Page 105 of Kill Me Again: Psychics

Chapter Thirty-eight

Lake

Pure desperation had me spending far too long attempting to find a way through the door before giving up. It was a fire door. They were built to withstand forced entry, so a historian―no matter how determined―was never going to break through one.

I forced myself to think. There was no other way up to the roof. I took my phone out and stared at it. I didn’t have Ben’s number. I could call the police, but how long would it take to speak to someone who knew what I was talking about? Too long was the answer.

Baxter’s phone. He’d left it in the car, and the car was unlocked. I ran back to it, my fingers clumsy as I fumbled it out of the glove compartment. In contrast to when I’d gently mocked him for having no passcode set on his phone, now I was grateful.

His address book was sparse. No surprise, given that it equated to six months of living. No, Ben under the B’s. It was possible he was in there under his surname, but as I didn’t know it, that wasn’t any help. Calisto was there, though, and I hit call without looking through any of the other names.

He answered on the second ring. “Thank God!”

“It’s Lake,” I said quickly. I explained the situation in as few words as possible, working hard to keep the panic out of my voice. “So I really need Ben here. I thought the police were already on their way. Where are they?”

A conversation happened in the background before Calisto came back on the phone. “Asher’s speaking to Ben now. He told them to bring the fire brigade. They’ll have the equipment to get through the door.”

“When?” I asked. “They’ve already been up there for ten minutes. Anything could be happening. I don’t want to lose him.”

More conversation. The waiting felt like standing next to a car alarm that wouldn’t shut off, each second drilling a little deeper into my skull.

“Five minutes. Just hang tight.”

“A lot can happen in five minutes.”

“Yeah,” Calisto agreed, trepidation leaking into his voice.

“What if something happens to him?”

“Then I’d find a way to bring him back again.”

That offered some comfort. Calisto kept talking, but it was nothing but background noise. He seemed to realize that, his conversation not requiring anything except for the occasional grunt to show I hadn’t disappeared altogether.

“When this is over, we should all have dinner together,” Calisto said. “You’re important to Baxter, so that makes you important to me.”

“Dinner,” I said. “Sure.” Right now, that felt too normal to be anything but a pipe dream.

Loud footsteps—enough to sound like a stampede—echoed up the stairs. Ben appeared first, followed by two firemen and two uniformed officers. They made a beeline for the door, Ben offering a nod on his way over there.

I joined them, standing shoulder to shoulder with Ben while the firemen set to work on the door. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d felt more useless.

“How long have they been up there?” Ben asked.

I bit back my instinctive reaction to say too long and tried for something more helpful. “Fifteen minutes.”

“It’ll be okay.”

“Will it?”

“Baxter’s tough. He died and came back again. You don’t get any tougher than that.”

“He’s not as tough as he makes out.”

Ben had nothing to say to that.

The firemen didn’t waste time on the hinges, wedging a bar into the frame and leaning in hard. The door groaned, metal screaming against metal, sweat standing out on their brows with the exertion.

“What if they can’t—?”