Chest Candy

Chapter 28 Mason

As soon as he'd tucked Alison away, he crept across the hall to the janitor's closet he'd noticed the first time he arrived. Mason had never been able to shake the habit of soaking up all his surroundings, always looking for hiding spots and exits. Though he never thought he'd need it after the last detour.

The redheaded nurse gasped silently, her eyes wide when he ducked into the closet. "It's okay," he mouthed to her before shutting the door behind them to blindness. There hadn't been anyone in the hallway. The nurse stayed glued to the farthest corner. Her breath was heavy in the blackness.

Mason waited, listening for signs and clues. "Are there any hidden exits?" he whispered to the nurse, keeping his voice low and steady.

"Not with the lockdown," she said quietly. "It's old, from when this was solely a psychiatric ward."

He pulled the Colt out of his ankle holster. "Did you see what kind of weapons they had?"

"Not really," she said. "I think one had a gun, I didn't see anything on the other."

"But you saw two men? What kind of gun?"

"I don't—I don't know ..."

"Was it like a pistol, rifle, or machine gun?"

"Kind of like a pistol, but longer barrel. Not a rifle."

"Okay."

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice trembling. "I don't remember a lot—"

"It's okay. You did good," he said. He pulled up the flashlight app on his phone and surveyed the closet. Two rows were full of nothing but industrial garbage bags. "Get into the bag," he said. "I'll put some supplies around you before I go. Don't move, and don't make sound when the door opens. I'll come back to get you when it's over."

She complied without question, and after she was stowed away with cleaning products and buckets flanking her, there was no way anyone would think a person was in there.

When he slipped back into the eerily quiet hallway, he heard chattering in Arabic towards the front of the hall, near the reception desk. His Arabic was rusty at best, and with the hushed voice he couldn't make anything out. However, he could tell from the voices they were young, and just two males.

Inching towards the front desk, he heard the voices split apart. One pair of footsteps marched away from him, down the far hall. As Mason slid along the wall, he heard a light sobbing in one of the rooms. The door was open, and inside a teenaged girl was curled tight into a ball. She looked at him, at his pistol, and started to open her mouth.

Mason held his finger to his lips. "Get in the closet," he mouthed to her, gesturing to the twin linen closet that was in Alison's room. "Quietly," he added, and she scampered towards the door. He glanced down the hall, but heard nothing. The second gunman must be waiting near the reception desk.

The intercom flickered to life. "We have been patient," the voice said. He could hear it all around him, but the real voice thundered from just one hundred feet away. "Every person come to the reception area immediately. If you want to die quickly. And, believe me, you do."

He continued to make his way forward, the hallway quiet save for the far away stomp of boots in the other hall. Peering around the corner, he saw the back of the boy's head. He couldn't have been more than twenty years old, dressed in faded jeans and a leather jacket. The gun, a Glock 24, was being waved towards the ceiling carelessly while the kid toyed with the intercom handle.

The boy with shaggy black hair picked up an iPhone from the desk. "Aa sha?" he asked into it. Mason slid his pistol into his jeans. It would be easy to disarm and take down the kid. Standing just two steps away, he could smell cologne sprayed too generously.