Mr. Nobody(99)

I look down at the chair, bending to pull at its zip tie, but the now-warped plastic seems even stronger. The lighter is downstairs. I check my pockets, nothing. Desperately I pull off my shoe and try to wriggle my foot out of the tie, but it won’t clear my bony ankle. I hear him below, slowly climbing the stairs; his careful speed tells me the gun is raised and ready, in case I bolt out onto the landing. He knows I’m trapped up here.

I look to the window, the only way out. But I can’t jump, can I? I think of my vertigo. And then I see the blue edge of a tarp flapping outside. Oh my God. The scaffolding! Yes!

I remember seeing it before—the house is being renovated. If I can just get out onto the scaffolding, there might be a way down. I might be okay. I just might.

I move quickly to the window and wiggle the handle as quietly as I can. My heart sinks. It’s locked. And then I remember an old trick Dad used to use whenever he lost the window key. I flip both handles of the window up instinctively and pound the middle section where the windows meet. The lock remains engaged but the stress on the gap between the windows forces them to burst open, the lock scraping loudly on itself.

Cold air bursts into the room, cooling my burnt skin. I look out at the scaffolding, my vertigo kicking in instantly. But I have no choice or time. I take a breath and clamber up onto the scaffolding, my free leg first, and then I drag the metal chair up behind me by its zip tie. I grab it and pull it and myself past the window, out of sight. I hear the bedroom door creak open behind me. I stand carefully, now trembling, against the brick of the house, out of sight, the open window next to me. I’m only on the second floor but I feel dizzy just looking at the drop out beyond the wooden planks. I try to control the sound of my breathing. I have to be still, I have to wait. I have to wait for him to get close enough. In the distance, out through the treetops, a flash of light catches my eye, a car coming this way, the police maybe, or Chris? I think of the pager, God knows where it is now. But I know someone is looking for me. For a split second I truly believe it is Chris, coming to save me. Just in time. But as I look more carefully I see the glint of light isn’t moving, it’s just sunlight reflecting off another building in the distance.

    There’s a floorboard creak right next to me, just inside the window. My focus snaps back as I see the barrel of the gun slowly emerge through the open window, followed by a hand, and only then a head. He swivels in my direction. And with all my strength I slam the window frame straight back into his face. The glass shatters as it smashes into him. The gun tumbles from his grip out onto the scaffolding as he recoils back into the room.

As the gun skids perilously close to the edge, I scramble for it, my chair clattering along with me. I feel a fresh wave of vertigo wash through me and reflexively jerk back as the gun skitters, then drops off the edge of the scaffolding. I close my eyes and press back hard into the wall. There’s a silence before the gun hits the concrete below and fires off loudly into the air. I cower farther back into the wall, hugging the scaffold tight for support.

My eyes flick back to Matthew through the half-broken blood-smeared window. He’s doubled over, hand to his face, his nose and lip bleeding; he looks up at me, furious, injured. I know I only have a second’s worth of a head start.

    I grab the metal chair and scramble away from the window as I hear him start to heave himself out of the window behind me. Ahead I see a ladder at the end of the scaffold, an escape. I plow toward it, white-hot pain exploding through my broken hand as I tightly grip the stupid fucking chair to avoid tripping.

And suddenly it occurs to me, I don’t know how the hell I’m going to get down a ladder carrying the chair. Behind me I hear Matthew’s powerful strides and any moment I know I’ll feel his arms around me, dragging me down.

I won’t make it down that ladder. I’m out of time, scared of heights, and I’m attached to a chair. The thought shoots through me: If I can’t outrun him, I need to stop him. I need to do something or I’m going to die.

I see something propped against the brickwork just ahead of me—it’s not ideal but it will do. A stubby two-foot length of scaffold pipe. I feel his presence looming behind me and I dive for it, releasing my chair and reaching out, low, to grab the end of the pole awkwardly. As soon as it’s in my grip I spin, throwing all my body weight back toward Matthew. He tries to pull up as I turn unexpectedly. He sees the pipe in my hands and his eyes flare as he careens toward me, but there’s not enough time to dodge before the metal pole cracks straight into his knees.

The sound of hollow metal hitting flesh and bone as the pipe smashes his knee joints. He roars in pain, arms flail out for the flat brick wall next to him but there’s nothing to get a hold of. And just like that he’s toppling toward the open drop. His wild eyes find mine, his arms grasping desperately in the air for a hold. There is nothing to save his fall, nothing except me.

I step back too late. His fingers brush my coat lapel and then seize it, clawlike as he tips toward the void and tugs me with him. I lose my footing and crash down hard on my knees, sliding fast toward the edge as he rolls partway off it, dragging me along with him. I clutch wildly at the rough splintered scaffold planks around me, desperate for purchase, pain shooting from my snagging fingernails. I slide toward the edge, his fist tight around the cloth of my coat hauling me closer. He slips over the edge and I start to fall too, nothing between my upper body and the concrete below. Suddenly I jolt to a stop, pain ripping excruciatingly through my leg. I cry out in agony—the zip tie around my ankle is cutting sharply into the flesh of my leg. We hang there together for a moment, anchored, both of us, by the chair attached to my leg, snagged somewhere along the scaffold platform above. Both of us suspended by the warped plastic zip tie digging deep into the broken skin of my ankle. I catch my breath, gasping in pain, and I look down into his eyes. He clutches my coat, Schr?dinger’s man. His life still hanging in the balance. My hands fly to his, and I don’t think, I push. We’re caught for a moment between two states and then I feel his grip loosen, his eyes blaze, and just like that, gravity makes its decision. He slips from me, eyes blank with fear. I squeeze mine shut and hear the wet smack of flesh and bone hitting concrete below.