Page 130 of Implode

I shove myself into a small office space and shut the door, clicking the lock into place. I push the potted plant, the desk, the chair, and everything I can move up against the only access to the room. I feel like I just trapped myself inside a box, hoping it does not become my coffin. At least there is a window, and I am low to the ground. I move to the back of the room and slip down onto the floor in a ball in the corner.

Please find me. Before it is too late.

Images of the entire building going up in a dusty mushroom cloud of smoke pass through my brain. I rock back and forth with my knees bent to my chest, closing my eyes and trying desperately to wait this out. I can’t cry because I don’t want to feel. I just want to forget I am here.

My eyes fly open as bullets ricochet from the outside hallway, and I put my hands over my ears to try to drown out the sound. Muffled voices echo, and I shiver at the thought of someone I love getting hurt during the exchange.

All this time it’s been Dan lurking on the sidelines, waiting for the right time to make his move. How did I not see it sooner?

The handle of the door shakes, and I whimper at the realization that I am going to die alone in this room. My baby and I are going to die at the hands of an evil man. Thoughts of Nic flash through my brain as I think about him finding my body. What about Angie? She can’t cope with another loss. She won’t be able to mentally survive this. And to think her life is just getting started. It’s not fair to do that to her.

I think about the baby I won’t ever get to know. I don’t even know the gender yet—or the father. I think about the missed opportunities and how Plus None was my chance to support the way women see themselves as strong, independent warriors of their own domain. I have so much to accomplish, and if my life gets snuffed out before I can make my stamp on the world, what a waste it would be. Change doesn’t happen overnight, and I need more time to get what I want done.

Stay strong, Claire. It’s not over yet.You need to think and stay calm.Quit thinking like a victim, but rather a survivor.

At the opposite side of the room, there’s what appears to be a closet. Hoisting myself off the floor, I make my way to the doors and open them. I stumble backwards at the glowing light that casts an eerie darkness on the entire room, as my eyes take in the sight.

Holy hell.

Pictures, memorabilia, and pencil drawings line the walls of what appears to be a shrine dedicated to me. Battery-operated candles rest on a little table, along with trinkets and items that belong to me. My fingers touch the hairband I remember misplacing on my lunch break. I see a smoothie cup that has my name scribbled along the side that I must have thrown in the trash at one time. There are newspaper cutouts from the Plus None publicity shoot. There’s even a pair of my fucking underwear.

Bile rises in my throat, as I clutch my hands over my mouth to keep it down. I’m going to be sick.

Dan King is a madman.

I look around at the rest of my surroundings, allowing the disgusting feeling in the pit of my stomach to fuel my motivation to get out of here. Going back out into the hallway that is blocked off with chains is not a viable option. There has to be another way to escape and get to safety.

The shaded windows that line the one wall are most likely double-paned and made of thicker glass. There will be no way I can get them to break without hurting myself in the futile attempt. I tip my head back and notice the big air return vent in the corner of the room. I have always been a petite but strong girl. I bet I can fit.

I move the desk over to the wall and stack the chair on top to use it as a step stool. I crawl up onto the desk and then climb onto the chair. Stretching, I use my fingers to try to pull at the metal grate without success. Looking at the screws, I realize I need to get them out first. Hopping down from the chair, I dig through the desk and discover a pair of scissors along with an entire drawer of typical office supplies. I open the scissors and get back up onto the chair. Placing the dulled point into the screw groove, I turn and turn.

It takes me several minutes, but I am able to pull the grate from the wall and expose the dusty hollowed-out metal ducts where the air flows. Hoisting myself up, I slither inside. It smells like I am stuck with my head under dirt. The odor of musk penetrates my nostrils, and I sniffle from the mucus starting to drip from my nose.

I pull up the collar of my dress to protect my airway from breathing in the thick dust. Then, I crawl and crawl and crawl, slowly moving my way through the metal tube. I feel the scratching sensation on my arms and legs, as I get nicked by the metal seams. Sharp joints and metal screws dig into my skin as I slide myself through on my belly. I follow the dark maze until I see the strips of horizontal light. Looking through, I see another office space. I push with my hands and try with all my might to break through. Shove and push and bang.

POP!

Finally, I feel like I might have a chance to get out of here alive. I crawl onto a filing cabinet and then slide down to the carpeted floor. I don’t have time to think. I just need to get out as fast as I can. I dart toward the door and turn the handle. I race down the hall and crash right into a wall.

“Claire? Claire! Oh my gosh, Claire!”

I look up and through the fog of tears in my eyes, I see him, surrounded by armed officers with shields.

“Nic.”

“Yes, baby girl, it’s me. I got you. I got you…”

I feel the rush of warmth fill my body, and for a second, I think I must have died. Maybe from a gunshot or an explosion or from fear. He looks so perfect and whole and beautiful. My words stick in my throat, and I can no longer make a sound. My eyes fill with little black-and-white spots, and then I feel myself drifting—like a helium balloon let go in the wind. I coast and coast and coast…

Until the only thing left is the memory of us.

33

CLAIRE

My head feels like it is a fluffy cloud. My eyes open and several sets are staring back at me expectantly. The sight is so intense that I just shut them again. I must be dead or in a permanent dream-like state. My head feels foggy, and I don’t feel like I am inside my own body.

“Baby? We know you are awake.” It is Nic. Everything else is fuzzy, but I am certain that is him.

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