“Oh my God. Alice.”
He drops his phone at the sight of me and doesn’t even seem to notice.
“Richard,” I whisper. “Hurry. He’s coming back. Help me get out of this.”
Richard doesn’t move. He just stares. This man who works nights in an emergency room can’t comprehend the carnage in front of him.
“Richard, help.” My whisper is now a hiss.
Suddenly, he gasps, as if just emerging from a full minute under water. I think the smell just hit him, because he bends over and heaves.
Damn it.
I need to do what I’ve always done. Rely on myself. I lean over and saw at the tape on my left ankle, then see something I curse myself for having forgotten.
Brenda’s scalpel.
It’s close to her hand. I can’t reach it without tipping myself over.
“Richard, listen to me. Listen to me. Hand me the scalpel from the floor. That’s all you need to do. Then get out of here and call the police.”
Richard looks at me, a wave of guilt washing over his face. Then he smacks his own face. Actually hits it, hard. Shakes it off, and suddenly he’s in control of himself. He takes three steps, reaches for the scalpel, but doesn’t hand it to me. Instead, he quickly slices through the tape on my left ankle.
He moves to the tape on my right ankle and is just about to cut it off when Jack comes in and shoots him.