Sanctuary (7 page)

DING. The service elevator beckoned. Brandon entered then jammed his fingers down on the “door close” button. His old friend called his name twice more before the elevator doors shut him out. Then the sweet hum of the machine whisked Brandon down, down, down.

Rage saturated his mind, as it often did. But he realized he was also feeling an emotion he didn’t often experience: fear.
If this all goes to hell tonight, it doesn’t matter
, he reminded himself, to calm his apprehension.
Nothing matters, nothing matters. I’m indifferent.

All human life was just scripts being acted out. And now Brandon was going to act out his.

Past an alligator stalking a white-tailed deer by the shore of its lake, underneath a colony of bats nesting in the canopy above, then finally gliding through the last trees of the park next to the condo, Marcus emerged into the moonlight of the Sanctuary. Most of the African army had arrived by now; thousands of them swarmed above the high-rise, circling, searching. Marcus’s long-awaited vengeance was finally at hand.

In front of him, the metal gate of the condo’s underground parking garage clinked raucously as its gears pulled it upward. A few members of the horde swooped down to investigate, including Shazakahn, their one-eyed leader. They arrived just in time to see a young blonde drive her car around the corner toward the front of the condo. As the gate descended, Shazakahn took the risk and glided inside, a pile of dead leaves fluttering in after him.

The gate clanked shut, and the leader ordered his followers to guard the building’s exterior. Hopefully Shazakahn would remain trapped in the garage and nothing would come of his incursion; Marcus couldn’t abide competition. In truth, the army was only here as backup in the event that Marcus failed in his mission. They hated him, but Marcus had duped them into coming here. No other group of demons in its right mind would enter a Sanctuary, so he knew he could beguile these gullible fools again if necessary.

As he slunk through the foliage around the condo’s east side, prowling, his mind dwelled on a single resolute thought—likely the same thought penetrating the thousands of demonic minds floating in the night sky above.

Where is Thorn?

DING. Her purse slung over her shoulder, the red braille book under her arm, Crystal stepped out onto the ground floor and began her walk toward the lobby. The taps of her shoes on the polished marble floor bounced off the walls and through the expansive condo’s curving hallways, stressing to her just how small and alone she was. She hadn’t felt this abandoned since she was nine, living with her estranged aunt while her mom fought countless legal battles to get her back. Later, as she’d worked her way from minimum wage job to minimum wage job, Crystal had toughened up, grown independent and streetwise. But she’d never
belonged
anywhere until Cole offered to let her move in with him.

Just months ago, this condo had been bright and welcoming: seagulls yammering outside, sand between her toes, salt air from the ocean filling her every breath. It had felt like home. Now, that same salt air reminded her that this glamorous high-rise was just another part of the grimier Miami she knew so well, full of drug dealers, shady meetings in back alleys, fear of falling through society’s cracks, crippled dreams.

The condo’s doors and windows were shut, and the beach bum music they usually played in the halls had been turned off for the night. If not for the harsh echoes of Crystal’s footsteps, these halls would be completely silent.

He’s reconsidering, though. He might decide to keep me, and our baby.

But Cole’s demand had cast her entire relationship with him into doubt in her mind.
It’s not all my fault
, she realized for the first time.

Whenever Cole’s mood was bad, Crystal wondered what she’d done to upset him. Whenever he was especially quiet, she worried he might have discovered what Brandon was doing to her. Even when Brandon violated her, she’d felt on some level that she’d caused it to happen. She used to think it happened because she’d been a bad girlfriend to Cole, or because she didn’t work hard enough to go to school and get a better job, or because she disappointed her mother, whom she loved dearly in spite of their disagreements. Crystal had been obsessed with her own shortcomings and her penance for those shortcomings, as if she deserved nothing good in life just because she’d been born as a piss-poor nobody. She’d shrugged away Heather’s concerns earlier, but now, when she visualized herself from Heather’s perspective, she saw that her own insecurities were all bullshit. Why had she blamed herself when it was Cole who was disregarding Brandon’s depravity? Even if Cole didn’t know the full extent of it, he knew enough, and he could have gotten rid of Brandon any time he wanted. But Cole was so compliant, so indifferent. She’d always assumed that Brandon had made him that way, but now she wondered if Cole had always been like that.

