The Dead Key Part 23

"Yeah, why?"

"Well, I'll need something to keep me entertained while you get ready."

"I just . . ."

The elevator doors opened. She needed to go back to the vault and return the keys, but she didn't want to explain the whole thing to Nick. Mostly, she didn't want to admit she'd taken the keys at all. Wretched guilt gnawed in the pit of her stomach. If Nick knew, she might get in trouble at work for slacking off and stealing from the building. She had no idea if he could keep a secret or if he would keep one for her. Besides, the whole thing sounded so stupid.

"Okay."

Nick followed Iris home to her new apartment three blocks from his house. She chain-smoked the whole way.

"Don't you have to go home first?" she asked nervously as he got out of the car.

"What for? Hey, nice place. Good location." He winked at her and sauntered up to her front door.

She fumbled with the key, feeling his hot stare all over her. She couldn't believe she was inviting him into her house. Her jaw muscles tightened in determination. She would be d.a.m.ned if he talked her into bed again before at least buying her a steak. It wasn't dignified or ladylike or whatever it was supposed to be.

"Thanks! Well, here it is. Beer's in the fridge. Help yourself," she called over her shoulder and then ran into her bedroom.

"I like what you've done with the place," he called through her closed door. She heard him stumble around the forest of unpacked boxes, fighting his way to the fridge.

This was a terrible idea. She hadn't unpacked. The house was a mess. She was standing there naked and only then realized her bath towel was across the hall in the bathroom. She didn't own a robe. She lived alone, so what was the point? Now she was naked and trapped in her own bedroom.

"I haven't unpacked yet," she replied loudly, and searched the room for something to cover herself. Paper bag? Pillowcase? The room was littered with useless objects. It was only three steps from her door to the bathroom, and the kitchen was around a corner and out of sight. She cracked open her bedroom door and searched for her uninvited houseguest. He was in the kitchen, searching for a bottle opener. She could hear him opening and closing drawers. Perfect. She flung the door open and made a naked dash for the bathroom.

She made it. She slammed the door closed and locked it. Iris had just successfully streaked through her own apartment. She couldn't help but laugh.

"What's so funny?" His voice was way too close to the door.

"Nothing!" she sang out, and turned on the hot water and the ceiling fan so that any further conversation would be drowned out. She proceeded to take the longest shower of her life. She shaved her legs. She deep-conditioned her hair. She was debating scrubbing the shower walls when she heard a pounding on the door.

"Hey! Did you drown in there?"

Iris shut off the water and the fan. She wrapped a towel around herself and cracked open the door. "Sorry. I guess I was pretty dirty." She winced. "I mean, I had a long day."

Nick burst out laughing. "Dirty, huh? Well that little sneak preview was pretty filthy, I have to say."

Iris's eye bulged in their sockets. He'd seen her running to the bathroom. Now he was nearly in hysterics.

"You sneak!" she protested, blus.h.i.+ng from head to toe. She swung the bathroom door open and slugged him in the arm. "You're not even supposed to be here. Why couldn't you just pick me up like a normal person so we could go have a normal date?"

Nick backed away, chuckling, as she smacked at him in protest. Iris didn't realize until it was too late that he had backed into her bedroom. Her hair was dripping from the shower, and she was wrapped in a ratty towel that was barely big enough to cover her a.s.s. It was a trap. She took a step back toward the door.

"Hey. Not so fast." He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her against his warm, soft s.h.i.+rt. He gazed down at her, then kissed her softly on the lips. She couldn't help but kiss him back. His fingertips left a trail of fire down her back. He grazed her neck with his lips, and she gasped involuntarily. Before her head could catch up to his hands, her towel was on the floor.

CHAPTER 45.

Iris woke the next morning to an empty apartment. All that was left of Nick was an empty pizza box and a handful of beer bottles. She'd chased him out in the middle of the night. She had to work in the morning and was far too uneasy to actually sleep next to him after he'd seduced her again. And again. She rolled over on the dirty sheets and buried her head under her pillow. The bed would have to be burned.

