I watched Martinez struggle for breath, and some intangible part of me ripped as well. As much as I had hated him, I now felt stirrings of compassion and regret. I didn’t want him to die.
“Hold on,” I pleaded. “Help is on the way.”
I looked up at Liam, now leaning over Martinez’s body, and our eyes met. Through the darkness, I could see the fear in his expression. Did this remind him of the night his dad had cut open his head with a beer bottle?
I wanted to reach out and calm him, but my hands were bloodied, and I started coughing. Then it hit me. I looked around—black smoke was blowing our way.
Fire.
“I’m going up to 4E—you stay with him,” I said to Liam.
“No, you can’t…” Liam trailed off as Martinez gasped in pain. “Ruby, the police will be here soon, just wait.”
“If she’s in there, it will be too late,” I said, letting go of Martinez.
Clutching the key in my bloody hand, I bolted to find Dr. T.
From the center of the courtyard I scanned the six surrounding two-story buildings for the right apartment. It wasn’t hard to find—flames behind the windows, not to mention the billowing smoke emerging out the open door, was a pretty good indication of which apartment would be 4E.
I scaled the staircase and covered my nose with the sleeve of my hoodie as the thickening smoke nearly knocked me out of my resolve.
Once through the door, I tried to orient myself among the flames. At the far end of the room, a large metal cage contained what looked like two lifeless bodies. The surging nausea rose again, but this time it had nothing to do with the smoke.
I urged my feet forward. I had no time to close my eyes and try to overcome my stupid psychotic fear of bars. I had to get to the bodies before the flames did, or we’d all die. Black smoke surrounded me. Dancing on the ceiling. Climbing up the walls. Suffocating everything—including a photo of a girl on the wall.
The same girl from the sketch at the art fair. What?
No, I couldn’t think about that now. Another coughing fit hit me. I fell to the ground, aching for oxygen, desperate for clear thought.
Then I saw Dr. T. She was one of the bodies in the cage, blindfolded and duct taped. I crawled to the cage and searched for the lock that matched my key, but I couldn’t find it. Tears in my eyes made it even harder to see—a pure physical reaction to the smoke.
Finally, I found a clunky metal lock and slipped the old key in. It clicked and turned, and the barred door swung open. I forced myself inside—reminding myself that I’d beaten the cage before and could do it again. I pulled Dr. T’s limp body over and saw something written on the duct tape covering her mouth: “SECRETS.” What the hell was that supposed to mean? I checked her pulse—it was slow but steady.
I didn’t want to, but I reached for the other body, too. Eyes stinging and lungs closing up, I pulled on his shirt. It was definitely number four—Roger Vay, the Key Killer, with the same gray tape, same message: “SECRETS.”
There was no way I could get them both out before the flames consumed us. Silver was making me choose. Making me condemn one to death.
I grabbed Dr. T’s arms and wrapped them around my neck as I crawled out onto the green shaggy carpet. Once outside the cage, I dragged her by the shoulders with every ounce of strength I had left, trying to locate the door. The smoke was too dense, the flames too high, my legs too weak. As I searched for the way out, a flame seared through my cloth Toms. Of all my precious shoes, these had to be the most flammable.
The flapping flames framed the exit. Desperate for oxygen, I had no more time to think. I called on my last shreds of adrenaline and strength to pick up Dr. T and sling her over my shoulder. My knees almost buckled, but I steadied myself for the five seconds I needed to burst through the doorframe. I collapsed as soon as I sensed fresh air.
We were outside the apartment at least.
“Liam!” I screamed, coughing up a lung. “Help!” My head felt like it wasn’t my own. I was disoriented and barely alive—I felt like I was choking to death. If I just lay my head down here, maybe it would feel better. Maybe Liam would come and we’d be OK.
A blanket of cool air swept over my body as I drifted in and out of consciousness. In a distant corner of my mind I was no longer in danger. I was weightless and free. I thought I was in the ocean, lying flat on my longboard. With the sun on my back, I let my arms dangle in the water. I heard my dad’s voice in the distance, gently calling my name. The current was taking me toward him…
A jarring pain stabbed through my chest, and a coughing fit brought me back to reality.
The last thing I felt was being carried away in the arms of a strong man.
The last thing I saw was the reflection of flames in the man’s eyes through the clear plastic shield of his black tactical helmet. Familiar eyes with an unfamiliar intensity.
The last thing I heard was my own voice screaming, “Wait, Dr. T!”
CHAPTER 23
Everything glowed too white. Too sterile.
I couldn’t keep my eyes open with all these fluorescent bulbs trying to blind me. I could barely breathe with whatever was strapped to my face. I couldn’t move with my arms bound.
Wait. I was tied up? Where was I?
I forced open my eyes to look down at the body that surely wasn’t mine, even though it was attached to my very dizzy, throbbing head. An atrocious gown covered my torso, and sandpapery white sheets covered my legs. I didn’t even want to think what kind of nasty wool socks covered my feet. I felt them scratching my heels, and that was enough to piss me off.
I jerked at the leather straps at my wrists and ankles, blinking wildly from light overexposure. My damn pupils stung like invisible fairies were taking archery practice on my eyeballs—
I had to be on drugs to be thinking like this.
The plastic mask covering my mouth felt sweaty and claustrophobic. I wanted it off. Now.
Was this some kind of torture room? Where was Liam? And Dr. T?
I closed my eyes and fought my restraints. I don’t think I meant to scream, but it sure sounded like my voice echoing off the white walls and beeping machines.
“Relax, honey, relax!” A voice caught me off guard—a sharp, authoritative voice, accompanied by soft, heavy hands. I stopped fighting long enough to find out who was brave enough to call me honey when I was in such a foul mood.
All I saw were huge boobs. Not the usual perky Hollywood implants, but enormous mounds of flesh.
“It’ll be better if you relax,” the sharp voice warned.
I slammed my head back against the pillow. Whoever this lady was, she meant business. She’d probably been hired to carry out the torture. I wouldn’t make it easy for her.
Step 1: Get free.
Step 2: Land a serious knee kick to her head. Striking her anywhere in her core would be like trying to punch Play-Doh. Hell, those breasts were as good as a bulletproof vest.
Step 3: Find clothes.
Step 4: Run!
Of course, this brilliant plan only had a chance if I could steady my breathing and get free. I didn’t need the beeping monitor to tell me my heart rate was dangerously high.
“I don’t want to have to increase your dose,” she said as she fussed with my straps, my mask, my sheets. “But you’re testing my patience.”
“Please, just tell me where I am and what is going on,” I said. But given the combo of not having spoken in who knows how long and the thick plastic mask covering my mouth, I doubted she understood. I lifted my thirty-pound bowling-ball head to plead with my eyes.
“I’m going to untie these wrist straps now,” she said with less attitude and more tenderness than I expected. “You’re going to be all right. Now that you’re awake, no more thrashing around, OK?” She moved in and started working on the ties. I prepared myself for the moment when I’d be free, heel kick her in the jaw, and escape this strange, sterile dungeon. I’d find Dr. T and carry her on my back if I had to—