The room sat directly underneath the circulation desk. Maybe I could make a big racket by pushing down the shelves, but I didn’t think that would be enough noise even if I could manage it. My eyes went up to the ceiling. If I had something tall, maybe I could poke it at the ceiling to get their attention upstairs.
The library was closing in five minutes. I wanted to hurl. Most of the patrons were on their way out, and Pam was probably right in the middle of calling maintenance to start the lock-up process. She always got so flustered around closing time, and she never checked the basement.
I’d clocked out early once or twice last week to study. What if she assumed I’d done it again? I sent up a prayer that she’d check my clock-in ticket in the mail room.
I ran back to the door and took up pounding again, this time using a heavy tome from one of the shelves.
It got me nowhere.
I panted and rested against the metal. For good measure, I kicked at it and yelled obscenities. Not only was I scared shitless, but I had an A&P quiz the next day and I needed to study for it. Randomly I wondered if this qualified as an excused absence. Probably not with Whitt.
Headlights skimmed past the window above me, and I ran to the back wall and pointed the flashlight up to check out the ancient-looking window. It was plenty big enough for me to fit through, but how was I going to get up there?
I pushed the cart over to the wall and climbed to the bottom rung, only a few feet off the floor. It wobbled on its wheels, and I teetered before falling off and hitting my elbow on the floor. Shit.
I sucked in a deep breath and concentrated on calming down. I was okay. This wasn’t the lake. I wasn’t in a car. I had air—albeit a little moldy.
I pulled myself off the floor to try again. I had an idea. When I used to take walks in the mountains and would find myself without phone service, sometimes climbing a tree or just getting a few feet off the ground would do the trick. So, I nixed the more dangerous idea of actually climbing out the window and focused on just getting phone service.
I wrestled with the metal cart again. Moving slow and steady, I stepped up to the first shelf, gained my balance, and then tried for the second shelf. The metal cart vibrated from my ungainly movements, but didn’t tip over. Baby steps, Sunny. Holding my balance precariously, I pulled out my phone and held it up as high as I could.
One, two, three seconds passed and nothing.
Then it pinged!
A text from Max came through. Hey. I’m here.
Then came another one. You okay? I’m here and walking around. Everyone is gone. I’m worried. Call me.
Victory soared, and I typed out a reply.
Stuck in basement room with a window on west side next to parking lot. Come get me!
In my excitement, the flashlight that I’d tucked in my jean pocket crashed to the floor. The cart tilted when I reached to catch it, and I fell straight to the floor.
Everything went black.
Max
I RAN AROUND THE SIDE of building to the area where she’d indicated. Rummaging through the landscaping, I found a ground-level window that looked down into the basement. The weak streetlight made it tough to see detail, but I made out white-blond hair and the barest shadow of her figure on the floor.
Urgency hit me, and I beat on the window while yelling her name. There wasn’t a soul in the parking lot to yell to for help.
I whipped my shirt off, wrapped it around my hand, and slammed it against the glass I got nothing but bruises. I stopped. What if I knocked the glass on her? Bad idea. Shit. I slipped my shirt back on, my brain racing.
The seal on the window was old and faded, a window that had probably been here since the university first opened in 1963. I took out my pocketknife, pried it between the metal sections on the old lock, and tugged until it popped off. Success. I slid the window up and maneuvered myself until I was sitting on the sill. I aimed to miss what appeared to be a cart and jumped to the left. Pain ricocheted up my right leg when I made impact with the floor. Thank God it was carpeted.
A flashlight lay on the ground. I grabbed it and focused on her.
“Max.” Her eyes fluttered open, landing on the window. “Did you hurt yourself?”
I shook my head, my eyes already checking her for bruises. My hands followed, running over her arms and legs. “Don’t worry about me. What happened to you?”
“I fell off the cart trying to get service. My arm hurts—near the elbow.”
Maneuvering her up to sit between my legs and face me, I took her sweater off to get a better look. It had a wide neck and slipped easily over her head, revealing her black lace bra.
Mentally groaning and trying to ignore the swell of her breasts, I used the flashlight to inspect the purple bruise on her arm. “You took a bump, but it’s not broken.” I pushed a strand of hair out of her face. “What else?”
“My head,” she said with a wince. “I hit the edge of the cart on my way down.”
There was a small bump on the right side of her temple, but it didn’t seem too serious. “Let me see your eyes.” Her face turned back toward me, the paleness of her skin striking me deep in the gut. “Your pupils are good. How many fingers do I have up?”