The Dark (A Detective Alice Madison Novel)(89)

Calm yourself. Calm down and think, breathe; just breathe.

Madison backed away from the door without turning her back to it until she reached the opposite wall and leaned against it.

Calm down and think.

It was a locking system created for people’s safety—this wasn’t a jail. Madison looked at the full clip in the Glock: she’d have to shoot her way out. She had to hit the lock in exactly the right place. She tried to remember if there were sliding bolts on the outside.

Time had stretched inside her mind as if one minute of thinking was merely one second of action. I’m getting out of here. Madison gathered herself: the shot would be incredibly loud in the small room, and her hearing would be compromised for minutes. No way around that one, she thought, if she wanted out. She lifted the Glock and took aim, but a movement in the door’s window froze her where she stood. A pair of eyes stared at her through the glass: dead eyes, empty eyes, like marbles in a doll’s head. Eyes that held her whole as she raised her weapon above the lock and aimed straight at the window. The eyes didn’t look away but stared at Madison as she stared back and aimed the gun squarely at them. There was no flicker of life or recognition or even a moment of doubt. It was a blank void, and the muzzle of Madison’s piece trembled as she kept it trained on the face she could barely see. One breath, two breaths—heart thumping in her throat. Dead eyes, empty eyes. And then they were gone.

Madison puts three shots into the lock. Loud—so darn loud, she could hardly think. Yet now they knew, the cops on the lawn—now they knew there was trouble for sure. First arson, and now a cop shooting up the clinic. Madison kicked the door hard with the heel of her boot, and it swung open. Those three shots were an alarm bell, and, sweet Jesus, she was glad all those patrol officers downstairs were wearing ballistic vests.

The corridor was empty on both sides, and the ringing in Madison’s ears blanketed every sound. The man had gone, but he couldn’t be far. On her right: the door that led to the stairway down to the reception desk and the main entrance—where cops were probably flooding in, weapons out and tempers rising. On the left: more patients’ rooms, the day lounge, and the door to the back stairwell. Madison ran left. They knew she was out of the cell. Hell, her shots could have been heard across the lake in the quiet of the night. The time for bashful was well and truly gone. She glanced at the day lounge as she went past, but no Vincent there, standing and gazing out at the trees.

Whoever had locked her in wouldn’t want to stay for introductions, and he must know there were officers outside who were on their way in. He’d need to get out fast.

Madison reached the back stairwell door. It was wide open—to stairs going up and down. Up? How had she not realized there was a fifth floor?

Something made her climb up instead of heading downstairs—maybe it was the thought that the man with the dead eyes wouldn’t want to rush into the arms of incoming police officers. She wasn’t sure, exactly; she just found herself flat against the stairwell wall and following the steps that led up. And she would have given anything to hear something other than the flat drone that pounded inside her head.

Cold air brushed her face—a chilly breeze mixed with the tang of the fire nearby. No, she thought, not a fifth floor but roof access, and the door had been kicked open.

From far away she heard sirens approaching, their top notes penetrating the hum. Good. That was good. They needed all the lights and all the people they could throw at the clinic to smoke out Conway’s crew. Even if more people would mean more cover for those who wanted to slip away unnoticed.

A narrow walkway followed the edge of the roof. The way was clear—wherever Dead Eyes was, he must already have turned the corner to the other side. Madison stepped out: beyond the low railing the roof fell away into nothing, and the ground was a long way down.

The angle of the roof meant she couldn’t see the walkway on the other side; then again, he couldn’t see her, either. Madison covered the distance as fast as she could and turned the corner to the back of the building: two dark shapes moving ahead of her, the distance between them nearly the length of the clinic. Two men. Dead Eyes had a friend. Madison flattened herself against the roof and continued; with luck, the gloom would give her some protection. The men stopped, and the unmistakable clanging of metal against metal rang out in the night. Too far for anybody else to have heard from the lawn, but it cut through Madison’s fog like a bell. She leaned on the railing, narrowed her eyes, and saw the outline that stood out like a metal trim on the building. The fire escape. The men were already on it and climbing down. Madison ran fast and low and reached the platform in time to see them edging down between the fourth and the third floors.