What did Cole want her for, anyway? Now that she thought about it, all they ever did together was go out to clubs, go out to eat, go out to social functions, nap, and have sex, with Brandon usually present for all but the last two. Crystal wanted a soulmate, but all Cole seemed to want was someone to pass time with. Was she just arm candy to him?

But I
am
the one who chose to stay with him
, Crystal tried to tell herself.
To stay in the same living space as Brandon.
But her choice had been between this and abject poverty. She’d choose the poverty if she could go back and decide again, but she was stuck in the here and now, where the men in her life had made her fragile, and had taken advantage of that fragility.
All that will change now. Now I’ll—

Her thoughts scattered when she realized that someone else was with her in the hallway. She thought she’d heard a door open a minute ago, and had assumed it was another resident. Now she realized that whoever it was, they were trying to be stealthy. The footsteps were softer than Crystal’s. Their volume didn’t fade over time, though; they were following her. As she turned a corner, she casually peered into a reflective picture frame to see who was behind her.

Brandon!
And he had something in his hands, hidden behind his back.

Crystal quickened her pace, leading Brandon past the lounge where they’d filmed earlier tonight.
It’s nothing
, she told herself.
He’s just coming to check if the guard found out anything about those markings.
Brandon would never attack her here, in the open, in public.

But it wasn’t so public—the halls were empty, the condo sleeping, and no one lived on the ground floor anyway.
They have security cameras!
Or maybe Brandon knew how to turn them off?

Would the security guard be able to hear if she called for help? She could run, but then Brandon would know she was on to him and he’d chase her.
I’m so stupid! How could I let myself fall into this situation?

He was getting closer. Way too close! He was only feet behind her, and now she knew he was here for her.
Okay, then. Okay…

She tried to steady her breathing as she inconspicuously reached a hand into her purse, withdrew the kitchen knife she’d stashed there, then hid it in front of her body, its razor edge ready to strike. When she passed another picture, she checked the reflection in its glass and saw Brandon remove a golf club from behind his back. He raised it to strike. An adrenaline rush gripped Crystal as tightly as she gripped her knife. She whirled around to confront him.

But Brandon’s imposing presence and hateful gaze drained her courage. She froze in place, too terrified to move, even to defend herself. Brandon brought his club down toward her stomach.

From out of nowhere, Virgil the security guard slammed into Brandon with enough force to jerk him off his feet and send him plunging to the floor. The collision with the hard marble audibly knocked the wind out of Brandon and sent the club sliding far out of the way. Crystal backed toward a wall, dropping her braille book in the process.

“Hey!” Cole said. “What’s going on?”

Cole?
He was turning into the hallway from the stairwell, feeling his way along the walls, lengthening his gait to reach the action faster.

“Brandon’s fucking crazy!” Crystal yelled to Cole. “Come to me! We need to leave, now.”

Brandon flailed on the ground, trying to regain his breath.

Crystal moved toward Cole, but Virgil—the guy who was supposed to be helping her!—rushed headlong toward her and pinned her against a wall. She yelped. Then for the first time, she noticed his unsettling appearance: the security guard’s clothes were sopping wet, his eyes bloodshot, and his skin a sickly bluish-white. His whole body shook like he couldn’t quite wrestle control of it. The wild panic in his eyes was contagious.

“Run!” he bellowed. “All of you! Back up to your room! You—run! Go!” He barked his sentence fragments with a wild urgency.

Cole neared them. “Virgil. Virgil, buddy. What’s wrong? What do you need?”

“You can’t leave, Cole,” Virgil said. “Do
not
try and leave this building!”

Crystal ignored him; whatever Virgil’s problem was, it couldn’t possibly be as pressing as hers. “Cole! Brandon tried to hit me in the fucking stomach. Don’t let him near you. We need to go get help.”

“What? Where is he?”

Virgil’s hands still gripped Crystal’s shoulders, and now he tried pulling her away from Cole, back toward the elevator… back toward Brandon. “Please listen,” Virgil said. “You shouldn’t be down here. It’s not safe.”

