Next chapter is here as promised: nice and quick. Many thanks to all who've
been kind enough to take the time and review!!!!! The end is almost in
sight! (sigh)
Chapter 16
With sweaty palms Logan gripped the wheels of his chair, his facing betraying nothing of his inner turmoil.
"Acrophobia." Vincent Carlisle whispered the word into the wind.
Logan stared at him implacably.
"It's such a very, very, long way down." He came up behind Logan. "Release the brakes." Carlisle spoke quietly enough, but with an underlying hint of menace.
Logan quaked inwardly, but outwardly released the brakes with a look up at Carlisle that spoke of boredom.
Flinching slightly, he felt Carlisle put his hands on his shoulders, and propelled him towards the wire fencing, not stopping until Logan's chair was parallel to the wall – the best vantage point for the scene below, then came around in front, obviously to observe Logan's reaction with relish.
Logan felt the familiar wave of vertigo assail him, but under the intense scrutiny of the other man, schooled his features once more to reflect none of it.
As much for his own well being, and the need to stall for time, Logan spoke cuttingly, "Bobby would be reeel proud of you now, wouldn't he. It would give him a great sense of relief to know that you are nothing more than a cold-blooded killer."
Logan received a backhand to his face for his efforts – well at least the unpleasant sensation of vertigo disappeared.
Even as he said the words, his senses reeling from the stinging blow, he suddenly realized with total conviction that there was more truth to the words than he would have realized even five minutes ago. In fact he wondered why he'd never seen it before.
Unconsciously, his eyes flew to the other man's face.
Suddenly, with an intensity and mind-numbing coldness, the rain, which had been drizzling steadily, broke into a fully-fledged storm, the wind driving it into their faces, thoroughly drenching both Logan and Carlisle in a matter of seconds.
Carlisle was momentarily distracted as the rain beat upon his face. It was the moment Logan had been hoping for – knowing he'd never escape while Carlisle held the gun. Without hesitation, he flung himself forward, his left hand holding on to his wheel for support, his right hand reaching out for the gun.
Carlisle was caught unawares as he felt the gun being prized from his grasp, but he had the advantage of two hands and movement. His left hand he brought up quickly, delivering a swift karate style blow to Logan's outstretched arm, and at the same instant, pulling back. His arm numb, Logan nonetheless tried to wrestle the gun, but as Carlisle stepped back, he was forced to let go or end up flat on his face. Disconcertingly, Logan looked up to see the gun aimed at him once more, Carlisle's face filled with deadly intent. He stared straight into Vincent Carlisle's emotionless green orbs.
Unexpectedly, Carlisle broke into a singularly unpleasant, mirthless laugh; his face silhouetted in the dim lighting and reflected rain.
The laugh stopped as quickly as it had begun, which Logan was thankful for.
"Get inside," nodded Carlisle, indicating the doors.
Only too happy to oblige, Logan wheeled himself off the observation deck.
Passing the security monitors, Carlisle stopped and turned them on. Watching his fingers on the panel, it was obvious to Logan he knew what he was doing. Logan looked longingly at the elevator doors. They were only ten feet away, but they might as well have been on the moon for all the good they could do him. He'd never be able to wheel there quickly enough, and elevators were not known for their speed of opening and closing, they were designed to give people plenty of time to get in and out. Turning back to Carlisle, he saw the other man suddenly straighten up, Logan catching a fleeting enigmatic glance cross his face.
Carlisle had Logan move to the elevator, and then punched the down button. For a brief moment Logan's hopes soared, but once in, Carlisle pressed it for the floor beneath the one they were already on.
There was a certain amount of urgency about Carlisle now that made Logan even more nervous.
The elevator stopped way too quickly for Logan's peace of mind.
Carlisle pushed him out impatiently, directing him to turn right. They were in a long corridor, but Logan could tell this was not the domain of lowly clerks. The carpet was deep and luxurious, paintings adorned the walls, and the double doors they stopped at were nothing short of magnificent.
