Page 69 of Psychotic Faith
I wedge the soaked towel against the lock mechanism, position the exposed wire. The spark catches immediately. The accelerant flares hot and bright, and the lock's circuit board fries with a sharp crack and the smell of burning plastic.
The door swings open.
Alex is already reaching for his weapon, but I'm past him before he can draw. "Luca, wait!"
"Tenth floor," he calls after me, not trying to stop me. "Boardroom's locked!"
Two floors. Just two floors between me and Faith. The tenth floor has no cameras, it's a dead zone for surveillance. I know that from the building schematics Marco showed us during planning.
The stairs disappear under my feet, three at a time. My shoulder screams from the repeated door impacts, definitely separated now from my desperate escape attempts. Each second could be her last. How long since the wire went dead? Ten seconds? Fifteen?
Brain damage starts at four minutes without oxygen. How long can Neumann's hands squeeze before her throat collapses? How long before the light leaves her eyes like it left her mother's?
The ninth-floor landing blurs past. One more flight. My legs burn, lungs screaming for air I don't have time to take. Still no sound from above. The soundproofing up there is absolute. She could be screaming. She could be silent. She could be dead already.
No.
The tenth-floor hallway stretches empty before me. The boardroom door at the end, electronic lock glowing red. Executive override, no bypass I can see. No time for chemistry here.
I back up, measuring the distance. The door is reinforced, but the frame is just wood and drywall. Newton's laws: every action has an equal and opposite reaction. My shoulder is already damaged from the escape attempts. Might as well use it.
The first kick lands exactly where the frame meets the wall. Pain explodes through my separated shoulder, but the wood cracks. Again. The frame splinters, gap forming between door and wall. Again. My vision grays at the edges, but I can see daylight through the crack now.
Again.
The frame tears partially free, still connected at the top but gaping at the side. Wide enough. I squeeze through, shoulder grinding bone on bone, into silence.
Neumann has Faith pressed against the window, her body completely limp, face purple-blue from lack of oxygen. Not moving. Not breathing. The afternoon light through the glass makes her skin look translucent, already fading to gray.
I cross the room in two strides and tackle Neumann off her. We hit the conference table hard, but I'm already rolling away, back to Faith. She collapses boneless to the carpet, head lolling at an angle that makes my chest crack open.
My fingers find her throat. Her pulse is barely there, thready and weak. But no breath. No rise and fall of her chest. Her lips are blue, eyes half-open but seeing nothing.
My science knowledge kicks in. Strangulation causes laryngeal spasm, her breathing muscles are paralyzed. Rescue breathing might work if the airway isn't crushed. I tilt her head back, pinch her nose, seal my mouth over hers.
Breathe.
Her lips are ice, no warmth, no response. I breathe my heat into her, tasting coffee and that underlying sweetness going cold. My lungs burn from giving her everything, emptying myself to fill her. Her chest rises with my air. Falls. Nothing.
Again.
The copper and sweetness coat my tongue. All going cold.
"Please." The word rips from my throat between breaths. "Please, Faith. Come back."
Another breath forced into her lungs. Her chest rises, falls, stays still.
"Breathe, Faith. You don't get to leave. Breathe for me."
Another breath.
"PLEASE."
Her body convulses. A rattling gasp tears from her throat as her lungs remember their purpose. She's coughing, choking, fighting for air, but she's breathing. Breathing.
Alive. She's alive. ALIVE.
I pull her against me, and my hands are shaking worse than any withdrawal, worse than any kill. The shake spreads through my whole body, uncontrollable tremors that have nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with how close I came to losing her.
