Chapter Forty
FORTY
The emergency stairs are dimly lit, the only light coming from the low-watt bulbs embedded in the wall at foot level.
They provide nothing but an eerie, otherworldly quality and a low, unsettling hum.
The closer I get to the top, the more my anxiety delivers various, ever more elaborate versions of what might be waiting.
I try my best to ignore them all and focus on the task at hand: saving Noah.
I climb both flights before I reach the fire door that leads to the top floor.
I study the fire escape map that’s screwed into the back of it.
It has a helpful little “You are here!” sign, and I trace a finger along the floor plan.
The gallery takes up most of the top floor, but to reach it there’s a short run along the top balcony and there are two entrances, one at either end, to allow visitors to go in one side of the exhibition and leave through the other.
I catch my breath and desperately try to formulate a plan that doesn’t involve the lighter in my pocket.
I don’t know what I’m dealing with yet, so the only plan I’ve come up with is to get Noah out.
I think back on all the media I’ve consumed, books and movies, TV shows about detectives and people investigating crime, and I know that there’s one more thing I can do—something every good profiler does at some point.
I have to put myself in the mindset of the killer.
I try to trace their steps. The emergency staircase starts where The Four usually hang, so it would have made sense for the killer to come this way, bringing the paintings up the closest stairs one at a time.
Following the need for ease, when they reached the top floor, they would have probably used the first entrance to the gallery and set up the paintings to echo the original scene with their back to the door.
If I can peek in that way, I might be able to see if Noah is there, maybe even find out who’s behind this.
If he’s not there, or if I can’t get him out, then at least I can run and alert whoever turns up outside.
The killer won’t be expecting company, so they shouldn’t be on alert.
Unless Noah blabbed about Izzy and me leaving him here.
That thought makes me hesitate, and I wish I’d had the foresight to leave my parents a note, just in case, but it’s too late now. I’ve wasted enough time, and I can only follow my gut and hope that Noah’s up here and still alive. That we can safely make it out of here together.
I square my shoulders and try to hype myself up, when something in the shadows of the stairwell catches my eye. I pick up the round object and turn it in my fingers, my eyes widening as I realize what I’m holding. This is exactly the clue I needed.
I know who the killer is.
I pull on the door and it glides open without a sound, buoying my spirits a little.
I can do this. I just need to follow the plan.
This level is brighter than I expected, moonlight seeping through the skylights, painting the glass-and-metal balcony with lines of silver.
I keep away from the side that looks down onto the foyer, instead pressing myself close to the wall so I don’t cast a shadow.
The balcony marches straight across to a mirror image of the door I’ve just walked through.
Worst-case scenario, I can run in that direction and get out of here.
I shuffle along until I reach the first doorway.
All the galleries here have tall, wide entrances, and this one is no exception. There’s nothing to hide behind anymore.
I peer round the corner and my shoulders sag. Noah.
He’s tied to a chair in the center of the room, an old Polaroid camera set on a tripod in front of him.
He appears unconscious, and a second figure faces away from me, wearing a hood while busy lighting what is easily a hundred candles.
I let my vision adjust to the glare of the burning wicks as they blaze around a set of easels, illuminating the golden frames of The Four.
They stare mournfully at Noah, and I see the whole setup for what it is—a ghoulish art exhibition.
The self-portrait isn’t here, but I don’t have time to wonder where it is right now.
My heart pounds so loud it might as well be announcing me with a drumroll, but the figure doesn’t seem to hear it.
Good. Time for the next part of the plan.
I step back, my hands clammy as I reach into my pocket and pull out the little black box.
I’ve never used a personal alarm, but I’m guessing they must be pretty loud to scare off potential attackers, so I’m hoping it will provide a good enough distraction to give me some time to check on Noah.
I study the device and wrap my fingers round the black cord loop as I approach the balcony.
If I pull this too soon, it will start screaming and give my position away, so I need to time it just right.
God, I hope this works.
I take a deep breath, hold the cord tightly and bring my arm back with as much power as I can manage before snapping it forward over the edge, praying the alarm is more robust than it looks.
There’s a split second of quiet where I hear the grenade-like snap of the metal pin detaching from the box, and then a deafening siren splits the silence as the alarm soars through the air and drops down into the foyer below.
The sound stops for a second and I worry the device has smashed to pieces, but then it starts wailing again, though it’s slightly distorted.
“What the hell is that?” a hoarse voice echoes out from the gallery.
Here we go.
I race for the stairwell and yank the door shut as fast as I can, pressing all my weight against it, ready to run if the killer comes this way.
Instead, I hear the clatter of someone dashing toward the balcony and then footsteps fading as they yank open the door and disappear into the opposite staircase, the one that leads straight down to the foyer.
I wait a beat once the other door shuts and then peer out.
The corridor is empty, so I run into the gallery, dodging candles as I approach the figure bound to the chair in the center of the room.
“Noah?” I ask, touching his face.
He’s warm, which I take as a good sign, but there’s a cannula in his arm that leads into a tube, just like Alessandra’s, and judging by the amount of blood I can see in the container below it, I’m here just in time.
I think back to a blood test I had a few months ago and remember the nurse pressing a piece of gauze on the needle site as she eased it out.
“Noah?” I repeat, patting around in my pockets for something I can use.
I find a hopefully clean tissue and wad it up, listening for any indication that the alarm has been found, but I can still hear the distant, slurring wail.
I speak to Noah in a low voice. “We have to get out of here, okay? Noah? Can you hear me?”
“Fliss?” He groans, and I almost collapse in relief.
“Yeah, it’s me. I’m so sorry we left you here.
” I peel off the medical tape keeping the cannula in place and position the tissue just above it, pressing down hard, hoping I’m doing the right thing.
“This might hurt a little.” He groans as I keep the pressure on his arm with one hand and tease the needle out with the other.
A spurt of blood soaks the tissue, but within seconds the steady flow stops and Noah groans again.
“I know you found the necklace,” he says. His voice is so weak, I wonder how much blood he’s lost. “Izzy texted me. I wanted to explain, but then all this…I didn’t take it off Jen, I swear. I found it under your sink. It must have snapped when she was helping clean up.”
“You don’t have to explain. I know it wasn’t you,” I whisper, dropping the cannula with a shudder and pressing his other hand on the tissue in the crook of his arm. “Can you keep some pressure on that?”
“I think so,” he mumbles.
I scramble around to look at the rope holding him in place, ready to start tackling the knots, when I hear the door to the stairwell opening. It’s only then I notice the alarm has stopped screeching, which means it was found and probably destroyed.
Noah pries his eyes open to look at me. “Hide.”
I swallow a sob and move the tissue, taping the cannula back to the crook of his arm so it looks as though it’s still attached.
Then I retreat to the back of the gallery, hoping the shadows there will provide cover.
I press my back to the furthest wall as a figure appears silhouetted in the doorway, removes their hood and speaks.
“Come out come out, wherever you are.”