Unimpressed, Logan found it a tawdry cover-up for nothing short of evil.
Unlocking the doors, Carlisle motioned once again with an impatient gesture for Logan to enter the room.
Logan gave a low whistle. "Nice," he stated, looking about him. It was obvious the depression that gripped the rest of the country had somehow by- passed Taylor industries. The focus of the room they were in was an immense antique mahogany desk. Logan noted the well-stocked bar longingly. 'Well, at least they were off the observation deck and out of the rain.' He tousled his hair with his hand in an effort to stop the water dripping on his face, and then spying a box of tissues on the desk he helped himself to one and proceeded to dry his glasses. Able to see clearly again, he looked to see what Carlisle was up to, and with a certain amount of trepidation observed the rope Carlisle now held in his hands.
"Get in this chair."
Logan looked to see him indicating a deep leather armchair; it looked particularly comfortable if that's what you were looking for, but Logan knew for it would be very difficult to get into. Casting a quick look around Logan saw several high back wooden chairs, or the large leather chesterfield. It was the latter one he indicated.
"That one's more my style." Carlisle looked from one to the other, then seeming to understand Logan's unspoken reluctance he nodded at him.
"Hurry."
Carlisle definitely seemed tense about something, although he held the emotion well in check.
Logan quickly transferred to the couch, not happy to see Carlisle move his wheelchair out to the corridor. As much as he hated having to use it, for the moment he felt like he was losing his best friend.
"Isn't this a deviation from your original plan?" asked Logan cautiously, grunting a little as Carlisle, behind him, was tying his hands together with practiced ease.
He then came around to the front, another piece of rope in his hand, considering Logan's legs thoughtfully.
"That one's redundant." put in Logan, trying to sound as matter-of –fact as possible. Knowing the circulation in his legs was bad enough as it was, the last thing he needed was a tight rope bound around them.
Hesitating for a moment, Carlisle eventually nodded. He looked at Logan for a moment much in the manner of one being pulled away from a fabulous repast.
"Unfortunately I have a small matter to attend to," he said to Logan in a polite manner, "but have no fear, I will return directly. You are, after all, my number one priority."
"I'll try to appreciate the honour," Logan remarked caustically.
Without a backward glance, Carlisle left the room. Logan could hear the key being turned in the lock. Left alone, Logan let a big breath escape, relaxing his shoulders, surprised to find he'd been so tense. He wondered idly what the owner of the chesterfield would say if he saw Logan's wet clothes on his furniture. Logan looked about him again, his mind doing cartwheels – there must be something he could do!
Not able to see his own watch, he searchingly checked out the room for a timepiece. Well, if there was one there, he couldn't see it.
He tried moving his arms slightly. Carlisle had tied the ropes with blood constricting efficiency, and he could feel the numbness beginning to settle in, adding to the discomfort of his soggy clothing. He wondered dismally how he got himself into these messes.
A sound at the door alerted his attention. Damn, could Carlisle be back already? He didn't feel ready for another confrontation with the green-eyed killer, particularly as this could be his last. He hadn't even thought up a plan! What was I thinking sitting here worrying about how comfortable I am, he admonished himself.
In that instant, the double doors burst open with the sound of splintered wood and protesting metal.
"Max!"
With a quick look to ascertain he was alone, she moved over to him with her cat-like nimble grace.
He looked up at her, a smile of relief on his face.
He saw her eyes look him over searchingly, a quick look of relief on her face as well and Logan felt a rush of warmth towards her. It was to be short-lived.
"I thought I told you to stay in the car!" Max snapped at him, quickly untying his hands.
"Well I would have, but Carlisle's gun convinced me to get out!" he retorted.
"And you're all wet," she accused him, as if he'd been doing everything he possibly could to annoy her.
"Well, I have been 'out' admiring the view!" Logan rubbed his wrists, wincing as the blood flooded back into his hands.
