Read Left for Dead for Free Online Page B

stepped on.
    Sherita just smiled and shook her head at her friend. The last she heard, the police couldn’t find a Charles or Claire Ferguson on Cascadia Avenue in Seattle. Before clocking out tonight, she’d stopped by Jane Doe’s room. They’d given Jane Doe a sedative. She’d been groggy and a little out of it. “Why hasn’t Charlie been in to see me?” she’d whispered, grabbing Sherita’s hand. “Why don’t they get a hold of him?”
    “It’s just taking them a while to track him down,” Sherita had replied. “You’ll see your man tomorrow, I’m sure.”
    But Sherita wasn’t really sure at all.
    Angie and the other two passengers stepped off at garage level B. Sherita said good-bye to her friend, and continued alone to level C.
    She’d done a lot of running back and forth today, and her feet hurt. Strolling toward her car, Sherita looked forward to a long, hot shower and trying some peppermint-scented foot lotion she’d just bought.
    Space 29, level C of the underground garage had been Sherita’s parking spot for over a year now. The florescent lighting, low ceiling, gray walls, and the cold concrete were so familiar to her that she rarely felt squeamish walking to and from her car—no matter what the hour. Right now, she didn’t see anyone else around. She heard cars moving on the level above, a faint rumbling and tires screeching in the distance.
    She dug the keys from her purse and started toward her red Honda.
    “Sherita?”
    She stopped in her tracks. The voice wasn’t familiar. A mystified, half-smile frozen on her face, she glanced around. “Who’s there?” she called.
    Sherita heard footsteps, but no response. She still didn’t see anyone. The smile faded from her face. “What’s going on?” she said loudly.
    Out of the corner of her eye, Sherita saw a figure silhouetted in the doorway to a maintenance area. Then she blinked and he was gone. But the door was closing on its own—very slowly.
    Sherita started past a row of cars—toward the entryway. She didn’t see anyone in the maintenance area beyond that door. A shaft of light from the other side was narrowing as the door almost closed. But Sherita grabbed the handle, and pushed it open again.
    “Is anyone there?” she called.
    To her left she noticed the open door to a boiler room with some machinery churning out a loud, continual humming noise. Straight ahead, another open door—to what looked like a broom closet. A bare lightbulb hung from a cord in that little room, and it swayed back and forth as if someone had just brushed against it. Shadows swept across the walls full of shelves, cluttered with cleaning supplies.
    Sherita paused in the doorway and stared across the hall to that closet. She listened to the loud, mechanical drone from the room next door. For a moment, she couldn’t move. She’d been lured here hoping to see the man who had called her name. Now, she didn’t want to see him. She just wanted to get the hell out of there.
    Sherita shook her head. “Fuck this,” she announced.
    Backing out of the doorway, she half-expected someone to come at her from behind. She anxiously pulled shut the door, which must have been on some sort of slow-spring hinge. For a moment, it felt as if someone was pulling at the handle from the other side. Giving up, Sherita swiveled around and ran to her car. Her heart was racing, and she could hardly breathe. Fumbling with the keys, she glanced back over her shoulder.
    The door was wide open again.
    “Sweet Jesus,” she murmured.
    With her hands shaking, she could barely insert the key into the car door. She kept looking around for this stranger, praying at the same time that she wouldn’t see him. She finally got the car door open, then ducked into the vehicle. Within seconds, she shut and locked the door, and started the ignition.
    Sherita peeled out of the parking space. Then it suddenly dawned on her that she should have checked the backseat. She slammed on the brakes.