor, but quickly realize it is from my own hand, from gripping the keys. Jesus, pull it together, Harper. I wipe my hand on the back of my jeans and slowly enter the kitchen.
No one else in here. Everything seems fine. I consider grabbing one of the butcher knives from the block, but refrain. Don’t need to get my damn throat slit.
Moving as quickly and as quietly as possible, I peer out into the living room.
"Oh fuck! Erik!" I can’t help but whisper.
My eyes freeze on the body. That’s what he is now – a body that the police will come and collect. I can’t seem to move as I take in every horrible thing that has been done to him. The smell of blood is overwhelming, and the dark fluid is everywhere. His face and neck have been hacked up with a knife, skin peeled back to the bone. The murder weapon is not more than a foot from his head, stuck through a picture of Erik and Kels.
My stomach lurches and I bite back the bile threatening to spill out. Lord knows I’ve seen this brutality before. But never to a friend.
"God, please don’t let me find Kels like that," I pray aloud.
Fighting down the nausea once more, I am on the move again. A glance to the foyer confirms my fear: the cop is slumped in his seat, shot once in the forehead, dead as dead can be. And lying in the elevator, feet sticking out of doors trying desperately to close but repeatedly bouncing open, is the old elevator guy. He’s been shot as well. Poor bastard. He was a nice old man.
I need to find Kelsey.
I rush headlong back into the apartment, no longer caring about being quiet or cautious. I only want to find her. And, yet, I am terrified of what I might see if I do.
I go into her bedroom, where not more than a few hours ago we were snuggled together, happy and content. It’s empty. Silent.
The bathroom door is closed. Thank God! She locked herself in there. She’s fine. She’s safe.
The door swings open when I grasp the handle.
"Kels!" I call out.
Only my own echo greets me from the tiles.
Fueled by fear, I rampage through the rest of the penthouse. I find every room empty.
She’s gone.
She’s gone.
She’s gone.
I don’t remember going back into the living room or sliding down the wall. But it’s where I find myself when Bear’s voice reaches me.