"Where's Carlisle?" Max shot at him, retrieving his wheelchair from the hallway.
Watching her returning with it, he shrugged his damp shoulders. "He took a look at the monitors, left me here and ran off on an errand."
"Let's get you out of here.' Max was all business.
Logan was just transferring to his chair when dramatically the lights went out. He sensed rather than saw Max move to his side. Momentarily disorientated, the experience was off-putting to say the least, as he could no longer see to guide his body onto the seat. Sensing his hesitation, Max said quickly, "You're okay," and he allowed his body to drop onto the seat. Slowly his eyes were adjusting to the gloom, and he was just able to make out his legs to put his feet on the footrest when the generator kicked in, and some very low emergency lighting came on.
"Wait here a minute," Max whispered, and ran out the door.
With a quick look up and down the hallway, she ran to the elevator, not believing their luck – the emergency generator was obviously not powerful enough to operate the elevator. She ran back to Logan.
He looked at her, reading the look of dismay on her face.
Trying not to sound too bitter, Logan said, "Well, that makes it interesting, doesn't it?"
"I could carry you," Max suggested tentatively.
"Down a hundred and ten floors? I think not."
"A hundred and nine actually," she corrected him, earning one of 'those' looks.
He looked at Max helplessly for a minute, his mind blank.
"We'll have to hide. It's a large floor. We've got plenty of rooms to choose from." Max spoke confidently.
"Great. Then we just wait to be caught like rats in a trap."
"You got a better idea!" she bit back.
Without a word, Logan began wheeling himself towards the door, Max running to go in front of him to check the hallway. Turning, she motioned for him to follow her.
Logan looked at the rows of doors. This floor was more like a hotel than an office block.
"You have a preference? They all look the same to me." Logan was at his sarcastic best.
"Okay. You don't like this idea – then you come up with a better one!"
Logan looked down at his feet for a moment, but received absolutely no inspiration.
Max suddenly grabbed his arm. "You're right. The rooms are too obvious. We gotta go where he wouldn't expect you to be."
Logan raised his eyebrows at her.
"Just how good is the view?"
Logan stared at her.
Seeing his less than enthusiastic look, she said quickly, "He wouldn't expect you to go out there again."
Logan's mind was working with furious intent. As dire as the situation was, he still balked at the idea of going out on the observation deck again. "What about the stairwell?" he had a flash.
He saw Max looking at him.
"Why would a guy on wheels be in a stairwell?"
"But he'll have to come up the stairs himself."
Logan grimaced. "A minor detail," he said persuasively.
Max answered her own query. "We'll take the one furthest from here. At least we'll be dry," she added.
Without giving Logan a chance to complain, she put her hands on his upper back, and pushed him with a speed he could never manage, down the long hallway to the far stairwell.
******************************************************
Compared to the grandeur of the rest of the floor, the stairwell was very much the poor relation. It consisted of concrete stairs and a plain functional iron railing. They both looked at each other. "At least one of us can get out of here," said Logan, genuinely thankful that Max would have a means of escape.
"You think I'd bail on you?" she asked, the slightest hint of battle in her eyes.
"I expect you to be 'prudent,'" he countered, not altogether at ease with the fact that she was involved in his problem.
"Shhh," she suddenly hissed.
They both froze. Some sort of sound was being carried up the stairwell, but it was too indistinct and muffled to know what it was. The next sound was unmistakable – it was a gunshot. Logan was confused. He knew the gun Carlisle had on him had a silencer. He could have taken it off he realized, but he still had to be firing at someone else.
"Maybe it's the 'matter' Carlisle told me he had to attend to," Logan suggested quietly.
Hearing a loud squeak, Max looked over the railing to see the door of the floor below being opened. Turning to Logan, she put a finger to her lips, and quietly slipped down to the next landing, from there another series of steps would take her to the door of the next floor.
With her back pressed to the wall, she could see a figure dressed in black firing at someone in the hallway. She was about to move forward when the world turned black.
