Page 13 of Revenge of the Forgotten

Vega shook the wine bottle, coaxing the last drop of liquid out. She felt like a fiend, groaning when she realized she was officially out. “I can’t believe this is my life.”

The scar around her wrist hadn’t lost its itch—it had worsened. Her skin was red and raw from her fingernails digging into the delicate skin.

She let the bottle hit the floor too hard, cringing until it stopped clattering and remained fully intact.

It had been over an hour since she’d gotten off the phone with the dispatch operator. Halfway through the bottle, she started hollering again, hoping that someone, anyone, would hear her on the other side. She felt like a prisoner in a cell.

A bottle of wine deep, she decided to press the Call button again. And again, and again, and again until her finger went numb. She wanted to cry, to scream, but what was the point?

She was alone. Truly and utterly alone.

Vega laid herself on the floor, sprawled out like a starfish. One, two, three, four, five, six… She began to count the lines in the ceiling tile until she had to go back to the beginning and start again.

A voice sounded on the other side of the elevator when she got to 995. “Hello?” Vega almost thought it was all in her head until the deep voice continued to talk. “This is the Chicago Fire Department. We’re here to get you out. Can you hear me?”

Vega jumped up so quickly she made herself dizzy. “Yes! Thank you! Oh my god, thank you!” She rested her hand against the metal door, dreaming of the hero on the other side.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

What a fully loaded question.

Vega swallowed, closing her eyes. “I just want to get out of here.”

“We’ve gotcha.” There was movement behind the door. “What’s your name? I’m Oliver.” Poor Oliver had drawn the short stick and was tasked with keeping her calm while they broke her out.

“Vega.” Her voice felt small.

“That’s a pretty name. Okay, Vega, I’m going to need you to stand back. You’re stuck in between floors.” His voice came from above her head.

Vega nodded.

“You’ve got to give me a verbal confirmation that you understand before we start.”

Duh, Vega! “Yes. I’m standing back.” She stumbled backward. That bottle of wine had inebriated her, making her limbs feel heavy and slow.

“Good. We’re going to get you out of there quickly. Promise,” Oliver said, and she imagined him holding up his hand like a boy scout.

Vega did her best to keep her heart rate down—the visions she’d been having seemed to come whenever she couldn’t keep herself from panicking.

“Vega?” The same voice was close to the door again. “You okay?”

This man was a complete 180 in personality to the woman on dispatch. “I’m okay. Are you almost done?” she asked, antsier by the passing second.

“We’re going to pry the door open.”

Those words made her squirm excitedly, her weight shifting from foot to foot.

Less than a minute later, the elevator’s doors creaked open, forced apart by a crowbar. The opened doors revealed a dark wall with enough space in between the floor for Vega to fall to her death.

Heights weren’t her favorite. Chase once surprised her with a bungee jumping excursion in the Bahamas for their honeymoon, and when she got to the top of the tower, she chickened out and ran as fast as she could to the bottom.

Maybe Jessica is more adventurous.

She choked back her fear, forcing her eyes up to the man splayed out on the floor above the dark abyss. His pretty amber eyes were clear even in the dim lighting. “Bobby’s Diner?” he asked, noting her blue uniform with white, scuffed-up non-slip sneakers.

Vega stared, still dancing back and forth on her feet to avoid feeling antsy. Words, Vega. You need to say words. “Yeah. It’s a really glamorous place.” Maybe not those words, but it was better than staring blankly.

The handsome fireman smiled at her, reaching an arm down through the too-thin opening she was expected to slip through. “Pass your bags up to me, and I’ll pull you out next.” His fingers wiggled in wait.

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