Jess

Jess

“Can you hear me?” Christ, I realize I don’t even know the woman’s name. “I’m going to call an ambulance.”

It seems so pointless. I’m sure she can’t hear me. But as I watch her lips begin to part, as though she’s trying to say something.

I reach into my pocket for my phone.

But there’s nothing there. My jacket pocket is empty. What the hell—

I scrabble in my jeans pockets. Not in there either. Back up to my jacket. But it’s definitely not here. No phone.

And then I remember. I handed it over to that doorman in the club, because he wouldn’t let us in otherwise. We got thrown out before I had a chance to collect it—and I’m certain he wouldn’t have handed it over anyway.

I close my eyes, take a deep breath. OK, Jess: think. Think. It’s fine. It’s fine. You don’t need your phone. You can just go onto the street and ask someone else to call an ambulance.

I shove open the door, run through the courtyard to the gate. Pull at the handle. But nothing happens. I pull harder: still nothing. It doesn’t move a millimeter. The gate is locked; it’s the only explanation. I suppose the same mechanism that allows it to be opened with the key code can also be used to lock it shut. I’m trying to think rationally. But it’s difficult because panic is taking over. The gate is the only way out of this place. And if it’s locked, then I’m trapped inside. There is no way out.

Could I climb it? I look up, hopefully. But it’s just a sheet of steel, nothing to get a toehold on. Then there are the anti-climb spikes along the top and the shards of glass along the wall either side that would shred me to pieces if I tried to climb over.

I run back into the building, into the stairwell.

When I return I see the concierge has managed to sit up, her back against the wall near the bottom of the staircase. Even in the gloom I can make out the cut at her hairline where she must have hit her head on the stone floor.

“No ambulance,” she whispers, shaking her head at me. “No ambulance. No police.”

“Are you mad? I have to call—”

I break off, because she has just looked up at the staircase behind me. I follow her gaze. Nick is standing there, at the top of the first flight of stairs.

“Hello Jess,” he says. “We need to talk.”