***********************************************
Logan could see Max on the stairwell from where he waited, but not the figure firing from the doorway. Of one thing he was sure – one of them was using a silencer. He wanted to call to Max to tell her to come back, when to his horror he saw her drop to the steps. Frantically rolling himself forward to the landing railing, he looked down to see her land with a quiet thud in front of the landing door below him. Of the man shooting he could see no sign.
"Max! Max!" he called urgently, not daring to raise his voice too loud.
The still form below didn't move.
Only one thing was clear in Logan's mind – he had to get to her. Frantically he considered his options; there didn't appear to be many. His gaze lighted on the railing – it appeared to be the correct height.
Carefully he wheeled as close to the railing at the top of the stairs as he could, then with a deep breath, grabbed hold of the top of the railing, slowly pulling himself up until he was precariously balanced leaning on the railing with his stomach. Making the mistake of looking down, he saw an almost endless swirl of steps descending into an abyss. Quickly closing his eyes, he concentrated on pushing up into a standing position, bracing himself with his arms on the rail. He was immediately aware of two things – his body was incredibly heavy, and the still not healed knife wound did not take kindly to this type of treatment. Ignoring both, he proceeded to slowly inch his hands along the rails, his face already bathed in sweat. He had only one thought in his mind – he had to get to Max.
Max woke with a start. Her first thought was 'Logan.'
With considerable surprise she was looking into his face.
"Logan?" she asked confused, struggling to understand why her head was resting on his lap, and he was looking at her with a worried frown.
"Damn."
"Hey, take it easy," he said in his gentle voice as she tried to sit up.
Max could already feel her body starting to shake off the effects of whatever ailed her.
Her voice sounding stronger already, she asked, "What happened?"
"I'm not entirely sure. I think you were hit with a bullet that ricocheted in the stairwell."
"Where'd the shooter go?"
"I don't think he even knew you were there. He raced out a few seconds after you were hit. Hey, how's your head?"
She put a hand to her temple where she'd been creased. "I'm okay," she answered him, really feeling quite good.
Logan said nothing, looking down at her, her head still resting on his legs. He thought back to the terrifying moment when he'd turned her still frame over, not knowing what he was going to find. The realization hit him that this was a worse fear to face than any of the others Carlisle had manufactured for his edification.
Something of this must have shown on his face. "Logan, I'm really okay," she said quickly to reassure him.
Sitting up, she suddenly looked around in amazement. She knew Logan had been on the floor above. Following her gaze, his voice tight, he said, "Mind bringing that down for me."
Max said nothing, simply getting up and retrieving his chair. Looking at him she frankly wondered if he'd be able to pull himself into it, obviously whatever he'd done to get down to her had taken a lot out of him. With concern she could see blood seeping through his sleeve. Wisely saying nothing, she turned away and cautiously opened the door to peek through. The hallway was deserted. Just in case, she ran across to the elevator to check if it was running again, but disappointingly had no response when she pressed the button.
She came back to find Logan settled in his chair. He looked up at her enquiringly when she returned.
"Still no action on the elevator. No one in the hallway."
"But there is someone in the stairwell," a voice spoke above them.
With a look of chagrin, Logan stared into the face of Vincent Carlisle, the inevitable gun held steadily in his hand.
"Don't move." he suddenly cautioned to Max in a voice that would have stopped the devil himself. "If you look carefully, you'll see the gun is pointed directly at your friend, and I never miss," he added, with that hint of pride again.
"That's right, 'cause you're a 'professional' aren't you?" Logan spoke with cutting cynicism.
Max looked at Logan intently. There was something he hadn't told her.
Carlisle was coming down the steps now. Max thought she saw a flicker of - was it shame - cross his face, but it was gone so quickly she couldn't be sure.
He walked up to Logan and without warning struck him viciously across his face.
"You've cost me precious time," was his idea of an excuse.
Max looked at Carlisle with a look that would kill, but waited patiently. She knew her opportunity would come. Just let Carlisle come within her range ... he'd never have time to pull the trigger.