On the way to her car, she decided to bring coffee and doughnuts over to Nick as a sort of peace offering after throwing him out so abruptly. He couldn't be too angry with her after their night together. At least she hoped not.

She stopped by the coffee shop across the park and drove the three blocks to Nick's little townhouse. A sweet old couple was out walking a dog. Iris smiled at them before climbing up his stairs. She knocked and waited. She knocked again, trying to balance two cups of coffee and a bag of fried dough. On the third knock, a disheveled Nick answered the door in boxer shorts.

"Hey, there!"

Nick squinted in the morning light and said nothing.

"Sorry I woke you up. I just thought I'd bring you some breakfast."

"You all right? You need something?" He was clearly not happy to be out of bed.

"No, I'm fine. I just wanted to say hi I guess." Iris tried to look dopey and lovable, but she realized she probably just looked dumb.

He just stood there scowling at her.

She handed him the coffee and the doughnut bag. "Here, go back to bed. Sorry for waking you."

She turned and scurried back to her car. Being spontaneously romantic was a huge mistake. She drove away, feeling like an idiot.

It wasn't until she was halfway downtown that she realized she'd given him her breakfast as well. They were supposed to sit and eat together and have their first real conversation. She pounded her hand into the steering wheel.

Where were his bedroom eyes and easy smile that morning, she wondered? Now that he'd taken what he wanted yet again, he was happy to let her just stand there like an idiot-an idiot with breakfast for him no less.

Maybe he wasn't awake yet, she told herself. Maybe she ran away before he could throw his arm around her and give her a good-morning kiss. Sure, and maybe he'd been up all night writing bad love songs about our torrid night together, she thought sarcastically. How could she be so stupid?

She heard a loud honk and looked up from the wheel. The light was green. The sky was blue, and n.o.body in all of Cleveland gave one s.h.i.+t about her pathetic love life. She drove the rest of the way to the old bank puffing on a cigarette.

Iris stormed into the building after Ramone buzzed her through and banged on the elevator b.u.t.ton. She banged on it again and kicked the wall.

"Whoa, what's wrong with you?"

Ramone was never in the loading dock, but there he was for no good reason. It just figured that someone would be there to witness her meltdown.

"Ramone, let me ask you a question," Iris blurted out. "If a woman brought you coffee and a doughnut the morning after a wonderful date, what would you do?"

"Change my locks."

"What?" she practically shrieked.

"If she's comin' over to my house the morning after a date, she's either desperate or crazy."

Her eyes widened.

He broke out laughing. "Oh, I get it. This woman is you, right? Well, I didn't mean no offense." He was trying to stifle his laughter, but it kept sneaking out of his mouth. He gave her a friendly slap on the shoulder. "So which is it? You desperate or crazy?"

She attempted a smile. "Maybe both."

Maybe Ramone was right. She wanted to go back home and crawl under her bed. Instead, she pulled out her radio and checked the battery.

"Ah, don't sweat it. If the guy likes you, he'll call. Just don't bug him for a while." Ramone smiled. "Hey, try not to buzz every five d.a.m.ned minutes today, okay?"

She nodded, avoiding his smirk by rus.h.i.+ng into the elevator. Tears stung her eyelids. How pathetic. She needed to get over herself. She had bigger problems than Nick, and she needed help.

Iris stuck her head back out into the loading dock. "Hey, Ramone?"

"Yeah?"

"Was that you in the vault yesterday? You know, when Brad and I were down in the tunnels?"

"You went in the tunnels?" He raised his eyebrows, then shook his head. "I wasn't down there. Why you askin'?"

"I just thought I saw somebody. Somebody in a blue s.h.i.+rt. They opened the vault door while we were on the other side." She didn't mention the keys. They were still at the bottom of her field bag.

Ramone stopped smiling. "You sure?"

"Well . . . yeah."

