“Hey, you try balancing on a fire escape banister!”
“Why would I do that, Wright? Why didyoudo that!”
Wright wriggles her arms, which I’m pretty sure must be half dead by now from the way the straps of the backpack are cutting into her armpits. “Um, plausible deniability?”
I shake my head. “Yeah, let’s go with that.” I thread my arm through the gap in the railings and reach down. “Can you grab my hand?”
Wright tilts her head back then lifts her arm but the second she does she starts to slip.
“Fuck.”
“Okay, stop, stop, stop.” I gulp, staring at the hard asphalt which is three floors, and many, many broken bones away. I look back down the metal stairs of the fire escape, trying to figureout how to get Wright out of this mess. Each level has a small platform, and Wright’s legs are dangling just above the level below.
“I could try lifting you up from underneath, but I don’t think I’ll be able to hold you steady by myself. Can you hang on until Olivia can get here?” I pause. “No pun intended.”
Wright snorts. “Livi’s picking up an extra shift.”
“Crap.” This is why Wright and I disagree when it comes to her vigilante streak. I knew one day it would land her in trouble. At least finding her dangling from a fire escape is better than finding her dead in a ditch. Or it is so long as I can get her down before the strap on her backpack snaps and she becomes a pretty Jackson Pollock on the sidewalk. A fate which is becoming more and more likely because I really don’t know how to get her down from here by myself.
A thought occurs to me then. A thought I really, really hate. Because aside from Olivia, there’s only one person I can think to call who won’t ask questions that will get Wright in trouble.
“Hey Hazel, do you think it’s a bad sign that I can’t move my fingers or are we all good with that?”
Crap.
“It’s totally fine. Fingers are overrated anyway,” I say, despite panic pricking at my chest.
“That’s good then.”
Cursing everything about this situation to high hell, I screw up my face and type out a message to the one man who I know for a fact won’t go to the police.
Hazel
Pretty sure I’m going to regret this, but I need your help.
My phone rings, instantly. I put it to my ear to answer, not wanting Wright to overhear.
“Lilac.” Flynn’s voice is dark, a warning threaded through the pet name.
I definitely do not shudder. “Any chance you know where I am right now?”
“Somewhere you shouldn’t be.”
I’ll take that as a yes. My fingers pick at the black paint on the railing. “I need your help.”
“Are you hurt?” The question is sharp, like he actually cares about my safety, like he really feels something for me, which shouldn’t be possible. And yet… “Hazel, are you hurt?”
I’m not used to a guy caring about my safety and it takes me a second to respond. “No. I’m fine. I just… need an extra set of hands.”
A bike engine revs. “I’m on my way.” He hangs up and I imagine him speeding down the road, visor down, leather jacket wrapped around his body.
“So… you want to tell me who you just called?” Wright’s voice drifts up from down by my feet.
I stare at the graffitied wall of the bar opposite. “Not really.” How do you explain to your best friend that you met a serial killer the other night and now you’re on a text each other in emergencies basis?
I have a feeling Flynn might have been following me because it’s not long before a motorbike purrs to a stop in the alley below.
He takes off his helmet, shakes out his hair, and looks up at Wright, totally deadpan. “How’s it hanging?”