TBC
Chapter 16
With sweaty palms Logan gripped the wheels of his chair, his facing betraying nothing of his inner turmoil.
"Acrophobia." Vincent Carlisle whispered the word into the wind.
Logan stared at him implacably.
"It's such a very, very, long way down." He came up behind Logan. "Release the brakes." Carlisle spoke quietly enough, but with an underlying hint of menace.
Logan quaked inwardly, but outwardly released the brakes with a look up at Carlisle that spoke of boredom.
Flinching slightly, he felt Carlisle put his hands on his shoulders, and propelled him towards the wire fencing, not stopping until Logan's chair was parallel to the wall – the best vantage point for the scene below, then came around in front, obviously to observe Logan's reaction with relish.
Logan felt the familiar wave of vertigo assail him, but under the intense scrutiny of the other man, schooled his features once more to reflect none of it.
As much for his own well being, and the need to stall for time, Logan spoke cuttingly, "Bobby would be reeel proud of you now, wouldn't he. It would give him a great sense of relief to know that you are nothing more than a cold-blooded killer."
Logan received a backhand to his face for his efforts – well at least the unpleasant sensation of vertigo disappeared.
Even as he said the words, his senses reeling from the stinging blow, he suddenly realized with total conviction that there was more truth to the words than he would have realized even five minutes ago. In fact he wondered why he'd never seen it before.
Unconsciously, his eyes flew to the other man's face.
Suddenly, with an intensity and mind-numbing coldness, the rain, which had been drizzling steadily, broke into a fully-fledged storm, the wind driving it into their faces, thoroughly drenching both Logan and Carlisle in a matter of seconds.
Carlisle was momentarily distracted as the rain beat upon his face. It was the moment Logan had been hoping for – knowing he'd never escape while Carlisle held the gun. Without hesitation, he flung himself forward, his left hand holding on to his wheel for support, his right hand reaching out for the gun.
Carlisle was caught unawares as he felt the gun being prized from his grasp, but he had the advantage of two hands and movement. His left hand he brought up quickly, delivering a swift karate style blow to Logan's outstretched arm, and at the same instant, pulling back. His arm numb, Logan nonetheless tried to wrestle the gun, but as Carlisle stepped back, he was forced to let go or end up flat on his face. Disconcertingly, Logan looked up to see the gun aimed at him once more, Carlisle's face filled with deadly intent. He stared straight into Vincent Carlisle's emotionless green orbs.
Unexpectedly, Carlisle broke into a singularly unpleasant, mirthless laugh; his face silhouetted in the dim lighting and reflected rain.
The laugh stopped as quickly as it had begun, which Logan was thankful for.
"Get inside," nodded Carlisle, indicating the doors.
Only too happy to oblige, Logan wheeled himself off the observation deck.
Passing the security monitors, Carlisle stopped and turned them on. Watching his fingers on the panel, it was obvious to Logan he knew what he was doing. Logan looked longingly at the elevator doors. They were only ten feet away, but they might as well have been on the moon for all the good they could do him. He'd never be able to wheel there quickly enough, and elevators were not known for their speed of opening and closing, they were designed to give people plenty of time to get in and out. Turning back to Carlisle, he saw the other man suddenly straighten up, Logan catching a fleeting enigmatic glance cross his face.
Carlisle had Logan move to the elevator, and then punched the down button. For a brief moment Logan's hopes soared, but once in, Carlisle pressed it for the floor beneath the one they were already on.
There was a certain amount of urgency about Carlisle now that made Logan even more nervous.
The elevator stopped way too quickly for Logan's peace of mind.
Carlisle pushed him out impatiently, directing him to turn right. They were in a long corridor, but Logan could tell this was not the domain of lowly clerks. The carpet was deep and luxurious, paintings adorned the walls, and the double doors they stopped at were nothing short of magnificent.
Unimpressed, Logan found it a tawdry cover-up for nothing short of evil.
