Hwa snorted and began untying the boat from its mooring. She joined him at the controls. “You know, you’re really getting into this whole crime-fighting thing. You sure you still want to take over the family business, when you grow up?”
Joel smiled at her. He gunned the engine. “You know, Hwa, I think you’re the first person in my life who’s ever seriously asked me that question.”
And with that, they raced across the water. Tower Three wasn’t far from the Old Rig, but every second that passed made the water seem like ice. Joel handed his keys to a valet, and they made for the elevators. In the gym, nothing seemed amiss. No screaming. No blood. They checked the separate studios, and the massage room, and the women’s locker room, but Sabrina wasn’t there.
“Prefect?”
“Ready.”
“Can you tell me if Sabrina Kimball checked in, here? Did she come to the gym today?”
A pause. “Yes.”
“Did she check out?”
“No.”
Hwa’s gaze lit on the men’s locker room. There was a wet floor logo projected on the floor and a cleaning cart in the doorway. “Okay.” She turned to Joel. Suddenly all she could see was the puddle of dried blood where Calliope’s body used to be. “Stay close to me. And if I tell you not to look, don’t look.”
He nodded. “Let’s go.”
The men’s locker room was empty. No one at the urinals. No one in the stalls. No steam from the showers. But one of the shower cabinets had a closed curtain.
“You don’t have to open that, Hwa,” Joel whispered. “I don’t think you should open that.”
Her fingers brushed the curtain. The room was silent. No cries for help. No whimpers of terror. No frustrated wriggling of a person who might be bound and gagged.
“Don’t open it,” Joel said. “Please don’t open it. We can wait. We can wait until the NAPS come.”
Hwa gathered the curtain in her fist. “Don’t look.”
She yanked the fabric off its rings. Sabrina sat folded up in one corner of the shower. Her clothes had puddled around her. At first Hwa thought that they had somehow grown larger, but in fact, Sabrina had grown smaller. Dramatically smaller. Thinner. She looked skeletal. Sucked dry. All hollowed out. Like a mummy. When Hwa reached out, Sabrina’s hair came away in her fingers.
And her eyes opened.
And she screamed.
The scream was a dry, awful whistling from a collapsing throat. Her hands had no strength. They flailed weakly. “Hwa…?”
Hwa spoke around the hand she’d clamped to her own mouth. “I’m here, Sabrina. I came. I showed up.”
“He said…” Sabrina’s eyes rolled around wildly in her head. “He said he was … going to make me pretty.… Off-book…”
Hwa’s vision blurred. “You’re already pretty. You’re already so pretty.”
“He said … he could make me … different…”
“You didn’t need to be different, Sabrina.” Hwa wiped her eyes. “You were fine, just the way you were.”
Sabrina tried to shake her head. As she did, more hair came off on the tile walls of the shower. Behind her, Hwa heard a small sound. Joel was crouched on the floor. And somehow that made it worse, made it real, and Hwa felt her self-control start to slip.
“Sabrina,” she said. “I’m so sorry.” Gently, she took Sabrina’s hand. It was dry, papery, like the outer skin of an onion. “You’re not alone. I’m right here.”
“Hwa … Why…?”
“I don’t know, Sabrina. But I’ll figure it out. I will. I promise.”
Again, she tried to shake her head. It became a wave of her entire body, like a dead flower trembling in a light breeze. “Why did you leave us?”
The locker room door squealed open. Hwa turned. A whole squad of NAPS officers poured through the doors. The crowd opened up, and a medical unit jogged in. Someone’s hands landed on her shoulders. She heard medical speak. Cursing. Someone tugged her away from Sabrina. Separated their hands.
“More…” Sabrina wheezed. Her eyes locked with Hwa’s. “He. Said. There. Will. Be. More.”
15
Whitechapel/Viridian/Autumn
“Welcome back to Whitechapel,” said Mr. Moore. “What brings you back here?”
In the thick fog of the simulation, it was easier for Hwa to say exactly what was on her mind. “I need to know how he’s choosing them.”
“There are many theories. Your essay—”
“I’m not writing an essay.” Hwa tugged at the gloves the simulation had given her. They were little lace things, and way too pretty for her. The whole outfit was far too pretty for someone like her: a default in-world monstrosity of corsetry and bustling in purple silk. She could barely see around the puffs in her sleeves. It was ridiculous. Like putting lipstick on a pig. “I’m catching a killer.”
“We’re catching a killer,” Joel added. “A serial killer. Someone who’s hunting down women.”