THE UNDYING | TWILIGHT

22. Checking Out

Dahlia watched the night slowly fade into day, watched the morning sun break through the sheer, white curtains that covered her bedroom window. The glaring light burned her eyes, but she didn't move or even blink. Curled up like a newborn, she lay in the middle of her bed with Demetri's jacket wrapped around her. His scent clung to the fabric: rich as the most expensive cologne, smooth and decadent like Italian leather. It soothed her in the most unexpected way. For a moment, it made her forget where she was.

And then the telephone rang.

... and rang.

... and rang.

... and rang.

On the fifth ring, Dahlia tentatively reached for the polished brass phone and brought the receiver to her ear. Before she could speak, she heard Heidi's jarring voice on the other end.

"Where the hell are you?" Heidi demanded. "You'd better have a damn good excuse for not showing up."

"I don't feel well," Dahlia muttered. "I think I'm sick."

"Oh, you don't feel well?" Heidi mocked. "Well, you'll feel a lot worse if I have to come over there and get you. So get out of bed, clean yourself up, and then get your ass down here. Aro wants to see you. It would be very unwise to keep him waiting."

Once the line went dead, Dahlia hung up the phone and hauled herself out of bed. With slow, labored movements, she then prepared for her last day of work. In the shower, she washed away all the blood and watched it swirl down the drain. In front of the mirror, she brushed her dirty blonde hair until it shimmered like threads of gold. And inside the closet, she found a single red dress hanging from the metal bar.

"A red dress for my last day," she mused. "How ominous."

Sliding into her heels, Dahlia grabbed her purse and walked out the door. The lights were flickering as she made her way down the hall, and the elevator doors opened and closed with an abrupt jerk. Bad wiring, Dahlia assumed, for the building was quite old, but when the car came to a sudden screeching stop, she started to fear the worst.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," Dahlia muttered under her breath; then she pressed the alarm button with her thumb. "Hello?" she called into the intercom. "Hello? – Hey, the elevator's stuck, and I'm trapped in here. – Hello? – Look, I really don't like tight spaces, so the sooner you can get me out, the better ... Hello? – Are you kidding me right now?"

The lights went out then, and they didn't come back on.

With a gasp, Dahlia stumbled back against the arm rail and clutched onto it with both hands. "It's okay," she uttered in between pants. "You'll be okay. They'll fix it. They'll fix it."

In the darkness, she heard a woman's scream, high and shrill, and then she heard another and another. The car started to shake as thunderous footsteps erupted from the levels above. "Help!" people were shouting. "Help me, please!"

And then their cries were smothered by an eerie silence.

Suddenly, the lights came back on, and the car started up again like nothing had happened. Upon reaching the fifth floor, the doors opened, and the first thing Dahlia saw was the bloody handprint smeared across the wall, painting a dripping red trail that led straight to an overturned cleaning cart. Its black rubber wheels were still spinning and squeaking.

Just before the doors closed again, a frightened young maid jumped into the elevator car and collapsed in the corner. "Close the doors!" she shrieked, pointing a bloody finger at the control panel. "Close the doors before they come in!" and Dahlia quickly did as she was told.