Unlocking the doors, Carlisle motioned once again with an impatient gesture for Logan to enter the room.
Logan gave a low whistle. "Nice," he stated, looking about him. It was obvious the depression that gripped the rest of the country had somehow by- passed Taylor industries. The focus of the room they were in was an immense antique mahogany desk. Logan noted the well-stocked bar longingly. 'Well, at least they were off the observation deck and out of the rain.' He tousled his hair with his hand in an effort to stop the water dripping on his face, and then spying a box of tissues on the desk he helped himself to one and proceeded to dry his glasses. Able to see clearly again, he looked to see what Carlisle was up to, and with a certain amount of trepidation observed the rope Carlisle now held in his hands.
"Get in this chair."
Logan looked to see him indicating a deep leather armchair; it looked particularly comfortable if that's what you were looking for, but Logan knew for it would be very difficult to get into. Casting a quick look around Logan saw several high back wooden chairs, or the large leather chesterfield. It was the latter one he indicated.
"That one's more my style." Carlisle looked from one to the other, then seeming to understand Logan's unspoken reluctance he nodded at him.
"Hurry."
Carlisle definitely seemed tense about something, although he held the emotion well in check.
Logan quickly transferred to the couch, not happy to see Carlisle move his wheelchair out to the corridor. As much as he hated having to use it, for the moment he felt like he was losing his best friend.
"Isn't this a deviation from your original plan?" asked Logan cautiously, grunting a little as Carlisle, behind him, was tying his hands together with practiced ease.
He then came around to the front, another piece of rope in his hand, considering Logan's legs thoughtfully.
"That one's redundant." put in Logan, trying to sound as matter-of –fact as possible. Knowing the circulation in his legs was bad enough as it was, the last thing he needed was a tight rope bound around them.
Hesitating for a moment, Carlisle eventually nodded. He looked at Logan for a moment much in the manner of one being pulled away from a fabulous repast.
"Unfortunately I have a small matter to attend to," he said to Logan in a polite manner, "but have no fear, I will return directly. You are, after all, my number one priority."
"I'll try to appreciate the honour," Logan remarked caustically.
Without a backward glance, Carlisle left the room. Logan could hear the key being turned in the lock. Left alone, Logan let a big breath escape, relaxing his shoulders, surprised to find he'd been so tense. He wondered idly what the owner of the chesterfield would say if he saw Logan's wet clothes on his furniture. Logan looked about him again, his mind doing cartwheels – there must be something he could do!
Not able to see his own watch, he searchingly checked out the room for a timepiece. Well, if there was one there, he couldn't see it.
He tried moving his arms slightly. Carlisle had tied the ropes with blood constricting efficiency, and he could feel the numbness beginning to settle in, adding to the discomfort of his soggy clothing. He wondered dismally how he got himself into these messes.
A sound at the door alerted his attention. Damn, could Carlisle be back already? He didn't feel ready for another confrontation with the green-eyed killer, particularly as this could be his last. He hadn't even thought up a plan! What was I thinking sitting here worrying about how comfortable I am, he admonished himself.
In that instant, the double doors burst open with the sound of splintered wood and protesting metal.
"Max!"
With a quick look to ascertain he was alone, she moved over to him with her cat-like nimble grace.
He looked up at her, a smile of relief on his face.
He saw her eyes look him over searchingly, a quick look of relief on her face as well and Logan felt a rush of warmth towards her. It was to be short-lived.
"I thought I told you to stay in the car!" Max snapped at him, quickly untying his hands.
"Well I would have, but Carlisle's gun convinced me to get out!" he retorted.
"And you're all wet," she accused him, as if he'd been doing everything he possibly could to annoy her.
"Well, I have been 'out' admiring the view!" Logan rubbed his wrists, wincing as the blood flooded back into his hands.
"Where's Carlisle?" Max shot at him, retrieving his wheelchair from the hallway.
