15. Selene

15

SELENE

D ane changes on the way into the old studio lot. His eyes, his movements, everything about him shifts into military mode. He picks his way across the broken pavement and tufts of weeds as if he’s walking over a perfectly smooth sidewalk. And he does it all silent as a cat.

No wonder he made such a good zombie. Dane has absolute control over his body. I’m so mesmerized by his sinuous grace that I almost miss the pistol in his hand. Where did that even come from? I don’t remember seeing him draw it.

I’m glad he’s armed, but it’s also a constant reminder of the stakes. We might be on a movie lot, but there’s no script to follow. Nothing says that we’re going to win just because we’re the so-called good guys.

I’m almost afraid to hope that we’ll find Justin. If this is over quickly, all the better. Yet, that would mean Dane and I would have no reason to be in proximity. Does that mean we wouldn’t see each other any longer?

What a dumb thing to think about while my brother is in danger. But I can’t help how I feel, either. I want to get to know Dane better. I want him to let me in. He keeps putting up these walls, though, and I don’t know that I’m the one to knock them down.

Dane approaches the soundstage and flattens his back against the wall. I follow suit, scooting along with the rough concrete against my back. He peers into the gaping maw of an empty doorway. Tense moments pass while I wait for him to finish his recon.

“Okay,” he says in a low voice. “I don’t see anyone. This section of the building is in rough shape, but I see lights on the northern side. That’s probably where we’ll find Petty.”

He doesn’t have to say the quiet part out loud. We might find my brother there, too. My body shakes so bad I can barely stand. All the worry I’ve held for Justin inside of me comes boiling out, now that he could be so close.

Dane stops, and turns his verdant gaze my way. Something builds up inside of his eyes. He’s about to say something, and right away I wonder if it’s going to be about the other night. He wants to do this now?

“It wasn’t just a bad dream,” he says in a rush. “It was a memory. A memory of the time I screwed up and a whole lot of people paid for it with their lives. You think I’m this badass Navy SEAL, but I’m a fuck-up. I failed when it really counted.”

My heart breaks at the pain in his face. What he leaves unsaid echoes as loud as the words he spoke. He failed when it really counted, and he thinks he’ll always fail when it really counts.

The weight of his revelation hits my stomach like ten pounds of lead. What a burden to bear. The tattooed bad boy has baggage. Big surprise, Selene. Who are you to judge?

“Selene,” he says, his voice dropping low, his eyes heating up. “In my nightmare, I failed to save someone who…someone who I really care about.”

Who could he be talking about? An old girlfriend? An army buddy? Or maybe..? No, now isn’t the time. We need to find Petty, find my brother, but my pulse races and sweat breaks out on my body, spurred by Dane’s nearness .

His head suddenly snaps to the side, eyes narrowed to slits. He creeps to the open doorway and carefully peers inside.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“I heard voices. When we go in, keep the chatter to a minimum and stay behind me. If I move, you move. Got it?”

I nod, stopping myself from giving a verbal assent. He returns the nod, and then takes my hand and leads me inside the darkened building.

The smell of standing water and mold assaults my nostrils. But there’s another aroma, faint but present. Cigar smoke. Someone has puffed on a stogie, quite recently. Dane releases my hand and motions for me to hug the wall of the long halfway. I do so, trying to keep my body in check. Being this close to finding my brother has me worked up more than the danger.

We approach the pool of radiance. Several lighting fixtures provide the illumination. A table and chairs come into view first, with a battered deck of playing cards sitting dead center next to an ashtray full of cigarette and cigar butts.

Then I see something that chills me to the bone: A battered military style cot with rumpled sheets. The white sheets bear dark stains. Bloodstains. Was my brother here? Hurt? Dying? Did they get some mafia doc to do a hack surgery job on him?

I clasp my hands over my mouth, but a sob escapes nonetheless.

“What was that?”

The voice comes from a short distance away. Beyond the ring of light, there’s a closed door with a line of brilliance at the bottom. Someone’s behind that door, and I just blew our cover.

Dane moves with blinding speed. He grabs me around the waist and yanks both of us behind a rickety metal shelf bearing empty celluloid tins. On instinct, I start to cry out in surprise. His big hand clamps over my mouth, silencing me.

It’s like being held by a gorilla. His strength is incredible. I couldn’t break loose in a million years, not that I need to. The door shoots open, slamming against the drywall and puncturing it with the knob. A big, burly man in an ill-fitting suit stands in the doorway, eyes snapping suspiciously left and right.

“Get out of the way, you big goon,” grumbles a voice behind him.

The big man awkwardly crab scuttles to the side and Petty exits the room. His voice sounds different than I’d expected, a lot higher pitched and nasally.

“I know I heard somethin’, Will,” the big man says.

“Yeah, I did, too, Guido. Do me a favor and keep your yapper shut. I’m trying to concentrate.”

Once his eyes adjust, he’ll probably spot us. The shelving doesn’t provide much cover. Dane releases the hold on my mouth and carefully picks up a dusty film tin lid. He frisbees it through the dark to clatter in the distance.

Guido’s gaze snaps that way. He starts to barrel off after the tin, and I think Dane’s plan has succeeded.

But Petty grabs Guido by the shoulder padding of his cheap suit.

“Whoa, slow down, big man. Where are you going?”

“Didn’t you hear that?”

“Yeah, I did, and don’t you watch the movies? Obviously, somebody threw something to distract us. And while we’re off chasing after the sound of their errant missile, they’ll make their escape. Well, not on my watch.”

