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Fuck.
Black spots dance across my vision and beads of sweat roll down my face.
“I need the toilet. I’ll, erm, catch you guys later.”
“Want me to come with you?” Jess offers, but I wave her away. I’m not one of those girls who needs to go to the loo in a pack.
Stumbling away from our group, I push my way through the dancers with a little more force than is necessary. I’m sure Jess said earlier that the toilets were downstairs. It makes sense, given the structure of the building, but it’s still creepy as fuck.
I push my way to the north transept but the only stairs there lead up to the gallery, so once again I have to cross the dance floor to reach the southern steps down to the crypt.
I refuse to think about how narrow the stairwell is. How dark and claustrophobic. Reaching a hand out to touch the smooth, cooling stone wall helps to ground me, but as I stumble my way down it gets harder and harder to see. Or breathe. Or maybe both.
I’m sure that any minute now I’ll round the final corner of the spiral stone staircase and emerge into a brightly lit, well signposted corridor, or at least a queue for the ladies’. It doesn’t occur to me that the lighting might just be shit; I assume it’s just because I’m freaking out and on the verge of a moderate panic attack.
Which is stupid. Tight spaces don’t bother me that much. Being locked in them does.
But I guess the staircase narrow enough to brush my arms on each wall, coupled with the pole dancing and the reminders of the guys tonight is pushing me over the edge.
Oh, and the alcohol teamed with a lack of food. Apparently I’m just an idiot.
At the bottom of the stairs there is a little more light, and thankfully the strobes have been kept to the dance floor. I feel a migraine coming on. I should probably call it a night. I bet if I asked Jess to come home early with me she would.
Although, now that I’m down here, I really do need the loo. At least the air is cooler so I can take some deep breaths to try and calm my racing pulse.
I creep down the winding corridor which snakes under the main room upstairs, searching for what I need. It has to be here somewhere. There are doors on both sides of the corridor and I sporadically try some, finding most locked. Occasionally the door opens into a blackened room, but I don’t bother to explore because it’s clearly not the restroom.
Eventually I hear noises and two things hit me at once: the sudden, quiet, muffled sound of low voices arguing and the realisation that the whole time I’ve been down here it’s been eerily quiet. Not only have I not met another soul, there’s no sound from the floor above at all. My own pulse thrums noisily through my body and my breathing is coming in laboured snatches.
Maybe if I can just concentrate on those voices I can find them and ask where the loo is.
I stumble over the uneven flagstone floor and crash into a door, which unfortunately isn’t locked, meaning I crash through it. Jesus, I didn’t think I was that drunk.
I realise I’ve fallen into a dimly lit room, which isn’t empty.
“I’m sorry—” I slur, my voice coming out slow and awkward. I really don’t feel right.
“Get her out of here!” a vaguely familiar voice hisses with urgency.
“Looking…toilet…” I mumble as someone steps out of the shadows and approaches me, I squint to focus on his face, craning my head back even in my heels. He’s so tall. He looks familiar too, but I can’t quite place him,
“S-s-sorry! H-h-help me!” a sobbing, panicked, desperate sort of voice comes from the shadows. I crane my neck and rise up onto my tiptoes, desperately trying to peer over the shoulder of the behemoth guy in front of me. Tipping too far, I totter and begin to fall just as the sound of a firecracker goes off and strong arms grab my waist to save me. It’s like a lightbulb moment in my brain, if the bulb needed to slowly warm up because it’s an energy saving piece of shit. Eventually I realise I’ve heard that sound enough times to know that a gunshot through a silencer just went off.
“What was that?” I ask. The panicked gripping of my fingers onto the shirt of the guy who saved me is the only indication of my fear; my thick words come out leisurely like I’ve just asked the time, while stoned.
“What’s wrong with her?” A cold, completely calm voice asks from the shadows.
It’s immediately joined by another. “She just witnessed a murder! You need to take care of her.” They sound like they’re freaking out and it gives me the uncontrollable urge to giggle.
“Something isn’t right. What’s wrong with her?” The calm voice asks again. I can’t answer him though because my eyes start to close and my legs turn to jelly.
“Fuck! I got you Odile,” my saviour murmurs, cradling me in his arms against his broad, strong chest.
“Hector?”
“Get her looked at by a doctor and then home. Call me if it’s anything serious.”
“Yes, boss.” The rumble of his deep baritone feels nice against my ear resting on his chest. “Sleep now, little one. You’re safe.”