Watching her returning with it, he shrugged his damp shoulders. "He took a look at the monitors, left me here and ran off on an errand."
"Let's get you out of here.' Max was all business.
Logan was just transferring to his chair when dramatically the lights went out. He sensed rather than saw Max move to his side. Momentarily disorientated, the experience was off-putting to say the least, as he could no longer see to guide his body onto the seat. Sensing his hesitation, Max said quickly, "You're okay," and he allowed his body to drop onto the seat. Slowly his eyes were adjusting to the gloom, and he was just able to make out his legs to put his feet on the footrest when the generator kicked in, and some very low emergency lighting came on.
"Wait here a minute," Max whispered, and ran out the door.
With a quick look up and down the hallway, she ran to the elevator, not believing their luck – the emergency generator was obviously not powerful enough to operate the elevator. She ran back to Logan.
He looked at her, reading the look of dismay on her face.
Trying not to sound too bitter, Logan said, "Well, that makes it interesting, doesn't it?"
"I could carry you," Max suggested tentatively.
"Down a hundred and ten floors? I think not."
"A hundred and nine actually," she corrected him, earning one of 'those' looks.
He looked at Max helplessly for a minute, his mind blank.
"We'll have to hide. It's a large floor. We've got plenty of rooms to choose from." Max spoke confidently.
"Great. Then we just wait to be caught like rats in a trap."
"You got a better idea!" she bit back.
Without a word, Logan began wheeling himself towards the door, Max running to go in front of him to check the hallway. Turning, she motioned for him to follow her.
Logan looked at the rows of doors. This floor was more like a hotel than an office block.
"You have a preference? They all look the same to me." Logan was at his sarcastic best.
"Okay. You don't like this idea – then you come up with a better one!"
Logan looked down at his feet for a moment, but received absolutely no inspiration.
Max suddenly grabbed his arm. "You're right. The rooms are too obvious. We gotta go where he wouldn't expect you to be."
Logan raised his eyebrows at her.
"Just how good is the view?"
Logan stared at her.
Seeing his less than enthusiastic look, she said quickly, "He wouldn't expect you to go out there again."
Logan's mind was working with furious intent. As dire as the situation was, he still balked at the idea of going out on the observation deck again. "What about the stairwell?" he had a flash.
He saw Max looking at him.
"Why would a guy on wheels be in a stairwell?"
"But he'll have to come up the stairs himself."
Logan grimaced. "A minor detail," he said persuasively.
Max answered her own query. "We'll take the one furthest from here. At least we'll be dry," she added.
Without giving Logan a chance to complain, she put her hands on his upper back, and pushed him with a speed he could never manage, down the long hallway to the far stairwell.
******************************************************
Compared to the grandeur of the rest of the floor, the stairwell was very much the poor relation. It consisted of concrete stairs and a plain functional iron railing. They both looked at each other. "At least one of us can get out of here," said Logan, genuinely thankful that Max would have a means of escape.
"You think I'd bail on you?" she asked, the slightest hint of battle in her eyes.
"I expect you to be 'prudent,'" he countered, not altogether at ease with the fact that she was involved in his problem.
"Shhh," she suddenly hissed.
They both froze. Some sort of sound was being carried up the stairwell, but it was too indistinct and muffled to know what it was. The next sound was unmistakable – it was a gunshot. Logan was confused. He knew the gun Carlisle had on him had a silencer. He could have taken it off he realized, but he still had to be firing at someone else.
"Maybe it's the 'matter' Carlisle told me he had to attend to," Logan suggested quietly.
Hearing a loud squeak, Max looked over the railing to see the door of the floor below being opened. Turning to Logan, she put a finger to her lips, and quietly slipped down to the next landing, from there another series of steps would take her to the door of the next floor.
With her back pressed to the wall, she could see a figure dressed in black firing at someone in the hallway. She was about to move forward when the world turned black.