"Might have been one of the owners, but they usually tell me before they come. I'll make a few calls." He turned to leave and added, "If you decide to leave the third floor, give me a buzz, okay?"

Iris nodded and ducked back into the elevator as the doors slid closed.

"Sure, don't worry about me," she muttered to herself. "I'll just be up there by myself while some crazy person runs around breathing and dusting! No problem. I'm sure they won't mind that I have their keys . . . f.u.c.k!" She gripped the radio in her palm and took a deep breath.

Up in the old personnel office, everything was just as she'd left it. She plopped herself in Linda's chair. It would take all that day and the next to transcribe her handwritten notes into a computerized blueprint. If she could even get it done in time. As the computer whirred back to life, she wondered how in the world she was going to work ten hours in that creepy office without going completely insane. What she needed to do was go down to the vault and put the keys back where she found them, but after Nick snuck up on her so easily the day before, she couldn't go alone. If the intruder wasn't some geek from a real estate company but actually was some sort of psycho killer . . . She couldn't even finish the thought.

She grabbed the radio to call Ramone and set it down again. If she called him, she'd have to explain how she got the keys and why she took them. She'd have to admit she thought they were his. He might even suspect she had planned to use them to pry information out of him-or worse. If Ramone actually had plans to rob the vault and found out she had taken the keys, there was no telling what he might do. He seemed like a nice enough guy, but she hardly knew him.

Iris leapt up from the desk and began pacing. She was trapped. Between work and Ramone and the keys and the whispering voices in her G.o.dd.a.m.ned head, there was nowhere to go. No way out without coming clean to Brad or Ramone or somebody.

Her sleep-deprived thoughts spiraled as her eyes welled with tears. The keys in the bottom of her bag. Nick's sour face that morning. Ramone laughing. Desperate or crazy-which was it really? She was crazy for stealing s.h.i.+t from an abandoned building, for taking keys that didn't belong to her, for hearing voices, for not telling Brad what she'd seen in the vault. Most of all, she was crazy for letting Nick into her house in the first place. She was desperate for trying to turn a few sessions of sweaty s.e.x into a meaningful relations.h.i.+p by bringing him breakfast. The empty feeling she'd had waking up alone that morning hollowed her out all over again. She hadn't realized how lonely she'd been all these months. Years even. It had been two years since she'd had a boyfriend, and that had been short lived. But Nick didn't give a s.h.i.+t. He just thought she was easy, and he was right. She was desperate. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and she wiped them angrily.

"f.u.c.k him!" she shouted, slamming her hand on the desk. She'd rather be crazy.

She threw her calculator against the wall. Its batteries exploded out the back. Good. Her eyes fell on the locked door. It was getting knocked down by a contractor in a week. f.u.c.k it. She stomped over and gave it a sound kick. It made a loud bang against its jamb but didn't budge. She kicked it harder and let out a low growl. It was a relief to really hit something hard. She kicked it again and again.

"f.u.c.k this f.u.c.king place!"

Whack!

She landed a kick right next to the locked k.n.o.b and recoiled in surprise when the jamb splintered and the door moved. She'd actually broken some part of the frame. Iris examined the jamb where the door had been forced a half an inch open. Maybe I really am crazy, she thought with a nervous laugh. She'd just kicked a door in. Maybe her lunacy gave her the strength of ten men. The door wobbled in its frame. Might as well finish the job, she thought, and threw her shoulder into it. It took four tries, but the d.a.m.n thing finally broke open.

"Ha! Take that, you stupid door!" she shouted triumphantly.

She stared at her handiwork for a few moments: the splintered doorjamb, the cracked door panel. s.h.i.+t. How was she going to explain how she got the door open without sounding nuts?

A wave of musty, stale air hit her in the face. "Uck!"

She stepped into the hidden room. It was a bathroom, just as Ramone said. It wasn't that different than the one above it where Nick had had his way with her, except it was filthy. A black crust covered the floor by the toilet. Dark grime coated the fixtures. The light filtering in through the window s.h.i.+mmered with dust and soot.

