Page 16 of His to Burn
She nodded curtly, telling me she was ready.
I took that as my cue.
I turned the knob and then pushed the door open moving slowly, millimeter by millimeter.
Almost instantly, my gaze landed on a figure.
I’d seen enough corpses to know I was looking at one now.
But the presence of a body, one that, from what little I could see in the dim room, had experienced a massive amount of trauma, didn’t bode well for what else I would find outside.
I listened as the woman followed and heard her sharp intake of breath.
I looked over my shoulder at her, ready to silence her if she cried out again.
She was quiet, still, but her eyes were wide as she took in the body.
I watched as she visibly tamped down her reaction and then locked eyes with her.
I couldn’t say why I was so in tune with her, but in those brief seconds, I had no doubt that she was in control of herself, that she was as ready as either of us could be to face what was on the other side of the door.
I let my gaze pass over the corpse one final time and took in the disarray in the room.
It appeared to be a storage closet and had all kinds of supplies.
There were countless rolls of toilet paper stacked against one wall and a variety of cleaning tools and cleansers. I spotted something in one corner and walked toward it slowly.
The surge of adrenaline hit me when I realized that it was a set of pipes.
The pipes looked old, solid metal and not those new, flimsy plastic things. Each was about eight inches long. Perhaps a little longer than I would prefer for delivering maximum impact, but the find was better than I dared hope for.
I was sure I’d be stuck making due with mops and brooms, so this was an unexpected piece of good fortune.
I picked up one of the pipes, testing its weight in my hand, and then gave it a swing, familiarizing myself with how it would handle.
Heard the woman’s sharp inhale.
I looked at her and saw the terror in her expression.
I didn’t fucking care.
She’d get over it.
Or not.
I reminded myself she wasn’t my fucking problem, and again turned my attention to pipe.
My first thought had been correct.
These pipes were sturdy and would do damage.
I wasn’t optimistic enough to think it wouldn’t come to that, but at least I was more prepared than I had been before.
I grabbed a spray bottle labeled ammonia and headed toward the door.
“Wait,” the woman said.
Her voice had an undercurrent of urgency, but when I looked at her, she lifted her lips in a nervous smile. She’d been tense, scared, and almost panicked in the elevator. It had been written all over her face. But I was impressedby the way she pushed passed that fear and her nerves to meet my eyes.
