Four Found Dead, page 13
“No.”
“Can you still move your fingers and your thumb on that arm?”
He flexes them experimentally, and blood oozes from the wound.
“Okay, never mind that. I guess I still have some medical things to learn.”
“You’ll have plenty of school to teach you. Twelve years of it, I think.”
I laugh and hear the patter of footsteps. My laugh cuts abruptly to silence, my eyes searching the darkness near the entrance. I wish I’d thought to turn the flashlight off, or told Hudson to signal if it was him. Then the plastic rustles, and Hudson’s dark, shaggy head pokes back into the food court. He’s holding a box.
“How is he?” Hudson asks.
“Alive,” Quincy says.
“Tell me you found something helpful?” I ask.
Hudson moves carefully closer, and I look up, accepting a first aid kit, a couple of bottles of water, and a stack of T-shirts.
“That kiosk was a bust, but there was a gift shop with the same kind of locked gate. As soon as we pushed out the pin at the top, we got right in.”
“Where’s Naomi?”
“I’m over here,” she says, sounding a bit sheepish. “I’m going to keep a lookout.”
“We…” Hudson trails off, and Naomi coughs. I look up just as they look away from each other. Hudson crouches near Quincy and me and continues, “We heard something on the second floor, so I threw a shark.”
“You threw a shark?” I ask, using the water to rinse the worst of the blood off my hands before opening the first aid kit.
“It was one of those big bathtub toys from the gift shop,” Naomi says.
Hudson nods and takes the water to help me rinse my hands better. “The shark worked fine. I just needed something to distract anyone that might have heard us.”
“Where did you throw it?” I ask.
He shrugs. “At a wall near the south side of the mall. Between here and the theater.”
“And that helped how?” I ask.
“Yeah, it was a weird idea,” Naomi says. “But it did make a hell of a noise. So whoever we heard was definitely led in the wrong direction.”
Hudson holds the first aid kit and keeps it steady while I carefully wipe my hands with an alcohol wipe.
“Wicked papercut, man,” he says.
Quincy’s laugh is more of a cough, but it’s good. We could stand a lighter mood. I use a bottle of antiseptic wash to irrigate Quincy’s arm as well as I can. He hisses but bears through the pain pretty well. I empty the entire bottle, hoping to God it will catch any gross germs my dirty hands pushed into the wound. When it’s empty, I carefully pull on the sterile nitrile gloves. I hardly think I’ve done an operating-room-worthy job of keeping things clean, and he’ll definitely need antibiotics and stitches, but it’s better than nothing.
“Perhaps I am mistaken, but gloves seem a little silly now, don’t they?” Quincy says. From my questioning look, he waves at them vaguely with his good hand. “You already have blood on your sleeves and your pants. I’m sorry about this, by the way.”
“This isn’t for my benefit. It’s for yours. I should have tried to find some antibacterial gel before I touched your arm in the first place.”
“It seemed that time was of the essence,” Quincy says.
“We brought shirts just in case there wasn’t enough gauze,” Naomi says from her safe distance. She jiggles another wad of T-shirts folded over one arm, and I raise my brows. Exactly how many shirts did they pilfer from that gift shop?
“Those are going to come in handy soon enough. Quincy, let’s go ahead and get this arm bandaged better. What do you think?”
“I think I wish I could stop reliving how it felt to pull that hunk of glass out.”
“Oh my God,” Naomi says, sounding faintly ill.
“Dude.” Hudson cocks his head. “That’s some hard-core shit.”
“It was indeed hard-core,” Quincy says, his smile weary.
“Here,” Hudson says, and he reaches forward to take Quincy’s glasses before cleaning them with the hem of his shirt.
I watch, transfixed as he carefully replaces them. “Better?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“You are full of surprises, Hudson,” I say, and he laughs, his cheeks looking a little darker.
“That’s truer than you know.” He winks, and I turn back to Quincy to start cleaning up.
