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There it was! She felt for the handle and pulled.
Locked.
She turned and bolted for the studio next door. She ran only a few feet when she slid on a puddle and lost her footing. She collapsed in a heap on top of something.
Orsomeone.
She recoiled, but it took her only seconds to realize that it wasn’t Shrum. This figure was still, terribly still.
Oh, God.
It had to be Agent Pembrook. She was sure of it.
She felt his chest, which was sopping wet.
Drenched in blood. Like the floor all around her.
She felt his face. He still wore his glasses, which he’d constantly taken off and wiped with his jacket. She felt down to his neck, which was sliced open and still oozing blood.
He was dead.
And the last thing he’d done with his life was yell a warning to her.
She felt for his shoulder holster. Empty. She didn’t have time to feel around for a gun. Shrum probably took it after he killed him.
Olivia stood, struggling to keep her balance on the bloody floor. She put her hands on the wall and moved toward the next studio. She found the door handle and pulled.
It opened.
She stepped inside. It was cooler, and she could no longer hear the buzzing of lights. She was fairly certain it was dark.
Good. Here, at least, she had a chance.
She moved through the studio, feeling her way past a stack of chairs and a microphone stand.
Now if she could only find the stage console. Because once she found that, she had a chance of—
There. There it was. She felt the panel’s smooth side surface.
She moved around and crouched behind it. She’d heard directors making calls while seated here. Somewhere there had to be a phone. She felt the console’s rear side.
Contact! She gripped the phone handset and raised it to her ear.
Nothing.
Mustn’t panic. Just keep punching buttons until she got a dial tone. The first one triggered a feedback whine that sounded over the ceiling speakers.
Damn.
She’d activated the P.A. system, probably for the entire building. She punched another button.
Dial tone.
She felt for the keypad and dialed 911.
The operator answered immediately. “Emergency services.”
Olivia whispered into the phone. “I’m locked in Atlas Studios with a maniac. He’s already killed a man, and now he’s coming after me. Please send someone. Send everyone.”
