Page 149 of Call Back

Chapter 29

I lether lead me back into the hallway, and then we started up a set of back stairs to the second floor. “Belinda, the serial killer is here.”

“Not now, Magnolia.”

“But—”

“Not now.”

She was scaring me.

“Are we supposed to be up here?” I asked when we were halfway up the stairs.

“No one will stop us,” she said, but it sounded flat.

“Thank you for the dress,” I said nervously. “It’s beautiful, and I want you to know that I’m planning on returning it first thing tomorrow.”

“Shh,” she said as we reached the top. It was only then that I noticed the small gun in her hand.

“Belinda?” I asked, my voice tight with fear. “What are you doing?”

“I need you to hurry.”

She hurried down the hallway full of doors, half of which looked like offices. The floor was covered with carpet, muffling the sound of our heels. She stopped about halfway down the hall and opened a door with a key. “We’re going down here.”

“What?” I glanced through the door and realized the dark room was actually a four-by-four closet that contained a spiral staircase. “No.”

“Yes. Go.” She gave me a tiny shove.

I was determined not to lose it, yet hysteria was bubbling up inside me anyway. “Are you going to kill me?”

“No, of course not. But I need you to cooperate. You’ll understand when it’s done.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” I asked. “Tell me now, goddammit.”

“I love you like a sister, Magnolia, but I’ve sacrificed the last two years for this moment, and I’ll be damned if I let you screw it up for me.”

“What is it? What are you going to do?”

“You’ll find out, but we need to go. Now.” She grabbed my wrist with her free hand and pulled me into the closet stairwell, shutting the door behind us and plunging us into darkness.

“I can’t, Belinda. I can’t. The killer . . . the basement . . .” I struggled to catch my breath.

“What?” Belinda asked, her voice softening. “What are you talking about?”

“The serial killer . . . ten years ago . . . I saw him kill someone. He knows who I am. He just sent me a photo.”

“Okay, slow down,” she said, cupping my cheek in the darkness and sounding much more like herself. “Are you saying you’ve seen the man who killed Emily and Amy?”

“And several other women,” I said, feeling a small sliver of control return.

“Is it Bill James?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t see his face. He hurt me . . . I think I had a concussion and kept drifting in and out of consciousness. He killed a woman and gave me a scar so I’d never forget. And he’s here tonight, Belinda.” I grabbed her arm. “We have to tell the police. I have to tell Brady.”

“That’s why you ran away?”

“Yes. Let me go tell Brady.”

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