Jan Burke - Liar

Pebbles of it pelted hard down on us, blue-green gravel from the sky. We hardly noticed the glass, though, for as we turned toward the building an object hurtled onto the sidewalk next to us, spraying us with blood and God knows what else, making a horrible sound, a sort of crackling thunk, as if someone had smashed a carton of eggs by hurling a watermelon at it.

This helpless missile had been a man, a frail old man.

I looked away, looked up to see where he had fallen from, and saw a sight so incongruous, I wondered if my mind had finally snapped. Above us, leaning out through a broken ninth-story window, was a man in a black wetsuit, wearing a ski mask and gloves.

Someone a few feet away started screaming, and soon several people were screaming, shouting, running toward us. I looked to see Travis, bending over the awful mess on the sidewalk, shouting, “No!” He took a breath, filled his lungs, and let it out in a long, loud “No!” again and again and again.

I shoved through the flow of people who came toward us, moved away from my cousin and the remains of a man I already knew must have been Ulkins, ran out of the crowd and into the building, hell-bent to catch the son of a bitch who was seriously screwing up the Maguire family reunion.

I got lucky-the lobby was empty, an elevator car was open and waiting. I was in it and on my way up to the ninth floor before my temper cooled off enough to allow me to ask myself what the hell I thought I was going to do when I caught up with Mr. Death in a Wetsuit. I quickly pressed eight, got out on that floor, pulled the stop button, then the “down” call button to bring the other car. When it arrived, I did the same thing- pulled the stop button. If he hadn’t escaped already, he wasn’t going to take an elevator. That left the stairwell. He might have plans for using the roof, but he’d be obvious-people on the street would be looking up at the ninth floor, the top of the building.

A man running around downtown in a wetsuit would be equally obvious. Anyone who was wearing a wetsuit inside an office building didn’t just happen to walk in off the street that way; he planned to wear it, and must have plans for getting out of it and into less attention-grabbing attire. I was counting on that to give me some time to limit his escape options.

I hurried toward the stairwell, to my right. I would just keep an eye on him, I told myself. From a safe distance. I’d stay low until I heard him pass by, then step into the stairwell and get a look at him. Tell the police where he had gone, give as good a description of his street clothes as I could manage. Nothing more. No revenge-yet.

This darkened floor of the building seemed deserted; all the office doors along the long, L-shaped hallway were closed. All was quiet. At the top of the L, far behind me, a tall window at the other end of the hall provided soft low light. The end I was approaching, near the stairwell door, was brighter. As I reached that part of the hall, I saw that the light came from a larger, second window-an old fire escape. I wondered briefly if he would make use of it, but decided he would not-too much exposure, and unlike the stairwell, it made access to other floors more difficult.

As I neared the stairwell door, I heard a soft clicking sound behind me and whirled, but saw nothing. I felt myself break out in a cold sweat. Suddenly, the hallway was filled with a loud ringing, a giant’s brass alarm clock, echoing off the walls-the elevators. The stop buttons must have had a timer on them-and now the alarm bells were heralding my presence to anyone one floor above. I ran back down the hallway, got into one of the cars and slammed my palm against the stop button, then hit the “close doors” button. Nothing happened. The ringing was so loud in this enclosed space, it made me clench my teeth. I wasn’t going to stay in that elevator car.

I considered going into the stairwell, or a nearby janitor’s closet, but opted instead for the fire escape. What would have been his disadvantage would be my advantage-and outside the back of the building, I might see any exit the killer made from this side.

The bells kept ringing, the hall seemed to be made of the sound. I stepped closer to the window, took hold of the latch on the sash, and vaguely recognized the reflection of something dark before he grabbed me from behind and yanked me backwards, off balance. A large, black rubber hand, coated in something wet and warm and sticky, covered my face. The smell of it mixed with rubber made me want to pull away, but he held me tight, his much larger arm pinning both of my arms; I felt the weird smoothness of the neoprene suit against my skin, on my neck and arms, as he lifted me off my feet, and even as I kicked at him, turned and slammed my head into the wall.

Dazed, I saw nothing but black wetsuit and the wall as he maneuvered me against it; I made some useless efforts to push away, then felt searing pain on my already aching scalp as he took hold of a handful of my hair and yanked it hard. His other hand took me by the belt; he lifted me from my feet by these two handles and swung me toward the wall again.

At the last instant, I realized his intention and tried to shield my face with my arms, twisted my head just enough to prevent myself from hitting completely face-first. It hurt like hell anyway, the impact strong enough to give me a bloody nose. He slightly changed his grip, picked me up, and twisting at the last minute, managed to land another blow to my head. I didn’t feel anything after the moment of impact.

I awakened, if you can call it that, to heat, and the smell of something burning. Neoprene. And rubber gloves. And other things. I had no idea how long I had been out, but I could still hear the goddamn elevator bells ringing and took that to be a good sign. People would be coming into the building, they would hear the bells. No, I thought-slowly, it seemed-people don’t run into burning buildings.

I was dizzy, and facedown on the linoleum, which-a few feet away from me-was also on fire. I couldn’t see very far. The hallway was filling with smoke. I looked for an exit, but the stairwell and the hallway to the elevators were blocked by a bonfire of sorts. An evidence fire, with what looked like a few items from the janitor’s closet thrown in for good measure.

I tried to move, found my hands tied behind my back, but my feet free. Telling myself that being burned alive would hurt worse, I tried to ignore the aching in my head and face and the strain on everything else as I pulled my knees up to my chest, worked my hands down over my rear and feet, then rolled to my back, bringing my hands in front of me. They were bound by an electrical cord, and I decided not to waste time trying to untie them-I needed to get the hell out of the building.

I moved awkwardly toward the fire escape again, staying low, trying to breathe the cooler air near the floor. By the time I had reached the window, the heat was intense, the smoke thickening. As I stood and reached for the window latch, I prayed to God that Arthur Spanning had maintained his building well.

The window opened easily, and set off another loud alarm, but my head was already ringing. I half-crawled, half-fell out onto the fire escape, and only then heard sirens and shouting. I was on my back, looking at the sky, which also had smoke in it, and a helicopter. But although smoke was billowing out after me, compared to the hallway the air here was cool and good, and for the next few moments, all I could do was close my eyes and take big gulps of it into my lungs. Someone in the helicopter said something over a loudspeaker and I’m fairly sure it had to do with me, because soon a fireman was on the fire escape, talking to me, freeing my hands.

“Travis!” I said, sitting up too quickly.