“Hello?” I called out in a voice that could have belonged to a scared two year old.
I thought I heard a faint rustling sound to my right in response.
I moved toward it. “Hello? Is anyone there?” I asked, not sure if I wanted someone to be or not. The last person I’d seen had hit me on the head. Not exactly ideal company.
I heard more rustling, this time accompanied by a moan much like the one I’d just made.
“Maddie?” a small, female voice called out.
“Dana! Is that you?” I asked, reaching my hands out in front of me as I slowly moved toward the sound.
“My head is killing me,” Dana whined, her voice growing closer as I carefully crawled along the floor toward her.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I don’t know. One minute I was searching through a bathroom cabinet, the next I’m here.” She paused. “Are you okay?”
I nodded in the dark. “Yeah. Ditto the headache, but I’m alright,” I said, feeling my hands come up against the fabric of her satin dress. She quickly grabbed my hand, squeezing it in hers as if she expected the Boogieman to jump out at us any second.
Which, honestly, was a possibility at this point.
“Where’s Marco?” I asked.
“I don’t know. He took the next door down from me.”
“Marco?” I called out in the darkness.
But only silence echoed back at me.
I felt Dana squeeze my hand just that much tighter.
“I’m sure he’s okay,” I said, more to myself than her. “I’m sure he’s fine, he’s looking for us, maybe even going for help right now.”
I felt Dana nod beside me. “Uh huh,” she agreed. Though her voice was about as unconvincing as mine. “Any clue where we are?” Dana asked
I shook my head. (Which, by the way was a very bad idea, prompting more throbbing, burning, and general pain in my temples.) “None,” I answered, truthfully. I squinted through the blackness, my eyes having adjusted just enough to make out some basic shapes. We were in a corridor of some kind, only a few feet wide but long enough that I couldn’t see the end of it. The walls were concrete, the same cold, damp consistency as the floor. I could hear the faint sounds of music and laughter, telling me the head-basher hadn’t dragged us too far from Sebastian’s party. I swiveled around and could just make out the shape of a doorway behind me.
“Look over there,” I said, pointing it out.
I slowly stood up, realizing my left foot was asleep, and waddled toward it. I felt Dana right behind me, her hands on my back as she felt her way along the damp walls. Unfortunately, as we got closer, I realized that, while it was a door alright, there was no handle on our side of it.
I ran my fingers along the edges, looking for any sort of spot to get a finger-hold, but came up empty.
Dana hit the door with her palm. “Hey!” she shouted. She did some more pounding. “Help! Can anyone hear us?”
Only silence greeted us on the other side.
If we were still hidden away somewhere at Sebastian’s place, the party music was too loud for anyone to hear us.
I spun around, instead scanning the corridor for anything we might be able to use to pry the door open. Sadly, I could only see about a foot in front of myself. I squatted down, slowing crawling along the floor, hands out in front of me, hoping they contacted with something useful before they contacted with something yucky. Dust, a cobweb (definitely yucky!), and more damp floor. I was about to give up when my hands hit something soft and leathery. I grabbed on, exploring the surface and coming up against fringe before I realized it was my Santana bag!
“Dana, my purse is in here,” I shouted, feeling her come up behind me. I dug my hands inside, feeling the vinyl arms of Baby-So-Lifelike, the cold metal of a lipstick tube, a couple of tampons long forgotten in the bottom, some receipts, and a few pieces I couldn’t identify by touch. The one thing noticeably absent was my cell.
I felt my spirits sinking faster than the Titanic. “He took my phone.”
“Same here,” I heard Dana say, rustling to my right. “He left a nail file, though. Think that might help?”
“It’s worth a try.”
We held hands, feeling our way in the dark back toward the knob-less door, and stuck the metal file into the crack between the door and the jamb. Dana wiggled it, twisted it, moved it up and down.
But the door stayed shut.
I’m not sure how long we stood there jiggling, but my right foot was just starting to join my left in dreamland when I heard a sound on the other side of the door.
I froze.
I felt Dana go still beside me. She’d heard it too.
We both jumped back, and I bit my lip, uncertain if I should try to hide or call for help.
“Help!” Dana yelled, apparently not having the same dilemma. “Someone help! We’re stuck in here!” she yelled.
A second later the door swung open, the sudden light blinding me. Instinctively I ducked my head, shielding my eyes from the onslaught of brightness.
“Marco!” I heard Dana yell beside me.
I blinked against the light, making out two forms silhouetted in the doorway. One was slumped forward, limp as a ragdoll, and wearing skintight pants. The other was tall, holding form number one up, and holding a gun in the other hand.
I did an involuntary yip that echoed in the corridor as the form with the gun unceremoniously dumped Marco at our feet.
“Marco, can you hear me?” Dana asked, quickly crawling toward him.
“Don’t move,” the figure holding the gun informed her.
Dana froze.
“Either of you,” he said, swinging the weapon my way.
I wisely froze, too.
The figure reached behind himself and shut the door again, closing off any means of escape, then switched on a flashlight, bathing the room in soft light.
I looked up at our attacker, expecting to see icy blue eyes and a pair of fangs gleaming at me.
Instead, I saw a thick head of hair, thick glasses, and a thick dimpled neck.
Bill Blaise.
I blinked, feeling a frown form between my eyebrows as I took in his black slacks, black jacket, and costume-store fangs. “I don’t understand,” I mused out loud. “What are you doing here?”
He turned the gun my way. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here, is the question,” he countered. “What are you doing nosing around where you don’t belong. Stirring up trouble where there was none. Digging into people’s personal lives that should be left alone.”
Honestly? I did have a habit of doing that. But I didn’t think now was the time to admit it.
“Against the wall,” he said, motioning Dana and I to the far side of the corridor.
We scuttled backward, crab-walking until I felt the concrete of the wall hit my back.
“You killed Alexa?” I asked, puzzle pieces slowly falling into place.
He spun on me. “Brilliant, Sherlock,” he said, heavy on the sarcasm.
“But why?”
“Why? Because the bitch was blackmailing me, that’s why,” he spit out, just this side of foaming at the mouth.
“So this never did have anything to do with vampires,” Dana mused.
Blaise shot her a look. “Of course it did. What do you think she was blackmailing me over?”
“Wait,” said, my little mental hamster jumping on her wheel as I took in his outfit again. “You mean, you are a vampire?”
“Oh, don’t be so Moonlight. Of course I’m not. There is no such thing as a real vampire. But, once a month I played vampire at one of Sebastian’s parties. Goldstein turned me on to them one night while I was in town signing some documents. He said they were a great way to unwind.”