The Attic (Completed)

Chapter 24

Lily dropped to her knees on the walkway as Mike convulsed on the ground. He clutched his head in his hands, writhing.

"You're scaring me," she said, heart racing, "how can I help? Please answer me!"

Fresh blood seeped through the bandaging wrapping his chest as he tried to sit up. She reached out to touch him and he turned toward her. His eyes widened with a sudden look of clarity. "Run," he gasped. "Run, Lily—run to Varkis—"

A shiver rippled down her back and she glanced about wildly as though the world was closing in on her from all sides.

"Run," he cried again, in a strangely disembodied voice. "You can't save me—you have to go." He began to choke and gripped his throat: falling to one side and not letting go. He either couldn't breathe or was trying to strangle himself.

Lily jumped to her feet—and rejecting Mike's command to go to Varkis—ran to the nearby scullery entrance of the mansion instead. She yanked open the door and plunged inside. Her only hope of escape was by vehicle and she must retrieve her car keys. There was no way she was going back into the forest.

The scullery was empty; dull light from the windows barely suffusing the cupboards. Lily peered into the dining room, hurried through, and paused to surmise the corridor. There were several open doors and the assassin could be in any of the rooms, or none. But Ian was here somewhere too, and she could only hope that if the killer were still here, Ian had already captured him: and not the other way around.

She scurried down the hallway toward the front entrance, trying to keep her footfall light, and went up the staircase, avoiding the creaky steps.

The upper level seemed devoid of persons. All the doors were closed, and like the scullery, only a dull light entered through the leaded glass windows at the end of the hall. For all she knew, the assassin could be waiting for her inside her bedroom, behind a drape or settee; or even inside one of the wall passageways, watching through a peephole.

She opened the door slowly and looked inside, breath catching in her throat at the sight.

The room had been torn apart, furniture overturned, drawers dumped, and mattress feathers coating everything.

She went in, keeping an eye on every shadowy corner, and looked for her purse. She found it emptied on the bed, her car keys beside it. Whoever had ransacked her room evidently had no interest in her car.

Stuffing the keys in her pocket, she left the room and hurried downstairs, pausing on the landing to check for any intruders—and seeing no one, slipped out the front entrance and hurried down the steps. It had begun to rain.

She ran down the walkway until she reached the six car garage built of stone, and though she scanned the area under the willows, she couldn't spot Mike where she'd left him. Was he masked by dangling leaves or had he gone?—or worse, had he been taken? She hated to leave him like that but the only possible way she could get help was to leave this place.

Her sedan was parked in front of the garage where she'd left it, and not waiting to catch her breath, she fumbled with the lock and the door swung open with a familiar creak. She climbed in and slammed the door, locking it fast—heart slamming against her chest.

She dared not look back.

Ahead of her, through the trees, the tall wrought iron gates stood wide open, and she exhaled in relief. But why were they open? Had Ian taken a car and abandoned them all or had Chris and Angie left them open upon their departures the night before?

Rain drops spattered the windshield as she turned her key in the ignition with shaky fingers. The vehicle revved to life. She switched the car into reverse and cranked her neck to see out the rear view window as she positioned the nose of the car away from a tree. All was clear. She faced forward, switching on the front and back wipers, and pushed the gas pedal to the floor.