I clean the worst of the mess and am pleased to see the wound isn’t bleeding much. If I remember the class right, I think it’s better to leave it open if the bleeding slows, so I carefully open sterile gauze pads and start layering them on.
“Should you use some of those tape things?” Hudson asks. “To close it up?”
“I don’t really know,” I say. “I think they’re for small cuts.”
Hudson arches a brow. “Wouldn’t exactly call this a small cut.”
“It’s perfectly fine if you’d like to keep all these little details to yourself,” Quincy says.
“Sorry,” I say. “You’re doing great. Pretty soon, you’ll see no blood. Only bandage.”
“Unless I look down for even a moment at my shirt.”
“Yes, unless you do that.”
I carefully layer the last gauze pads before fixing everything in place with long strips of medical tape. I wrap them in the crook of his elbow and closer to his armpit then sit back, shucking my gloves with a contented huff.
“I think it’s pretty good, but maybe avoid using your hand to keep the wound from reopening,” I say.
“Turn your flashlights off,” Naomi says abruptly.
Something about her tone makes me instantly comply. I shift to flick off the power on the light Hudson wedged in the chair. Hudson already has his flashlight off, so the darkness returns, thick and surprising.
“What is it?” Quincy asks softly. His voice feels closer in the dark. “What’s happening?”
“What do you see, Naomi?” I whisper.
My eyes slowly adjust, and though it is very dark in here, I see dim light coming from the front of the food court. Naomi is carefully tucked behind the half-open door, and she’s peering through a gap in the plastic sheeting. Her shoulders are tense, and her hands are balled into fists. I’m sure she’s watching something. And I’m just as sure that whatever it is, it’s very bad news.
Chapter 22
“What’s out there, Naomi?” Hudson asks quietly.
“Clayton,” she says, keeping her voice to a whisper. “He’s on the second-floor balcony. He’s looking for something. He has a little flashlight. Like the kind from key chains.”
Hudson slips through the shadows until he’s very close to Naomi’s position. He’s nearly a foot taller than her, so I’m guessing he can see through the same gap she’s viewing. And Quincy and I are back here in the dark, seeing nothing. Knowing nothing.
“He’s heard something,” Hudson says. “One of us or maybe Summer.”
I think of Lexi’s tangled hair. Hannah’s twisted neck. Is Clayton really going for another victim? Why is he doing this? Why won’t it stop? My head feels buzzy and strange. “Where is he headed?”
“Can’t tell yet,” Hudson says. “Best get up just in case, but be quiet about it.”
“He’s in the stairwell,” Naomi breathes.
I help Quincy to his feet as quietly as possible. Together, we pick our way carefully across the restaurant until we’re a few feet behind Hudson and Naomi. They’re standing at the edge of the plastic sheet that separates the remnants of the food court from the rest of the mall. Any moment now, Clayton could burst out of the stairwell on the ground floor. I try to remember exactly where it is. Twenty yards north of here? It might be even less.
He could have seen us come in here, or he could have heard Quincy earlier when he fell. But he wouldn’t approach us, would he? There are four of us. He can’t possibly be that stupid, right?
Quincy stays just to my left, close enough that I can feel him shaking. Is it because he’s still in shock or because he’s lost a decent bit of blood? I’ll need to keep an eye on him.
“Where did he go? Do you see him?” I ask, my voice whispery and frightened.
“We’re watching the stairwell door,” Hudson murmurs.
Naomi takes a sharp breath. “He’s on the third floor now. I just saw him. We’re okay.”
“We are, but she’s not,” Hudson says, pointing.
“Oh shit.” Naomi’s voice is tight. “This is not good. Not good.”
I’m done being lost in the dark with my heart hammering and an injured person a few feet behind me. I push my way to the door and hear Quincy slowly following. Just a little closer, and my vision improves infinitely thanks to the light in the mall.
