It seems crazy, ludicrous, but it’s my only choice if I want to live. I take one step closer, yank open the metal door by the handle, and climb inside feetfirst.
As soon as I’ve wedged myself in there, I press my arms and legs hard against the sides. The trick will be to try and shimmy down the chute, but when the door clangs shuts, leaving me in total darkness, I lose my bearings. A second later I’m hurtling down the chute, my body ricocheting hard against each side. I brace for the landing, knowing I could break my neck.
It’s over in seconds. I land hard, feetfirst, but it’s onto something dense and soft rather than cement. The ankle of my right foot takes the brunt of the fall. I moan in pain and collapse in a heap.
For a moment or two, I just lie there, trying to catch a breath. It smells and feels as if I’ve landed in a big pile of moldy bath towels. All the wind’s been knocked out of me, but I’m fully conscious. I bend each limb, testing them. My ankle hurts like hell, but beyond that I don’t seem to have sustained any major damage.
I squint my eyes and peer out into the basement. The space around me is huge and much of it in darkness, but the area closest to me is lit dimly by a series of small, grubby windows set high on the wall. Across the way from me, I can pick out a row of ancient-looking washers and dryers. And above them, running horizontally along on the walls, are lengths of metal pipes.
I feel in the dark for my messenger bag, still in place across my chest. I rifle through it, frantically, until my fingers find my phone and I grab it. I steady my hand enough to tap 9–1–1.
“Someone’s trying to kill me,” I tell the operator, keeping my voice low. “I’m hiding in the basement of the Washington Baths. You have to send the police, right away. Please.”
“Can you repeat your location?”
“The Washington Baths in . . . in Saratoga Park. It’s closed, but I’m here, in the basement.”
“Are you in imminent danger, ma’am?”
“Yes, yes. I mean, I’m pretty sure she’s still in the building. She killed two women and she tried to attack me with a hammer.”
And then there’s a noise. Fifteen feet above me the metal door to the chute cranks open again. I don’t think Sandra can see me from above, but just to be sure, I roll over as fast as I can manage, holding my phone tight in my hand.
“Ma’am, are you still on the line?” the operator asks.
“Yes,” I say, my voice a hoarse whisper now. “But she’s still here. She’s still here in the building.”
I hear the chute’s metal door shut with a creak. She’s not done, though. She’s surely going to come looking for me.
“Please hurry,” I beg the operator. I glance frantically around the basement. Though the faint light from the windows allows me to see within a few yards, the far reaches of the space are dark as night. Somewhere there’s got to be a stairway to the first floor. Yet if I go up it, the likelihood is high that I’ll bump smack into Sandra. And I could never outrun her now.
“The police have been dispatched,” the operator says. And then, as if reading my thoughts, “Is there someplace you can barricade yourself into?”
“I don’t know. I . . . I’ll try to find one.”
I roll over two more times toward the end of the towel pile and sit up. I fumble on my phone to activate the flashlight app and direct it out in front of me. At first, all I see is an endless cement wall. But off to my right, there’s what appears to be a passageway.
I slide off the pile of towels and force myself up, careful not to put too much weight on my right foot. It’s shooting with pain now. Dragging my right leg behind me, I hobble across the floor.
But it’s not really a passageway. It’s more of a primitive-looking tunnel, with walls made of crumbling cement and reeking of dirt and decay. Except for the few feet I can see with the flashlight, it’s pitch-black in front of me. I feel like I’m standing at the mouth of Hades. I don’t dare go down there.
And then I hear it. The sound of footsteps far off to my left. They’re descending a set of stairs, slow and deliberate as a jungle cat.
“Are you still there, ma’am?”
“Shh,” I say, “she’ll hear us.” I tap the disconnect button and then try to kill the flashlight. My fingers are so wet with sweat, nothing happens. I press again and again, desperately. Finally the beam goes off.
Some of the light from the windows still filters toward me. Hugging the wall, I struggle along the tunnel until I’m in total darkness. For a few moments the only sound is the blood rushing in my head, but then there’s something else. The sound of a door swinging open, followed by the distant tap of ballet flats. I move deeper into the tunnel, using the wall to guide me. The footsteps seem closer. I freeze, pressing myself as hard as I can against the wall.