At first Amanda thought that the sound of shattering glass came from outside. A construction crew had been tearing up the building across the street for what seemed like a decade, and anything more than a dropped pen in their office was cause for excitement. But then she recognized
Darcy's high-pitched voice as she screamed for help, and
Amanda knew that whatever was happening was happening terrifyingly close.
Then she heard the gunshot, a blast so loud it seemed to shatter the air, and for a moment she heard nothing but ringing in her ears. When her hearing returned, Amanda heard Henry on the line.
"Amanda? Amanda, what's happening? "
She didn't know what she said next, or if she said anything at all, but suddenly Amanda was scrambling away from her desk, trying to bide her time while figuring out what the hell was going on.
She crouched down, surveyed the office.
Their suite housed three shared offices and one large conference room, as well as a smaller waiting room by the elevator.
The waiting room door was made of glass. The others were metal. She immediately knew that the breaking glass was the sound of somebody crashing through the waiting room door.
She wondered how he'd gotten past the security guard downstairs-waited until he'd gone on break? Or something more horrible?
Oh God…
She heard another scream, someone yelled, "Get away from me!" and then Amanda heard a loud thud like something heavy had hit the floor.
She saw Phil the intern run past her muttering, "Sweet
Jesus, sweet Jesus," over and over again. Amanda still couldn't see what was happening, but if praying to Jesus or any other deity meant she'd make it out of the building alive she'd happily renew her faith in the Lord.
Crawling on all fours, Amanda moved past her desk until she was next to the door to the conference room. She peered up, looked through the small window pane. She gasped when she saw what was happening inside.
Violet Lawrence was lying on the floor, facedown.
Amanda recognized the purple sports jacket she'd complimented her on just that morning. She couldn't see anything else, couldn't see Violet's face. But she heard a small moan, and that meant at least she was alive.
Nobody else was running. The office had grown deathly silent. The watercooler gurgled. Then she saw the man walk into the room, and Amanda froze.
He was tall, maybe six one or two, lean with short blond hair. He was wearing a suit, the sleeves rolled up, sweat beading through the fabric. His face was tan, eyes wild yet focused.
He was holding a gun. No, not a gun, a cannon. And immediately she remembered their meeting with Agnes Trimble, the image her professor showed them. The one Henry was captivated by.
The Winchester rifle.
That's what he was holding. The man in their office had killed four people. Killed his family, all in cold blood. What the hell was he doing here?
Another woman ran past, screaming. The boy-William, the papers had called him-grabbed her by the ponytail. She let out a shriek. He spun her toward him. Amanda could see the veins and muscles in his forearms. The woman was crying, blubbering, tears streaking her mascara. Then he suddenly let her go, pushed her toward the doorway. She disappeared and
Amanda heard the familiar chime of the elevator call button.
He let her go.
The man was standing in the middle of the room. He was holding the rifle by his side. She could see no other movement. William scanned the room, quickly crouched down to see if anyone was hiding under a desk, then stood back up.
"Amanda," he said. Her blood ran cold. "Amanda Davies."
It wasn't phrased as a question. He said her name the same way Henry did when he got home from work. Said it like he knew she was there and couldn't wait to see her.
"Amanda," he said, holding his arms out wide, the rifle barrel pointing at the ceiling. "I've been wanting to meet you for a long time. Don't keep a friend waiting."
She knelt, silent, hoped he would search the other offices, turn his back so she could make a run for it. Her heart felt like it was ready to burst through her blouse, she could feel sweat dripping down her sides.
"Henry and me, we bonded the other day." She heard footsteps, looked up, saw he was moving through the office. "Like brothers from different mothers, we might have been. Every yin needs a yang, every bad penny needs a good one to even things out. He's my bad penny."
The footsteps grew closer and Amanda dropped back to the ground. She scuttled behind her desk, crawled underneath and curled her knees to her chest. She bit her lip to keep it from trembling. She was too scared to cry.
Roberts moved closer. She heard a squeak as the doorknob turned. Suddenly she heard a bump come from the other office, and the knob stopped turning. The footsteps grew fainter.
Amanda crawled back to the door, looked up just in time to see Roberts disappear into the conference room.
"Where's Amanda?" she heard him say. There came a wheezy response from a male voice-she recognized Phil, the intern. Poor Phil had only been here a week. She hoped he was making a killer stipend.
Amanda brought her hand up to the doorknob, slowly it turned until it stopped. Looking up, she saw that the adjacent office was empty. Slowly she eased the door open just enough to fit her slim body through. She eased the door shut. The stairwell was less than twenty feet away. She could make it. There were still noises coming from the other room. Now or never.
She crawled along the wall, keeping her eyes on the other office where Roberts had entered. Saw William's black shoes pointing away from the door. She took it a step at a time, taking deep, slow breaths to slow her heart rate. Twenty feet.
Eighteen. Fifteen. She was past the door, closer to the exit than Roberts. She slowly stood up. Took one more step.
Peeked around, braced herself, planted her feet to sprint away.
Just as she took her first step, she felt a sharp pain as a hand gripped her hair and spun her around.
Her breath caught in her throat as Amanda looked into the grinning face and wild eyes of William Roberts.
She couldn't fight back. His hand was on her neck. The
Winchester was slung over his neck. And in his other hand was a knife nearly half a foot long, a streak of glistening red blood on the blade.
"Miss Davies," he said, his voice metallic and calm. "If you'll please join me."
"Wh…what do you mean? Where?"
"Somewhere a little, oh, scenic. The last girl, Mya, sad to say she's probably going to make it." He smiled at her. Then he said, "Problem is, I didn't drop her from nearly high enough. That's a mistake that won't happen again."