Page 117 of Gone Before Goodbye
She sees him. Oleg is only a few feet away. She’s almost back to him,
close enough to touch. She reaches out to him.
That’s when she sees a gloved hand pull a blade from Oleg’s chest.
Blood spreads across his white shirt.
Maggie screams. But the music—the damn music—swallows thesound away. Out of nowhere, someone delivers a body blow, almost knocking Maggie off her feet. She starts to spin, tries to regain her footing. But she can’t quite steady herself. Through the flickers from the strobe, she can see that everyone around her is wearing a mask.
She can’t find Oleg.
“Help!”
Nothing.
“A man’s been stabbed!”
She can barely hear her own voice.
Where the hell is Oleg?
She lashes out now, panicked. But she can’t find him. She starts throwing punches again. She searches frantically for Oleg or for blood or for a gloved hand carrying a blade—anything—but the room is too crowded, too dark, too filled with stuttering strobes.
She looks up, toward the open roof and the serenity of the night sky, and in her periphery, she sees a man being carried above the crowd mosh-pit style.
It’s Oleg.
He is already at least ten, maybe twenty yards away from her. She starts flesh-swimming toward him. A beefy man in a black masquerade mask gets in her way. When she knees him in the balls, he folds like a lawn chair. Another dancer bumps her. Hard. Maggie throws an elbow. It lands in his rib cage. Someone else rams into her. And then someone slams her with an open hand on the side of the head.
Maggie staggers and sees stars.
The music still blares. The party patrons surround her, consume her. She reaches out blindly toward the man who just slapped her. Her fingers find his mask. She grabs hold and pulls it down.
It’s CinderBlock.
What the…?
He shoves her hard and turns to hurry away. Maggie bouncesagainst someone behind her, and using that momentum, she leaps on CinderBlock’s back. She’s still screaming for help, but no one is paying attention. Even now, even with her leaping on a man’s back, she doesn’t stick out in this crowd. No one does. Everyone is in constant motion—jumping, dancing, leaping, raising their fists in the air, shouting along with the music.
From her new vantage point on CinderBlock’s back, Maggie scans the dance floor. She sees two people surfing the crowd.
Neither is Oleg.
He’s gone.
CinderBlock tries to buck her off, but Maggie wraps her legs around his waist and then ankle-locks them into place. Her right arm snakes around his nearly indecipherable neck.
Then she squeezes for all she’s worth, choking him.
CinderBlock’s hands start reaching behind him, flailing to grab her. She lowers her face into the back of his head—close enough so he can’t get to her eyes, close enough so she can move with him if he tries a back headbutt.
She regrips and squeezes harder on his windpipe.
His hand movements grow more frenzied, more desperate to reach her, to get free for even a moment so as to get fresh oxygen.
But she has him.
She keeps squeezing. His knees start to wobble. She shuts her eyes and holds on. She will not let go. She will not let go until…
