Page 121 of Lock Every Door

Still, I have to try something. No matter what Nick says, going in peace is not an option.

To my right is the closed cupboard tucked between the oven and sink. I fling it open, revealing the dumbwaiter behind it. Nick moves as soon as I start to clamber inside. I’m halfway into it by the time he reaches me, the stun gun sparking. I kick at him. Wildly. Savagely. Screaming as my foot connects with his chest.

Through eyes half-closed with fear, I see another blue crackle of the stun gun. I kick again, aiming higher, at his face, his glasses crackling beneath my heel.

Nick yelps and reels backward.

The stun gun blinks out and clatters to the floor.

I pull my leg into the dumbwaiter, suddenly reminded of how small it really is. Using both hands, I give the rope a tug. A second later, the dumbwaiter plummets and I’m thrown into darkness.

I try to keep hold of the rope as the dumbwaiter drops, but it’s moving too fast, zipping over my palms, slicing into them. I pull my hands away and clamp my knees against the rope, hoping it will slow my descent.

I can’t tell if it’s working. It’s too dark, and the dumbwaiter is too loud, creaking under my weight. A line of heat forms at my knees. Friction burning through the denim of my jeans. I part my knees and scream again, the sound consumed by the noise of the dumbwaiter as it smashes into the apartment below.

The impact blasts through my entire body. My head snaps backward. Pain shoots up my spine. My limbs smack against the sides of the dumbwaiter.

When it’s all over, I wait in the darkness, aching and scared and wondering if I’m too injured to move. Because Iaminjured. Of that there’s no doubt. Pain rings my neck, hot and throbbing. A noose of heat.

But I can lift the dumbwaiter door and crawl out, careful not to jar my battered body. As I slide onto the kitchen floor of 11A, I’m surprised to see I can walk, albeit slowly. Pain hobbles every step.

I grit my teeth and push through it, moving out of the kitchen and into the foyer, where I fling open the door.

Out of 11A, the pain lessens with each step. Fear, I think. Maybe adrenaline. It doesn’t matter which, if it gets me down the hallway faster.

As I approach the elevator, I see that—miracle of miracles—it’s still stopped on the eleventh floor. The door sits open, as if waiting for me. I run toward it, suddenly aware of motion to my left.

Nick.

Coming down the steps from the twelfth floor, the stun gun zapping. His glasses dangle from one ear, the frames slanted across his face. The right lens is shattered. Blood oozes from a cut below his right eye, like crimson tears.

I throw myself into the elevator and pound the button for the lobby.

Nick reaches the elevator as the outer door closes. He thrusts his arm between the bars, stun gun sparking like St. Elmo’s fire.

I reach for the interior grate and slam it into his arm, pinning it against the door.

I pull back and do it again.

Harder this time.

So hard that Nick jerks his arm away, the stun gun falling from his hand.

I slam the grate into place, and the elevator begins to carry me downward. Before I sink beyond the eleventh floor, I see Nick take to the stairs.

Tenth floor.

Nick is flying down the steps. I can’t see him yet, but his shoes slap against the marble, echoing down to me.

Ninth floor.

He’s getting closer. I get a glimpse of his feet crossing the landing between floors before the elevator slides out of view.

Eighth floor.

A scream for help balloons in my lungs. I keep it inside. I already know that, just like Ingrid’s, it will go ignored.

Seventh floor.

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