***********************************************
Logan could see Max on the stairwell from where he waited, but not the figure firing from the doorway. Of one thing he was sure – one of them was using a silencer. He wanted to call to Max to tell her to come back, when to his horror he saw her drop to the steps. Frantically rolling himself forward to the landing railing, he looked down to see her land with a quiet thud in front of the landing door below him. Of the man shooting he could see no sign.
"Max! Max!" he called urgently, not daring to raise his voice too loud.
The still form below didn't move.
Only one thing was clear in Logan's mind – he had to get to her. Frantically he considered his options; there didn't appear to be many. His gaze lighted on the railing – it appeared to be the correct height.
Carefully he wheeled as close to the railing at the top of the stairs as he could, then with a deep breath, grabbed hold of the top of the railing, slowly pulling himself up until he was precariously balanced leaning on the railing with his stomach. Making the mistake of looking down, he saw an almost endless swirl of steps descending into an abyss. Quickly closing his eyes, he concentrated on pushing up into a standing position, bracing himself with his arms on the rail. He was immediately aware of two things – his body was incredibly heavy, and the still not healed knife wound did not take kindly to this type of treatment. Ignoring both, he proceeded to slowly inch his hands along the rails, his face already bathed in sweat. He had only one thought in his mind – he had to get to Max.
Max woke with a start. Her first thought was 'Logan.'
With considerable surprise she was looking into his face.
"Logan?" she asked confused, struggling to understand why her head was resting on his lap, and he was looking at her with a worried frown.
"Damn."
"Hey, take it easy," he said in his gentle voice as she tried to sit up.
Max could already feel her body starting to shake off the effects of whatever ailed her.
Her voice sounding stronger already, she asked, "What happened?"
"I'm not entirely sure. I think you were hit with a bullet that ricocheted in the stairwell."
"Where'd the shooter go?"
"I don't think he even knew you were there. He raced out a few seconds after you were hit. Hey, how's your head?"
She put a hand to her temple where she'd been creased. "I'm okay," she answered him, really feeling quite good.
Logan said nothing, looking down at her, her head still resting on his legs. He thought back to the terrifying moment when he'd turned her still frame over, not knowing what he was going to find. The realization hit him that this was a worse fear to face than any of the others Carlisle had manufactured for his edification.
Something of this must have shown on his face. "Logan, I'm really okay," she said quickly to reassure him.
Sitting up, she suddenly looked around in amazement. She knew Logan had been on the floor above. Following her gaze, his voice tight, he said, "Mind bringing that down for me."
Max said nothing, simply getting up and retrieving his chair. Looking at him she frankly wondered if he'd be able to pull himself into it, obviously whatever he'd done to get down to her had taken a lot out of him. With concern she could see blood seeping through his sleeve. Wisely saying nothing, she turned away and cautiously opened the door to peek through. The hallway was deserted. Just in case, she ran across to the elevator to check if it was running again, but disappointingly had no response when she pressed the button.
She came back to find Logan settled in his chair. He looked up at her enquiringly when she returned.
"Still no action on the elevator. No one in the hallway."
"But there is someone in the stairwell," a voice spoke above them.
With a look of chagrin, Logan stared into the face of Vincent Carlisle, the inevitable gun held steadily in his hand.
"Don't move." he suddenly cautioned to Max in a voice that would have stopped the devil himself. "If you look carefully, you'll see the gun is pointed directly at your friend, and I never miss," he added, with that hint of pride again.
"That's right, 'cause you're a 'professional' aren't you?" Logan spoke with cutting cynicism.
Max looked at Logan intently. There was something he hadn't told her.
Carlisle was coming down the steps now. Max thought she saw a flicker of - was it shame - cross his face, but it was gone so quickly she couldn't be sure.
He walked up to Logan and without warning struck him viciously across his face.
"You've cost me precious time," was his idea of an excuse.
Max looked at Carlisle with a look that would kill, but waited patiently. She knew her opportunity would come. Just let Carlisle come within her range ... he'd never have time to pull the trigger.
TBC