He shook his head, his voice oddly flat. “It’s too late for that. I’m dying. I can feel it.”
There was nothing she could say. His skin was pale enough to be nearly translucent, the flesh around his eyes blue as bruises. She wondered if he could feel his heart slowing, if the catch in his voice was because he was finding it harder to breathe.
“I’ll get you out tonight, then, once you’re changed,” Tana told him.
He didn’t answer, just watched her grunt as she pulled herself higher. She wished she was stronger, wished she hadn’t woken up exhausted. Sweat started at her brow and her thighs. Her arms burned. She ignored everything and concentrated on not falling.
High up the wall, she looked out at the chandelier. What had seemed a short distance to jump from the floor now looked impossible.
Beneath her, Aidan paced the floor like some kind of large, hungry cat. If she fell, if she twisted her ankle or broke her leg, she would look a lot like prey.
Jump, she told herself. Jump.
But she was too scared. Looking down, she felt off-balance, all her limbs shaking. She didn’t think she could do it.
Taking a deep breath, she gave herself a little pep talk: Get over your fear of this or get over your fear of murdering in cold blood someone you care about, because those are your choices.
It was, admittedly, a pretty crappy pep talk. But it worked.
She jumped.
Her legs hit the brass arms of the chandelier, hands grabbing for the central column. She barely made it, one leg hooked over, the other dangling down, fingers flailing for a grip. Her purse strap pulled against her throat.
Plaster fell from the ceiling, dusting her in a rain of white. The chain slipped a little, and she slipped, too, one of her hands sliding from the chandelier. Her head banged against one of the lightbulbs as the whole thing swung dizzily.
It’s going to pull free from the ceiling, she thought. I’m going to fall.
Straining with her remaining arm and leg, she tried to heave herself back up. She felt a sharp tug, and the strap of her purse pulled against her throat tight enough to choke. Then there was a snapping sound and the leather slid free.
Looking down, she realized that Aidan had her purse in one hand, holding it out as if he was proud of himself. He’d bitten the strap.
“Give that back!” she yelled. “Why did you—”
“Be careful,” he told her, a smile in his voice. “You don’t want to fall.”
He had the marker. But if she let go now, with the chandelier half ripped free from the ceiling, there was no way it would hold her a second time, from a second jump.
She had to focus on getting up and getting to that skylight, even if what she wanted to do was cry.
Hands shaking and head ringing, she pushed herself back to a more secure position on the chandelier. Every time it hitched lower, she was sure she was going to fall. Every time it swung, she was even more sure she was going to fall. But she managed to get herself into an upright position, one foot balancing on an arm of the chandelier while she stood.
Reaching up, shaking and sweaty, she grabbed hold of the lever. The window pivoted inward. A drizzle of dirty water rained down, along with a few leaves.
“Now what?” Aidan called up. Then he started to cough.
She was going to have to pull herself up. It was going to be all arm strength and desperation that got her out, if anything got her out at all.
She extended her hands as far as she could and grabbed hold of the sill. Then she launched off the chandelier, scrabbling to get her chest over the edge of the skylight. That moment, when her feet had only air underneath them and she was breathing in gasps, trying to haul herself up, pure terror sparking like acid in her veins, was awful. And when she made it, upper body resting on the tiles of the roof, she stayed that way for a long moment, afraid she was too tired to even pull up her legs.
Finally, dragging herself forward, she looked back down at Aidan. The chandelier hung between them, on an angle, electrical cords ripped loose from the ceiling.
He was grinning. “Wow. That was amazing.”
Panting, exhausted, she said, “Please, please give me my purse back. I don’t know why you took it and I don’t care. Just give it back.”
“Sorry, Tana,” he said, unzipping it and rooting around inside, pulling out the small envelope. With pale, unsteady fingers, he took out the small silver disk with the computer-chip center and held it up in the growing light. “I wanted to make sure you had to come back. I’m scared.”
“I won’t leave you here,” Tana said, low, looking directly into his eyes, so he could see that she meant what she was promising. “You don’t need any proof of that. You know me. I’m crazy—crazy enough to come back, marker or no marker.”
“Then it doesn’t matter, right?” And he flashed her one of his exasperating puppy-dog looks. “I’ll give you the rest of the bag, just let me keep the marker. It’s my dying wish.”
Please, Tana. Please.