The Lies That Bind

35: Snow White

"Hello?"

Astrid wandered into the dimly lit reception area.

Just a little further, Calla thought, still crouched low.

"Calla? Hello? Where are you?" Astrid called, irritable now as she glanced around the room. "I swear to God, if I came out here for nothing..."

Come on, Astrid. Don't turn back now.

Grumbling under her breath, she moved over to the fireplace, crossing her arms to try and get warm, the tassels on her denim jacket winking in the low light. While her back was turned, Calla straightened, one hand propped against the open door.

"Wild goose chase," Astrid was muttering, eyes falling to the hardwood floors, the new-but-antique-looking rug.

The body. The blood.

The gun.

Gasping, Astrid backpedaled into the stone fireplace. "What the fuck!" she squealed.

Calla stepped out of the shadows and closed the front door.

Astrid's head whipped to the side. "What—"

"Boo," Calla said with a grin, sliding the deadbolt into place.

Oh, if only she had Cooper's camera here with her. The look of indignant horror on Astrid's face could've sustained Calla for a lifetime. Several lifetimes, in fact.

As if simply by thinking of him she'd somehow conjured his attention, the bracelet around her left wrist buzzed. Hello? it seemed to ask. Calla, where are you?

He'd figured it out. Her time had run out.

"Go to him," Rachel murmured.

"What..." Astrid clung to the fireplace at her back. "What are you doing?"

"I often lurk around in dark, empty buildings for no good reason," Calla deadpanned. "What does it look like I'm doing, you dithering idiot?"

Astrid's eyes hardened, just for a moment, before darting from one end of the room to the other and back down to the body on the floor. "That's Gerald Michaels."

"Astute of you."

"He's dead."

Calla sighed. "Not the brightest crayon in the box, are we?"

"Shut up!" Astrid screeched. The pitch of her voice made Calla wince.

She jammed her pinky into her ear, pretending to clear it out. "Alright, alright. Sheesh."

Astrid inhaled, shaky and uncertain. "What did you do to him?"

Again with the stupid questions. "I stabbed him."

She closed her eyes, horrified. "Oh my God."

"No, oh my me." Calla tapped her chest. "I'm the one who did the stabbing."

Her wrist buzzed again, insistent. Calla. Calla. Calla.

She ignored it. Ignored him.

Astrid fumbled for the purse at her side. Calla just watched as she struggled, one brow raised in amusement at the theatrics.

Finally, Astrid produced a small black canister and pointed it in Calla's general direction, even though they were separated by about twenty feet. "Get back," she warned in a quivering voice.

Calla eyed the canister and then burst out laughing. "Is that...pepper spray?"

"I said get back!"