Scared To Death (Live to Tell #2)(62)
Was it a sudden decision?
Or…
Could the trip have had something to do with the case?
With a burst of adrenaline, Elsa grabs her daughter by the arm and drags her out of the kitchen.
Renny starts to cry out in protest.
“Shh, no! No!” Elsa grabs her by the shoulders. “I know this doesn’t make sense, Renny, but just do what I say right now, please. Okay?”
At her frightened nod, Elsa releases her and turns to see if there’s any sign of an intruder.
The menacing presence seems as blatant as the gaping hole in the knife block, yet the long hallway is deserted.
Could she have imagined that a handle was missing? Fear does strange things to a person…
Or maybe it was missing all along, and she just thought she saw all the knives accounted for when she checked earlier…
Am I losing my mind?
Maybe it’s crazy to acknowledge—even to herself—that she might be seeing things. But is that any crazier than assuming someone is creeping around the apartment, armed with a kitchen knife, like a murderous maniac from a horror movie?
Renny tugs her arm, and Elsa glances down to see that her face is etched in worry.
I can’t take any chances. I’ve got to get her out of here.
Motioning with her forefinger against her lips, Elsa pulls Renny into the dining room, past the Baroque dining set and antique sideboard. She keeps an eye on the drawn gold brocade draperies at the windows for any sign of movement.
All is still. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t being watched from a gap in the curtains, or…or a crevice in the wall, or around a doorway…
Why, oh why, didn’t Elsa think to grab one of the knives before she left the kitchen? Now she’s utterly defenseless; the door might as well be on the far side of a crocodile moat.
Incredibly, Renny is cooperating. Does she realize their lives are hanging in the balance?
Or is she merely humoring Elsa, thinking she’s gone off the deep end like her schizophrenic birth mother?
I’ll explain everything to her later—as soon as I get her out of here.
Moving in absolute silence, they make it to the large, circular living room. The elaborate decor creates plenty of potential hiding places. Still, no hint of anyone lurking as they tiptoe across the carpet. Elsa keeps an eye on the French doors, where the wrought-iron Juliet balcony extends off to either side, beyond her view. What if someone is lurking there?
Then he can’t see me, either.
Step by stealthy step, they cover the home stretch.
In the foyer, acutely aware of the closed closet door and the shadowy recess beside the armoire, Elsa reminds herself again that slow and steady is the only way to escape with Renny. Her instinct is to get the hell out of here; if she were alone, she’d make a run for it. But she can’t do that with Renny. She has no choice.
Inch by inch, they make their way across the her-ringbone hardwoods. The apartment is silent but for the sound of the ticking clock and the humming refrigerator.
Holding her breath, Elsa reaches for the doorknob. Painstakingly, she turns it, pulls it open, bracing herself for the attack from behind.
When it doesn’t come—when she finds herself crossing the threshold into the hall with Renny—it’s all she can do not to collapse in relief. She leaves the door ajar, just as she found it, afraid the sound of it closing might alert the person who’s lurking in the apartment—if, indeed, anyone is really there.
“Mommy,” Renny whispers, “what—”
“Shh, sweetie, we just have to get out of here, and then I’ll explain.”
Oh, you will? What are you going to tell her? That you’re afraid someone wants to kill you, or her? That this was meant to be a refuge, but we aren’t safe here? That we aren’t safe anywhere?
If they manage to get out of here in one piece, what next? Should she call the police?
She reaches into her pocket for her phone, just in case…
But it’s not there.
What the…? She knows she had it earlier. She was going to call 911, right before—
Oh. She must have dropped it in the kitchen when she saw that the knife was missing.
The knife…
She can’t go back for the phone. It doesn’t matter. All that matters now is getting Renny out of here.
Please, God, let us get out of here…
The wide, deserted hallway stretches ahead of them. Short corridors branch off in several spots. There’s an ancient stairwell no one ever uses—for all she knows, it might be locked or blocked off once they get inside.
No. Not worth the risk. They pass the stairwell, the garbage chute, the door to a utility room.
Just ahead looms a shallow recess that holds a fire extinguisher and enough room for someone to hide, flat against the wall.
But the danger lies behind them, Elsa reminds herself—not ahead.
Still, her chest aches with tension as they pass it and round the corner. No one follows; no one jumps out at them, yet she won’t breathe easily until they’re outside.
Not even then. Not until you know what you’re dealing with, and why, and who…
Stop. Just focus. One thing at a time.
Ahead, the door to the main elevator bank and stairs beckons like the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. She hustles Renny toward it, her brain ping-ponging between escape route options.