Shut up and let me go!
Crystal wanted to scream, but she feared that it might provoke him further.

Cole followed Virgil’s voice and bumped into him, then he grasped Crystal’s arm when he found her. He tried to get between them and separate them, but his blind maneuvering only prompted more resistance from Virgil.

A short distance away, Brandon stood. He looked fully recovered. His eyes were fuming as he stomped toward them.

Cole and Virgil seemed not to notice the approaching danger as they struggled against each other, pulling Crystal and themselves in all different directions. Virgil continued to slosh water everywhere.

“Virgil, what’s your problem? What are you doing?” Crystal said as calmly as she could, trying not to panic, and failing. “Let me go! Get Brandon! Keep him away from me!”

Virgil abruptly relented and let her go, then raised his arms defensively as if pleading for them to hear him out. “Okay. I don’t want to restrain you. You’re free to choose. But you’re all in great danger.”

Brandon swung mightily and delivered a knockout punch to Virgil’s temple. The guard went down hard, but somehow recovered almost immediately, leaped back to his feet, and assaulted Brandon again.

Crystal led Cole around the scuffle and ran with him toward the rotunda-shaped lobby, where a ring of tall glass windows exposed them to a full view of the outdoors around the condo.
If I can get out there and find other people, I’ll be safe.

She heard the thunder of footsteps behind her and turned. Brandon was rushing straight for her, Virgil chasing him. She still gripped the kitchen knife; she raised it to stab Brandon, but he was on her too quickly. He caught her arm and twisted the knife out of her hand. As it clattered against the floor, Brandon clamped his other hand around Crystal’s throat, but just then Virgil caught up to him and pummeled Brandon’s face with inhuman force, instantly taking him down. Brandon’s body crumpled to the floor as limply as a rag doll’s.

Crystal didn’t pause to pick up the knife, she just turned and dragged Cole across the lobby. He resisted, yelling fire and brimstone at Brandon. “You’re done, Brandon! That’s it! You’re fucking done!” Cole apparently didn’t know that Brandon lay unconscious on the floor, and that his yelling was instead directed toward the crazed security guard, who was following them toward the vestibule at the front of the building.

“Please listen,” Virgil said again. “You’re not safe here.” Now he was scaring Crystal almost as much as Brandon did, so she ignored him and helped Cole through the first set of glass double doors. “Crystal.” The security guard’s voice was cold, forceful. “If you go outside, you’re going to die.”

What the hell?
Now
two
maniacs were after Crystal. She needed to call the police.

A car horn blared, cutting through her confusion. Heather sat in her car under the portico outside, gesturing for Crystal to come get in. She looked worried by the presence of Cole and Virgil. Could she see that Crystal was in distress?

Crystal yanked on the front doors.

They were locked.

She tried again, then glanced back at Virgil, who lurked in the lobby, just past the vestibule’s inner doors. “Why won’t the doors open?” Crystal asked him through the glass.

“I locked them.”

Crystal felt panic growing inside her again, so she fought it. With the front doors locked, she and Cole were trapped in the entrance hall. Virgil—and Brandon unconscious behind him—blocked their only exit. “Unlock the doors!” Crystal demanded.

“You can’t leave,” Virgil said. “They already killed the security guard. They’ll kill you too. Call Heather and tell her to drive back down into the garage.”

Crystal turned to Heather and waved frantically. “Heather, help! We’re locked in! Can you open the doors from out there?” Heather probably couldn’t hear her, but responded to her yelling anyway. She turned off her car, got out, and paced toward the doorway. Her actions elicited a frenzied response from Virgil.

“No! Get back in the car!” He burst into the vestibule with Crystal and Cole. “GET BACK IN THE CAR!”

“Do you have your phone?” Crystal asked Cole. “Call the fucking cops.” While she looked around for something to use for self-defense, or to break the glass of the front doors, Heather arrived on the other side of the glass. She yanked on the door handles but they didn’t budge. “Heather, this guy is crazy,” Crystal said. “Break the glass. Find something and break the glass.”

But instead of helping Crystal, Heather remained motionless. She shivered violently.