Bella.
“Shut up or you’re dead now, bitch.” Ben’s voice was so close, above the cacophony of screams from the contestants. Holden reached for his phone, intent to use the flashlight function. As he enabled it a heavy blow to his head made everything go dark.
* * *
“You’re mine now. Stay quiet and I won’t kill your boy toy.” Ben, one of two lighting techs, had her by the hair, the barrel of his gun pressed painfully to her temple. He was forcing her to walk through the school’s dark, empty corridors. He didn’t falter, as if he’d practiced this escape route. As if he meant business.
Keep him talking. Do not let him move you.
Holden’s words were her guiding light, gave her a sense of purpose.
“What did you do to him? And why do you want to hurt me?”
He yanked hard and she saw splatters of light across her vision. Sirens outside and the school fire alarm inside sounded; the emergency lighting came on, giving the hallway a dim but serviceable light.
“I said for you to. Shut. Up!” He pushed her into the wood shop, forcing her to land on her knees. His foot landed on her lower back and she almost passed out from the agony.
Stay conscious. Don’t worry about your kidney.
Scrambling to move away from him as he turned and locked the door, then hauled a workbench in front of it, she looked around the room. The only other exits were the windows, an entire wall of them, through which she saw the blue-and-red lights of the LEA surrounding the building. The only other way out was a bay of double doors where the lumber was delivered. She recalled that it was a loading dock in the back of the school.
Ben didn’t seem as worried about her escaping at this point, as he focused on fortifying the door. Which meant only one thing.
He was going to kill her here and now.
Please, please, Holden. I need you.
* * *
“Holden, where did he take her?” Holden opened his eyes to his best friend standing over him. Spencer’s voice came through a deep fog. He ignored the monster headache that originated from the back of his head. Groggily, he stood, and was ready to make for the staff room.
“She’s not onstage, Holden.” Spencer put his hands on Holden’s chest, stopped him. “Think, man. Where would he take her? We’ve got the other contestants and judges secure in the breakroom, but since the lights went out no one saw where he took her.” Spencer confirmed the safety scenario they’d practiced with the contestants earlier this week, just in case, which had them gather in the breakroom if it was too dangerous to risk exiting the building. “The entire school is surrounded. He’s not going to get out of here alive.”
“Then he’ll kill her, if he hasn’t already. I need you to make sure no one gets out of this building. I’m going to find her.” Holden felt like another person was saying the words. It couldn’t be true. He couldn’t lose Bella. His head cleared and he had to move, had to save her. He began to run.
There was no sign of Bella or Ben anywhere, and he strained to listen for a scream or voice but it was impossible with the school’s emergency alarm clanging. The hallways seemed like one long row of tiled floors after another.
Until a sparkle caught his eye.
Several sequins lay scattered across the floor, in front of the industrial-arts-classroom door. Bella had sequins on her evening gown.
He paused, not wanting to risk barging in and forcing the killer to do anything stupid out of surprise. There were two doors, and he knew that one opened inward, the other swung out into the corridor. It was to allow for maximum-sized furniture and equipment to move through it with ease. The door that swung inward had a window, and as he peered inside he saw the door was blocked by a pile of wood—and he saw Ben’s back, turned to pick up more wood to pile on. Bella lay crumpled at the base of the teacher’s desk in the front of the room.
Please be breathing.
He quickly texted Spencer what he saw and then made a decision that would mean Bella’s life or death. If she was still alive.
She’s alive.
She had to be.
* * *
Bella wanted to scream for Holden to run away when she saw his figure through the classroom-door window. But she had to move very, very slowly, while Ben continued to pile wood atop the workbench. She noted that the bench had wheels, and she hadn’t seen him lock them.
He wasn’t such a smart killer, after all.
Slowly, inch by inch, she got to all fours, then her knees, then when Ben went farther back in the classroom to get more lumber, she surged forward and with all her might pushed on the workbench. It didn’t move an inch.