Chapter 14
“Oh my god,” Shane said. “Oh my god, no.”
White Shirt pushed himself up with his right arm, got his knees under him.
Fear and horror and despair flooded through Shane, the emotions making his eyes fill, his vision blur.
“Please, god,” he said, “please, no.”
White Shirt tried to stand, but his ruined leg wouldn’t hold his weight. He collapsed back to his knees.
Shane pulled in a deep breath, blinking away the tears. He pulled in another breath, concentrating on the feel of the air in his lungs, the burning in his throat.
White Shirt tried to stand again, and fell once more. He got to his knees, stayed there. He swung his head around, searching. He paused, head pointed in the direction of the couch.
He started crawling toward Terrance.
Shane took another deep breath, focusing on the feeling, trying to make his thoughts go calm. Trying to find stillness in his mind.
“Okay,” he said. And a moment later: “Okay.”
He got to his feet. He walked toward White Shirt, reaching into his pocket. He pulled the square lighter out. It was the type of lighter with a flint-wheel and a cloth wick. Shane flicked the wheel, lighting the wick.
He grabbed White Shirt by the collar, jerking him back from the couch. He dragged the man away from Terrance, and then touched the lighter to the man’s rum-soaked shirt.
The flame caught instantly, flaring so hot that Shane could feel it through the rubber glove on his left hand. He let go of White Shirt, stepping back from the flame that quickly enveloped the man’s battered head. Acrid black smoke billowed up toward the skylight. A rich, barbeque smell filled the air. Shane watched the smoke, wondering if the fire-sprinkler system was working, or if it was offline, like the lights.
White Shirt let out another moan, rolling onto his belly, struggling onto his knees.
And then he fell back onto his belly. His arms and legs moved for another several seconds, and then stopped.
The initial flare of the fire started to dim along the man’s head. Tongues of flame licked across his back, but died out as the shirt turned to ash. The rum had burned off before the heat could build enough to ignite the man’s fat. But apparently it had been enough to boil his brain, or to sear his lungs and suffocate him.
Within a few minutes, the flames had almost entirely died. The man’s head was blackened and charred, and the flames had burned a black halo in the carpet around his upper body.
Shane went back to the couch, looked down at Terrance.
“You’re right,” he said, “we need to get your gun.”
Shane went to the janitor’s closet on the top floor, opened it and pulled out the cart. He took all of the cleaning supplies off the cart, removed the trash bag that hung from it, and wheeled it over to the couch.
Terrance still hadn’t moved. Shane watched him, counting slowly. After thirty seconds Terrance drew a shallow breath, and let it back out. He was still alive.
Shane pulled the top of the cart off, leaving the wheeled base, which he positioned on the floor near Terrance’s upper body. Then he grabbed Terrance by the front of his coveralls, and heaved him off the couch and onto the cart base. The cart base was wide enough for his shoulders, but it was only long enough to support Terrance from the nape of his neck to his lower back. His head dangled off one end, and his hips and legs dangled off the other.
Shane crossed Terrance’s arms over his chest to keep them from dragging. Then he walked around to Terrance’s legs, grabbed an ankle in each hand, and lifted. He pulled Terrance over to the elevator, dragging him by his legs.
The elevator opened immediately, and Shane struggled Terrance into it. He turned and looked at the buttons, and noticed something.
There had been blood on the button for the fifth floor, which is what gave Shane the clue that led him to Terrance earlier in the day. He’d gotten blood on the elevator call button on the fifth floor himself, and wiped that off. But he’d never touched the blood on this button, inside the elevator, figuring Terrance could and should be the one to do it.
There was no blood there now.
Shane frowned, thinking. It didn’t look like Terrance had done any cleaning on the fifth floor, and Shane doubted he’d gotten back in the elevator at all. More likely he’d stayed on the couch after Shane left him, and had only moved to the bathroom later, when he’d started throwing up.
Who had cleaned this button?
He crouched down to look at it. There was no blood, but there was a thin film of something on the button, and smeared on the metal beside it. Something mostly clear, but with a slight sheen, like a snail’s trail. Along the edge of the button, the film was marked with a few small circles, as though there had been a slight froth of bubbles there, which had popped as the liquid dried.
Shane stood back up, still thinking. And then he thought of White Shirt, kneeling in the elevator, licking Terrance’s blood.
Shane felt a crazy laugh bubbling up in him. Was that the answer? Could it really be something that random?
Did White Shirt remember how to press an elevator button, or had he pressed the button accidentally, while licking the blood off it?
The laugh swelled in Shane’s chest until he couldn’t hold it back. He opened his mouth, letting the laughter pour forth. He laughed all the air out of his lungs, went on wheezing. His head swam and his knees felt suddenly weak, and he put a hand against the elevator wall to steady himself. He gasped in another breath, and laughed that out too, his cheeks aching, his eyes flooded with tears. Heat rushing over him, his ribs sore. The laughter sounded wild in his ears, maniacal, but he couldn’t hold it back. He felt as if he was about to burst.
And then he caught a glimpse of Terrance, just a glimpse, as if he were looking out at his coworker from within a fog of mirth. Terrance’s jaw was working, trying to open, but prevented from doing so by the belt wrapped around his head. And his eyes were open, the whites bloodshot to vivid pink, the skin around them darkened even beyond the darkness of the rest of his face. His eyes were open, looking at Shane.
And his eyes looked confused.
It wasn’t the dead look Shane had seen in the eyes of White Shirt or Flannel Man. It was a look of puzzlement. Exhaustion was in his eyes too, but confusion and curiosity were undeniably there.
The wild laughter that had possessed Shane disappeared instantly, like a flame doused with water.
“Terrance!” he said.
Shane dropped to his knees, hands flying to the belt. He loosened the belt, took it off of Terrance’s head. Terrance moved his lips, trying to speak. He pulled in a breath, and tried again.
“Crazy?” he said in a murmur.
“I’m getting there, man,” Shane said, smiling. “I’m getting there. But not yet.”
Terrance’s eyes held that same puzzled look, but he didn’t try to say anything else.
“Come on,” Shane said. “We’re going to get your gun.”
He reached out and hit the button for the ground floor. The doors slid shut, and the elevator started its descent.