Rooke by Callie Hart

Author:Callie Hart [Hart, Callie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-03-14T07:00:00+00:00

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I can’t walk properly. I can’t put any weight onto my left leg; every time I try, a searing, sharp pain stabs through my nerve endings. Not just the nerve endings in my leg, but all over my body, quick and wicked as lightning. It’s breathtaking in its severity—so much so that I almost lose consciousness as the guy in the ski mask drags me by the arm down the corridor.

“You’re going to take me out of the secret door,” he says, ignoring my labored breathing. I’m hopping and skipping, trying to keep up with him, but he seems oblivious. “Once we’re out of the secret door, you’re going to wait out of sight while I hail a taxi. We’ll both sit in the back. You’re going to pretend like I’m your friend. You’re not going to try and raise the alarm. If you do, it’ll all be out of my control. I won’t be able to help you anymore. Do you understand?”

“There isn’t a secret door. There’s only the loading dock entrance, and—”

“The loading dock entrance, then. The loading dock. The loading dock. Yes.” He says the words, and it’s final. I can’t argue with him. I can’t suggest another option. Something’s not right with this guy, I can tell. Aside from being a violent criminal, I suspect he is also suffering from some sort of mental disorder that causes him to fixate on things. When he wanted me to apologize in my office, it was almost as if he was anxious. His volatile actions were driven by some desperate need for me to do as he bid me. He won’t stop talking about rules—rules that I must follow, and a completely different set of rules that he needs to follow. And now, yanking me by the arm, it seems imperative that we reach the loading dock as quickly as humanly possible.

He obviously doesn’t know the way, so he continually shoves me out in front of him, forcing me to stand on my injured leg, and every time I transfer weight onto it my stomach turns. I’m going to throw up soon, and I won’t be able to hold back. I already know he won’t like that.

He keeps me away from the windows. He stands on my right as we make painfully slow progress down the stairs, blocking the view outside so I can’t see what’s going on. I think that maybe there are people out there, gathered on the steps of the museum. I don’t have a watch on, and I’m too scared to pull my cell phone from the waist band of my skirt to check the time on there, so I have no idea what the hour is, but it feels late. Late enough that the museum should be open now. The fact that it’s not tells me he’s barred the entranceway somehow, and that other staff members have been alerted to the fact that something untoward is happening inside the building. Do the police know? Dear god, I hope so.

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