My heart stops beating. Shit, did we have to come across someone who thinks like this?

“Now, judging by the trajectory,” Petty says, turning in a slow circle. “I can only surmise that the object was thrown from…this direction.”

He points off into the deeper darkness of the warehouse. Away from us. Petty confidently leads Guido in the wrong direction.

“Let’s go,” Dane says, releasing me at last. He takes my hand and leads me toward the exit.

We have to take a different route to avoid Guido and Petty. It’s easy to get turned around in one of these old studio buildings. You never know if a door is real or just a prop that leads nowhere. Or if that set of steps abruptly ends at the edge of a stage, sending you on a six-foot drop to a hard concrete floor.

Somewhere, we get turned around and wind up back at the table and bloody bed. Dane grinds his teeth in silent frustration, then leads me off in a different direction. This time, we come upon a door marked with a shabby, flickering exit sign.

He reaches out for the bar, when the door starts to open. Dane grabs the bar and holds it shut as someone shouts on the other side.

“Give me that,” he snaps, gesturing with his chin. I look over and see a bucket and mop. It only takes me a split second to figure out what he’s planning. I grab the handle and shove the mop into his waiting hand.

He wedges the mop handle into the door handle, blocking the passage. But it creaks and begins to snap immediately. He has to brace it with his own body to keep those outside at bay.

“Run,” he snaps.

“I can’t leave you.”

Dane’s teeth bare in a snarl as he bears down on the door.

“Run, dammit! Now!”

I turn on my heel and rush into the darkness. His words ringing in my ears still, I run to the end of the hallway and look back.

Dane releases the door and holds his gun with both hands. The mop handle splinters and snaps in half. Dane greets the first man through the door with a bullet.

Shouting, shooting, and screaming. The smell of gunpowder and fresh blood. The sound of my own heartbeat thudding so loudly in my ears I just know the mobsters can hear it, too. There’s nothing I can do but run and hope that they don’t find me. And that they don’t kill Dane.

I hear more gunshots behind me as I stumble onto an abandoned set. This one looks like some Game of Thrones type rip-off. A king’s throne, tapestries of stags on the wall, and a rack of deadly weapons.

Unfortunately, I don’t see a way out. I turn to leave the way I came in when I hear footsteps approaching. Diving behind the weapons rack, I try to stifle the sound of my own panicked breathing .

For a second I have a hope it might be Dane about to enter the set. Instead, a tall, pock-marked man arrives. He has a pistol in his left hand. His right hand, he cradles up against his body. A white handkerchief wrapped around that hand is already growing red with blood.

The look on his face terrifies me. He’s not out for anything but hurting someone. Preferably Dane, who I assume shot him. But anyone will do.

If he finds me, I’m as good as dead.

The man scans the room, his nostrils flaring. A grin spreads over his face.

“I know you’re in here, Selene,” he says. “I can smell your perfume. Chanel, if I’m not mistaken. Good taste. Come on out, and I won’t have to be rough with you.”

He grimaces, and nearly drops his gun. The man looks down at his bleeding hand and groans.

“Jesus fucking Christ. I’m going to have to get surgery. I hate going under anesthesia. It always makes me feel like I’m dying. And between you and me, the doctors that work on people like me didn’t get A’s in medical school. That tattooed leatherneck is going to fucking die. But you and I can still be friends.”

His smile fades, and his pocked face contorts into a mask of rage.

“I said come out, you fucking bitch!”

He’s going to find me if I don’t do something. I’m right next to a dozen weapons, but they're fake. The blades aren’t sharp, and are made to collapse inward to create the illusion of stabbing someone.

They’re still heavy and massive. Maybe I can tip the weapons rack on top of him? But it’s latched onto the floor. I have to undo the latches, and I don’t think I can do that silently.

I carefully reach down and undo the first. He doesn’t react. Maybe he’s hard of hearing, or, like me, the sound of his own blood rushing through his veins drowns out almost everything else.

Latch two down. One left to go. Already the weapons rack, made to look good rather than to function, tilts heavily to the side. Its frame twists in the middle as it can’t support its own weight .

He notices when the final latch comes undone, but it’s too late. The rack comes crashing down onto him and I run like Hell. I can hear him cursing and shouting behind me, but no bullets come flying my way.

More gunshots ring out inside the massive structure. Dane, taking care of business, I hope. God, I pray he makes it out of here okay. If he gets hurt or killed because of me, I don’t think I can stand it.

I come around a row of broken lighting fixtures and find the exit door. I know it’s the same one from before because of the broken halves of the broom lying nearby. One more door, and I’ll be out of here. I can get to the truck, call for help. We can still make it out of this.

I push out of the door, tasting the open air and freedom. For about a second, before I realize I’m standing right in front of Guido and Petty.

“Well, well, well,” Petty says, a smile spreading over his face. “What do we have here?”

I start to run. A sharp retort crackles in the air, and I flinch away from flying plaster. Did he just shoot at me? No, he shot at the wall next to me, but it was damn close.

“I wouldn’t,” he says, shaking his head. “The next one might not miss. I’m not what you’d call a marksman with this thing. Guido, collect her, please.”

The big goon comes my way, hands outstretched. I scream but he clamps a hand over my face. I can’t breathe, he’s smothering me!

My vision fades, and Petty’s laugh is the last thing I hear before blackness fully consumes me.