I scan the shadows and darkness on the third floor. For a while, it’s nothing, just endless smears of black and gray, until I spot a small white light moving up and down. Up and down.
Clayton.
A shudder rolls through me as I watch that glowing tip travel along the balcony. And then all is dark again. It must be one of those push flashlights—the kind you have to hold down to keep lit.
“Summer is on the third floor too. She just opened a door,” Naomi says.
“Is she okay?” Quincy asks. “Is she safe?”
“She went into the stairwell,” Hudson says.
“What’s she doing?” I ask.
“I think she’s running.” Naomi turns to me, and I can see the horror on her face. “Jo, I think she’s running from him.”
“We need to do something,” Quincy asks, surprising me. He’s just behind me now, his face pale and shiny with sweat. But he looks alert and doesn’t seem to be shaking.
“We can’t. She’s in the stairwell, but we don’t know if Clayton’s seen her. We could make it worse if we draw attention.”
“Then Hudson was wrong,” Quincy says, his voice steady.
Hudson doesn’t move, but Naomi turns to face us. “Wrong about what?”
“About her being involved,” Hudson says. I hear the slightest edge of tension in his words. “If Clayton’s chasing her, she’s innocent, and she’s alone out there.”
“Maybe we should have done something,” Naomi says, sounding stricken.
“Like what?” Hudson asks. “She ran away. With zero explanation.”
Naomi shakes her head “Yeah, but no one can explain how people react to a mess like this. That’s animal instinct shit.”
“Be quiet,” I say, but it’s not because I don’t agree. It’s because I want to know what’s happening, and they are being too loud for us to hear.
Maybe there’s something we can do now. Summer’s a kid. A panicked kid who tried to help us. And now she’s out there alone with a killer.
A door bangs open, and I scan the balconies, spotting that pinprick of light again on the third floor. Did he open a door? Is he moving?
“Second floor,” Hudson breathes. “Summer’s on the second floor.”
It feels like the whole world is collectively holding its breath. Waiting to see what will happen next.
Summer emerges from the shadows. She is fifty yards down the balcony from us and headed north, toward the center of the mall. Which is exactly where Clayton is standing, one floor above.
My heart pounds, and my chest aches. I have to do something, but what? Splitting up is not an option, and Quincy is in no shape to run after her. So what options do we have? My feet feel glued to the floor. My eyes know where to find the monster now, and I can’t pull my gaze away from the small white light he’s holding.
When Summer is close, the light goes out. There is only darkness above her, but I know what’s hiding in those shadows. She’s still running, and I hear the soft tread of her steps from here, so there’s no chance Clayton won’t hear it too.
I see a flash of long hair on the second balcony. A slim arm. Summer is running directly beneath him now. My heart thumps, and my hands roll into fists. I don’t know where he is. I don’t know what he—
“Summer.” Clayton’s voice is an awful singsong greeting, a sound that scrapes layers of the quiet away to leave all our fear exposed.
Chills run the length of my body, and Summer halts mid-step. She whirls, her knotted hair flying around her. Every fiber of my being is telling me to crouch. To hide. But I am done being that girl.
I’m trying to choose the best move when a shadow peels away from the others on the third floor. It’s Clayton. He suddenly hurls the top half of his body over the railing, and then the small flashlight flicks on, the beam illuminating his features from below.
It’s horrific. His perfect white teeth are bared in a parody of a smile. Every plastic inch of him turns me cold with fear.
He changes his angle, crouching to reach through the railing slats. My stomach tumbles, but his fingers grasp at nothing. He can’t reach down far enough to do whatever the hell he wanted to do. But then a clang, clang, clang rings out in the quiet.
We all flinch, but none of us like Summer, who cowers instantly on the balcony. She crouches away from the railing, but she is right below him. And she is frozen. Clayton’s smile gleams in the distance, and my stomach clenches. I have to do something.