She took another step. Something metal went ringing across the floor tiles and clinked into the far wall. It was a key. Iris picked it up. Black crust flaked off the bronze as she turned it over in her hand. There were no markings on either face. Maybe it was the door key, she thought, glancing back at the shattered frame.

A cheap white shower curtain hung over the entrance to the shower stall. It was pulled closed. Something about it felt wrong. She didn't remember seeing shower curtains in the other bathrooms.

The creeping feeling that someone was watching her inched up her spine. She cleared her throat loudly, not taking her eyes off the curtain. It didn't move. The stagnant air coated her mouth and throat with an acrid film. Iris ordered herself to get the h.e.l.l out of there and get back to work.

Instead, she took a step toward the shower and timidly reached out her hand. The plastic crackled in her hand, and she swore she could hear a faint buzzing behind it. Squeezing her eyes half-shut, she ripped the curtain open.

A rope hung from the showerhead inches from her face. It was tied into a noose and crusted black and brown. Then she looked down. A mountain of dead flies were piled at the bottom of the stall. Little corpses stacked one on top of the other in an avalanche of shattered wings and hollow black sh.e.l.ls. They were everywhere. Dead flies were scattered behind the toilet and along the windowsill. They littered the floor.

The rope was still hanging from the showerhead. Her eyes darted from the noose to the dead flies piled on the floor of the shower. In between the silvery-black corpses, she could now see fragments of what might have once been a gray pin-striped suit. Something resembling a black leather wing-tip shoe was peeking out at the corner.

It was a shoe. It was a suit. They were under the flies. The flies had been eating. She couldn't breathe. Bile flooded her throat. They'd been eating. Her hand was locked in a death grip on the shower curtain. Her arm was trembling. The shower curtain fluttered in the stall, jostling the empty sh.e.l.ls of the dead insects. They tumbled toward her feet, falling weightlessly over the toes of her work boots. Something yellow and hard emerged from underneath the layers of tiny corpses. It was a bone.

Someone was screaming; she was screaming. She tore her hand from the shower curtain violently. Dead flies fluttered into the air. Iris stumbled to the toilet to throw up. The toilet bowl was crowded with insect sh.e.l.ls. She turned to the sink. It was littered with broken legs and wings. She staggered back. Her mouth filled with vomit.

Flies seemed to be spilling onto the floor after her. The noose swung from the showerhead. Her heel hit the curb of the shower stall, and flies crunched under her feet. She lurched toward the bathroom door.

She crumpled to her hands and knees and vomited on the carpet. Recoiling, she slammed her back to the wall outside the bathroom, seeing nothing but flies. Hungry flies.

Ramone's voice crackled over the radio. "Iris, you there? Iris?"

The radio was on the desk over her head. She barely registered the noise. Her mouth opened and shut on its own. She couldn't make a sound.

"Iris, I'm coming up," the radio crackled again.

A few moments later, Ramone's hulking shape entered the room in a slow crouch, moving toward the broken door. His gun was drawn. He straightened up when he found her propped against the wall and lowered the gun.

"Iris, what the h.e.l.l's going on? I heard all this racket." He glared at her for a moment, waiting for an answer. Then he noticed the vomit on the floor.

All Iris could do was shake her head.

He raised his gun again and stormed into the bathroom. "Jesus!" he said under his breath, and walked back out. "You find him like that?"

Iris nodded and clamped her hands over her mouth. Ramone had called the pile of flies "him." Her stomach lurched again, but she fought the bile back down.

"You okay?"

She shook her head violently and tears welled up in the corners of her eyes.

"Here, let's get you off the floor." He helped her stand up and guided her back to Linda's chair. "I've got to go call the police. You stay here a minute. If you can, you might want to gather up the things you gonna need. This whole d.a.m.n place is a crime scene now. Police are gonna lock it all down."