He could, however, read the note on the man’s chest.
Too late.
Judging by the man’sgrayed-over eyes, whoever had written the note was right.
They were too fucking late.
?Chapter 62
“Ben!Ben!”
Ivy dropped down, placed her head to Dr.Moorehead’s chest. The paper crinkled.
No heartbeat.
She ripped the tape from the man’s mouth. A frothy substance spewed forth, and at first, she thought that he was actively vomiting.
Except Dr.Moorehead hadn’t moved, hadn’t even blinked. It was just some sort of bile foam that had been trapped by the tape.
“He’s gone, Ivy.”
Ivy started chest compressions while Vaughn went back to the shed or whatever the fuck it was and closed the door as best he could.
“C’mon, Ben—wake up!”
“He’s gone.”
Vaughn put a hand on her shoulder.
She shrugged him off and continued with the chest compressions.
Vaughn got on his phone, called it in.
When Ivy felt his hand on her shoulder again, she finally stopped and sat down. Started to take off her mask.
Vaughn stopped her.
“Best to keep it on.”
“It’s... it’s Dr.Moorehead,” she whimpered.
Vaughn nodded. He’d figured as much.
“If only I’d been faster. If only I’d figured the riddle out sooner.”
Ivy ripped the paper from her boss’s chest.
Cursed loudly.
Too late.
She crumpled the page, went to throw it, but Vaughn took it from her.
“I’m going to need that.”
Ivy handed it over and tried to stand. Her legs were like rubber, and she gripped Vaughn’s arm to hoist herself up. Braced herself against him to keep from falling down again.
“We need to turn off the gas.” Her voice sounded strange, mostly because of the mask, partly because of the surreal nature of everything.