I have to stop him and protect Summer and keep Quincy safe, and it’s too much. There are too many things, and my brain is tugging me to that safe sluggish place. I feel trapped in wet cement, but I am fighting. Scanning the mall for a weapon. An option. Something I can do.
Clayton slaps the metal bars again; this time the sound is different. Harder. Summer yelps and he laughs. Throws back his head like someone would do onstage in theater, like her terror is the greatest punchline he can imagine.
Naomi shifts and brushes the plastic. Noise ripples through the sheet.
Clayton’s laughter fades in an instant, and my skin goes cold. Did he hear that? Is that possible? His face is lost in shadow again, but I sense him watching us. Impossibly, I feel his eyes on me.
I know it isn’t possible. We’re behind the plastic. He can’t see us, but I think he heard. He knows where we are now. There can’t be any question about that. Before, when Quincy fell, Clayton might have been in a stairwell or at the opposite side of the mall. We may have gotten lucky then, but this time, he’s right across from us, and I’m sure he heard that noise.
For a moment, there is nothing but stillness and quiet. Stillness and quiet. And then I see Summer. She stays away from the railing, but sometimes I catch a flash of movement or a change in the shadow. She is moving south, and Clayton is matching her pace. He’s chasing her one floor above.
He’s almost to the emergency stairs. One flight down and he’ll be on her. She won’t be fast enough to get away from him. She’ll die while we watch.
I move toward the gap in the plastic. And then the words burst out of me. “Get the hell away from her!”
My whole body jerks in shock. I whirl around, as if I’m not quite sure that just came out of me. Hudson’s expression matches everything I’m feeling. Quincy’s too. Only Naomi looks unsurprised—maybe because she looks terrified.
“Shit,” Hudson says. No whispering this time.
I turn back to my peephole to the atrium. Summer is gone. Maybe she ran. Maybe she’s hiding. But Clayton is staring our way again, hands on the railing, his face pushed out to catch the moon from the skylights. He is an equation of ugly angles in this light. I see the shine of those white teeth again. And hear him laugh.
“Wait your turn, Jo,” he says.
A wave of cold runs through my body as my mind wraps itself around those four words. And then Clayton melts back into the darkness. A few seconds later, I hear a door open and then shut.
Clayton is back in the stairwell. And he is coming for us, one by one.
Chapter 23
Someone tugs my arm. It’s Hudson.
“We’re going,” he says, and without giving me a moment to think or breathe or respond, he pulls me forward.
He ushers Quincy and Naomi ahead, and we all head south against the wall, plastic to our left, a wall to our right, and a murderer somewhere we cannot see.
“Where are we going?” I ask, but Hudson is moving fast. He’s laced his fingers with mine, and I am a rag doll, being pulled along for the ride. He moves faster until he is just behind Naomi.
“We have to get the hell out of here,” Naomi says.
“I know. You don’t think I know that?” Hudson asks.
“We should have told them,” Naomi cries.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, but Hudson tries to move faster. I yank back hard, looking behind us. “Slow down! Quincy can’t do this.”
Hudson ignores me, so I jerk my hand free from his grip. “Stop!”
“It’s okay,” Quincy says roughly. He’s catching up quickly, but it’s clear running is not in the cards. But he gives a thumbs-up with his good arm. “Everything’s okay.”
“Like hell it is!” Hudson says.
“What the hell has gotten into you?” I ask.
“He found the gun,” Hudson says. “Clayton. He’s got the gun again.”
My throat goes dry. I look at Naomi because I want her to shake her head or laugh or explain what he really means. But she looks at me, tight curls flying in every direction, her dark eyes soft and warm the way they are when Cara cries.
“It’s true,” she says.
A door bangs open, and we all turn. It’s the other side of the mall, over the bridge and across the bone-dry river. Clayton.
Hudson turns, his finger pressed to his lips in warning. His eyes are nearly black, or maybe that’s just the shadows. But he takes my hand and cocks his head before he starts out.
