Eighty-four

The beam of her flashlight finally found purchase. A set of stairs. Metal treads painted a matte black. She aimed the Mag to her right and its beam reflected back to her, dulled by gray cinderblock. To the left, the beam reached a short distance before being swallowed by the black.

Whaddya waitin’ for? You aren’t scared are you?

Wade’s words came to her—half taunt, half dare—forcing her through the hatch, onto the narrow landing that topped the stairs. Lifting the Kimber off her hip, she aimed its barrel through the open doorway, taking them slowly, panning the light in a slow sweep in front of her, assessing her surroundings before each step.

Strickland would be so proud of her.

She thought of her old partner—the way he mothered her, pestered her into prudence. He was the voice of reason she so often lacked. She’d give anything to have him here with her now.

She realized something was wrong a split second too late. Stepping on the next stair tread, she planted her heavy-soled boot in its center but it gave way, folding beneath her foot like it was made of paper. She flung her arm out, grabbing for anything that would keep her upright, but the railing had been removed. There was nothing left to stop her fall.

Her boot sank, hooking into the frame that held the bogus stair tread in place. She pitched forward, Maglite flying from her grip, its beam a bright wing beating against the dark. She heard it land on the floor, watched the light of it spin below her even as she tumbled—face, shoulder, hip—each rotation jarring bone. Battering flesh.

She landed on her back, hitting the ground so hard her lungs seized in her chest, head ringing, joints screaming. She forced out the breath that was trapped in her lungs. Pulled in another, letting it out on a soft groan.

Don’t be mad at me, darlin’. You had to know trusting me was a bad idea.

Her gun hand was empty, fingers clamped around nothing but air. She turned her head, searching for it, but it was gone. Swallowed by that field of black.

Get up. Get up. Get up.

This voice did not belong to Wade. It was hers, and hearing it inside her own head was a comfort. She struggled to obey. Rolling on her shoulder, she pushed her foot against the floor, urging the two of them to work in tandem. To get moving. Get herself upright. The cool concrete bit into the bed of her foot. She’d lost her goddamn boot on the staircase.

“You don’t know how happy we are that you accepted our invitation, Melissa.”

She was half off the floor when she looked up, her eyes wheeling upward to catch sight of his face. Again, she was struck by how little he’d changed in the years since she’d known him. It was like he’d been suspended in time, waiting for her to come back.

“Hey, Manny. How’s it going?” she said, spitting out a mouthful of blood while her hand crept slowly along the floor, searching for her gun. The wedge of sky visible through the open hatch above them opened up. A thunderous crack reverberated in her chest.

“We’re better,” he told her, matching her tone, “now that you’re here.” He smiled down at her. It was the last thing she saw before he delivered a vicious kick to her face. After that, all she saw was dark.