When I get to the final row and my eyes start to blur, the bolt cutter slips from my sweaty grip. I wince as I bend to grab it, and black spots dot my vision.
Fuck.
I rest a hand on the wall, waiting for the spots to clear like they usually do, but they only get worse. Keeping my palms on the wall, I force my legs to move blindly toward the studio.
I have to get to Sofia.
Ihaveto.
I take another step before I’m plunged headfirst into darkness, and I’m falling down an endless tunnel.
“Hey.” Something smacks my cheek. “Hey, man. Get up. Right the fuck now.”
Another smack, and I’m being dragged to my feet. My eyes drift open as I’m lugged forward, one arm draped over someone’s neck. It takes a minute for my vision to focus, but soon I’m able to make out No Name. He grunts as he pulls my dead weight. With a groan, I manage to work my leg muscles and push myself forward with his help.
I look around, realizing I’m still in the storage room. Lifting my hands, I turn them from back to front. They’re wet, along with the back of my pants and shirt. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” It’s shallow, but water covers every inch of the floor.
“Yeah, say that another ten times and you’re getting there. You fucking passed out. You’ll never believe how lucky I got, though. There’s a damn garden above us. Already busted the main pipes by the time I found the hose, then got the hell out of here right after closing the studio. I thought you and the girl were long gone. Took me forever to realize you weren’t one of the kids outside.” He lifts his left hand, fresh blood smeared across his palm and fingers. “Had to go through some shit to get back down here. You owe me, man.”
My brows crash together. “Sofia ... You closed the studio?”
“Of course. I thought you had her. ‘Nah, I got her.’ Remember that?”
The adrenaline comes rushing back full speed, and I’m tearing free from his grasp. Sofia can’t swim. I know because I asked last night, and she shook her little head. I storm past the empty crates, water sloshing at my feet, and get to the studio’s closed door, then shove. “Give me the fucking key.”
“I don’t have the fucking studio key,” he growls. “As far as I know, only Katerina had that one.”
My throat tightens, my lungs constricting as I glance up at the shoebox-sized, rectangular window at the top of the door. “Give me a lift.”
“Are you crazy? We don’t fucking have time for—”
“Giving me a fucking lift!”
He stares at me. I know my face is red, my eyes bulging like I might kill him with my bare hands if he doesn’t, but I think I really might.
“Fine,” he grits.
He crosses his fingers together and flips his hands so they’re palm up. Stepping onto his palms, I use the door for balance and peek into the slit of a window.
The room is halfway flooded. Katerina floats at the bottom, cuffed to the bars with her eyes wide and black hair floating in streams around her head. I shift my gaze to the right and swallow when only the bars of Sofia’s cage are visible from here.
Just a few feet in front of me, though, a pink teddy bear drifts along the surface.
Oil crayons hover above the floor.
And the tips of long black hair poke out from between the bars. Floating, just like her mother’s.
