Chapter Sixty-Two
Eliot
The weather report lied. They claimed it’d stay in the eighties today, but by the time I reach the abandoned middle school on Turnbull, the thermometer in my truck reads ninety-five.
I check the notes before I turn off the engine.
Power was cut two years ago when the district decided it was cheaper to build a new school than retrofit this one.
Never restored. Guess I ain’t testin’ the water pump.
Not today. Should’ve looked at the file last night.
Hell, even first thing this morning. Then, I could’ve gotten someone from the power company to meet me out here.
Too late now. They’ll put me off until tomorrow for sure.
At least the other three properties were simple. I didn’t have to think much. Walk the structure, check the suppression tags against the main list, confirm the structural elements match what’s on file, and give the site a ruling.
This one, though…it’s a fucking maze inside. Dozens of classrooms, gym, locker rooms, and more closets than a damn hotel. Every time I turn around, I find another one. Half of ‘em still have boxes of paper towels, toilet paper, and cleaning supplies in them.
The sprinkler heads are a problem. Twenty-five percent fewer than on the coverage map. I can’t check the coating on the steel columns—not without cutting deep into a wall, but I ain’t hopeful. I’ll come back with a couple of the junior guys tomorrow.
I give up after two hours. There’s no danger of the district suddenly deciding to reopen it. I flag it as unsafe for occupancy and head for home.
The apartment’s mostly quiet. Umberto’s blasting music next door, but I’ve never minded that.
He always shuts it down by eight, and I’ll be out of here in half an hour.
Just need a shower, some clothes that don’t reek, and my project bag.
If I’m lucky, I’ll be early enough to grab a couple of tacos from the truck across the street from Purl on Pine.
I drop my keys in the bowl by the door and untuck my shirt. Maybe I’ll be brave enough to wear short sleeves tonight. The women will notice, but I’m tired of hiding.
Opening the fridge, I hunt for the last Dr. Pepper. I really need to go shopping.
Blinding pain cracks across my skull. The can hits the floor, and as I try to straighten and right my balance, my foot lands right on it. I go down, hard, my back slamming into the cabinets.
On instinct, I throw my arms over my face. The second blow slams into my forearm.
I can’t focus. Too many stars bursting in front of my eyes. He’s big. That’s all I know. He hauls me up and slams me against the wall.
“He wants to talk to you.” The man’s raspy voice is too close. Almost right in my ear. A rough hand closes around my throat.
Air. Fuck! I need air.
I bring my knee up, catching him in the balls, and he lets go with a whimper too small for a guy his size. I blink hard. He’s got his hands crossed over his crotch, half bent over, but I’m not getting out of this kitchen if I can’t get him to move.
“Call the cops!” I shout.
That pulls his attention toward the door. I grab the frying pan from the dish rack, and slam it into the back of his head. That sends him to his knees.
It’s enough for me to get around him, and I make it to the living room before he catches me. We go down together, crashing into the side table. The lamp topples over, and I land next to my project bag.
I don’t think. Just grab one of the needles sticking out the side, twist, and use all the strength I have left to stab him. Fuck! He’s wearing a suit. A goddamn suit, and the bamboo needle snaps in two before it can do any damage. I throw a punch, the skin on my back pulling tight with the motion.
Blood spills from his lip. For a second, I think I might get away. I’m dizzy, but I force myself to my feet.
His fist finds my knee—my left knee. The whole leg buckles, sending me sprawling. I’ve got nothing left except the knowledge that if I give up, I’ll die. And I really don’t want to die.
He stands over me, fists my hair, and yanks my head back until he can wrap his other arm around my throat.
The pressure builds, each breath harder than the last. I claw at his arm, but the suit is too thick.
Kicking and thrashing, I catch his ribs with an elbow, and the pressure loosens enough for me to draw half a breath.
But that’s all he gives me.
The room starts to gray at the edges. I’m not winning this fight. Somewhere under the panic, under my body’s desperate need for oxygen, I know I’ve lost.
The gray is darker now. My limbs are still flailing, but that’s not me. A body starved for air does whatever it can to survive.
Umberto’s music fades away. Everything fades. Except one thought.
Parker.
I never told her…
Never told…
I…