“Izzy! Come on!” I call as she almost reaches the Heywood Gallery doors. She must hear the pleading tone in my voice, because she stops and I scramble to reach her. “I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting. I’m scared too! But just think for a second.” I move close to her and lower my voice, turning my back on the building. “There are security cameras right above the doors. There will be a really clear video of us to hand over to the police if anything happens in that gallery.” I pause and choose my next words carefully, knowing I need to tread lightly if I want to get through to her. “You don’t want to throw your life away, do you?”
She sniffs back tears, her shoulders sagging slightly. “I just want all this to be over!” The last word catches in her throat, and I take a step closer.
“So do I,” I say gently, reaching out a comforting hand to rub her bare arm. A run of gooseflesh on her skin grazes my fingers. “That’s why I want to go to the police, Iz. To stop whoever is doing this.”
“But you were right—two people have been murdered, and the police haven’t put it together yet. They haven’t stopped it,”she says, voice wobbly as a sob escapes. “Because they can’t if it’s not a real person, can they? What if the original killer really is here and this is the only thing that will stop him?”
“Why are you suddenly so hell-bent on this being caused by something supernatural?” I ask her, pulling back.
Her face crumples as she shakes her head, tears leaking from her eyes. “It can’t be a person,” she replies between hiccups. “Look at what theydid, Fliss.” She breaks down then, her whole body shaking, the events of the past week catching up with her. I rub her back, letting her cry it out and making soothing noises as her teeth start to chatter.
“Here.” I slip off my jacket and drape it round her shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” Izzy says through a sniff.
“Come on, let’s get home. We’ll be safe there. You have the keys, right?”
“Yeah.” Izzy wipes her face with the back of one hand, streaks of black mascara smearing her skin. She pulls a green key ring out of her trouser pocket, and my heart sinks.
“Iz, that’s Dad’s key ring. There are only two keys on there, and neither of them will open the apartment, just the gallery.”
“I only thought about getting into the gallery,” she admits, deflated. “Maybe he keeps a spare house key in his work desk?”
I take a key between my thumb and forefinger. “It’s worth a try now that we’re here, I guess. You want to wait for me?”
“With a killer on the loose? I don’t think so.” Izzy sniffs, following closely behind me as I unlock both dead bolts on the gallery door.
The thought of the security alarm occurs a split second too late, and I wince, waiting for a siren to start blaring.
But there’s nothing.
“Weird,” I mutter, holding the door open for Izzy. “Alessandra must have forgotten to set the alarm.”
“Or it’s one of those silent ones, in which case I better hide these before the police arrive.” She shoves her firestarter stash under the welcome desk. “If anyone asks, we just got locked out the apartment, yeah?” I nod as she slips her hand into mine. “It’s really scary in here this late.”
“I know,” I whisper, glancing at our ghostly reflections in the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Let’s leg it to the office and go straight home to wait for my dad.”
“Sounds like a plan,” she affirms. “Erm, Fliss? Are the lights usually left on at night?”
“I wouldn’t think so,” I say, looking at the light coming from under the heavy doors that lead to gallery one. I ease one open, but the faint sound of footsteps makes me drop it, and I pull Izzy back into the foyer. The noise stops as the door seals itself shut. “Someone else is in here.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
“It must be Alessandra, right?”Izzy stares at me wide-eyed, her voice urgent. “Right?”
“Yeah,” I say, shaking off the fear that’s creeping down my throat. “Of course it is. The front door was locked, and there can’t be many people who have keys. I bet that’s why the alarm didn’t go off either. She’s probably just working late.”
“Should we text? Check it is her?”
“I left my phone at home when I ran out after you.” I wince. “Please tell me you brought yours?”
“Of course I did.” She pulls it from her pocket and frowns. “Two percent battery.” She looks at me apologetically as she opens the messaging app. “It’s ancient. The battery never lasts.”
“It’s fine, just send a quick text and I’m sure she’ll reply straight away.” I watch Izzy type and try not to acknowledge the gnawing sense of dread that fills the foyer. “Anything?”
“It just says delivered.” We stare at the little ticks, willing them to change color, or for a typing bubble to appear, but nothing happens. “I guess she’s working? She might have it on silent.”
“Yeah.” I straighten up and take a deep breath. “Well, weneed that key. We could go the back way and avoid all those creepy gallery rooms.”