Page 16 of Take Her
And I was feeling pretty good about things, honestly.
I wasn’t as fast as Carlos would’ve liked, but I could tell he appreciated how thorough I was being, and the fact that I wasn’t whining—unlike Rhaim, he wasn’t the kind of man who could keep his emotions off his face—and I was certain I was in his good graces when he returned with a second Snickers bar around five in the morning. I tossed it in my pocket, so I could have it when I was done with my current cleaning, and once the bathroom I was in was spotless, I folded the gloves up and placed them on the edge of the massive trash bucket I was rolling around. I washed my hands and sat down against the floor that I had just mopped, with my back against the wall that I had also just wiped down, feeling a little bit like Cinderella but in a good way. I’d be sore as hell tomorrow—sore on top of sore, as I still wore Rhaim’s bruises on my ass—but things were all right.
This was good.
I could do this.
Five nights would be a piece of cake.
And I liked having the building to myself, all quiet-like, I thought, as I broke into the candy bar.
It made me feel like I belonged here.
I’d been in town for two weeks, setting myself up in a new apartment before I’d come by this morning with my dad. I’d been worried about inserting myself into Rhaim’s life, and making sure my dad didn’t pawn me off on some other employee, but now that I’d successfully managed that—ish—I had space to think about other things.
Like how all this cleaning felt metaphorical to me.
Like I was earning myself a fresh start.
And maybe I really could manage to swing everything—getting Corvo and getting Rhaim—then the lights went off and disabused me of my dreams.
I hunkered down instinctively, parts of me that I’d tried to forget reacting before conscious thought.
“Carlos?” I called out, over my music. “C-C-arlos?” I tried again when no one responded. “This isn’t funny!”
I fumbled my phone out of my uniform pocket and pushed the volume down.
“Hello?” I said, waving my arm, hoping I could trigger whatever motion-sensitive light had gone out on me before my incipient panic attack. The flashes of light from my phone screen ricocheted off the long row of mirrors, making it look like I was trapped in a mirror room at the carnival.
It’s going to be okay, I tried to tell myself, trying to outpace the acid rising at the back of my throat. You’re going to be okay.
You’re in the Corvo building.
You’re safe.
Only there was no way I could make myself believe that—not in the dark, not when it was terrifying.
“Hello?” I called out, putting handprints all over the freshly cleaned wall as I clung to it to trace to where the light switch was.
My fingers found its plastic shell with a sense of relief—then fresh fear washed over me, as I discovered it was already in the on position—and when I frantically flipped it, nothing changed.
Not a joke?
Just a power outage?
But the end result was the same.
I went out into the hallway, which was completely dark, except the small red lights on the fire alarms on the ceilings, blinking like distant planes.
“Carlos!” I shrieked at the top of my lungs. When no one answered me, I went to change my hold on my phone, to turn its light on, but I dropped it in my haste, and then as I fell to my knees to try to find it, I kicked it accidentally and heard it skittering away, along with the last of my ability to control myself—the darkness had beat down the doors of the closet I’d hid in so often as a child.
No.
No-no-no!
Please no!
You know there’s nowhere you can hide, right?