Providence Descending, Sarah Boone [online e book reading .TXT] 📗

Chapter One - Trifecta

Her father always said that there are three situations when it's a bad idea to use an elevator: when there's a fire in the building, when there's a robbery, and when you're in need of a quick escape. However, as she was caught in the midst of all three, an elevator seemed to be Lucy's only route of departure.
Prompted by immediacy, she pressed the up button; frightened by the idea of betraying her father's advice, she retreated back down the deserted hallway. Her footfalls were muted by the wail of the fire alarm. She couldn't hear the heaving breaths that surged through her chest like hot bile; she shook and over-heated like a junkie with a need. And her need was to get out. Now.
“Those elevators are deathtraps, Lucy. They'll be the death of you. Stay away from them.”
She intended to.
Certainly burglary and fire complicated things, especially since Lucy was the thief. The fire she could only blame on the devil; perhaps he'd finally come for her. She didn't know. All she knew was that she was going to come out of that building cop-free or not at all.
At the hallway's end, she found a door labeled 'stairwell' – finally, another way out. Lucy lunged at the door, slamming her hand against the handle, only to find that it was locked. She tried to kick it open. She tried to jimmy it with a bobby pin. Then she ran back to the front desk, across from the elevator; there had to be something there heavy enough to force the door. Luckily, she found a utility closet unlocked and retrieved a hammer from it. Enthused by fresh hope, she ran back to the stairwell door. Lucy slammed the hammer against the door handle. It crumbled, but did not break. She swung again. The door still would not budge.
Resting her forehead against the cool wood of the door, Lucy let the hammer drop. Then she snapped back. Wake up, Lucy! She thought. Keep moving, keep moving, there has to be another exit. She kept going down the next hallway; her shadow flickered ahead of her via the flashing red fire alarm.
Every door in this corridor was locked as well, but none of them mattered to Lucy. There were no exits on the other side. This floor, the cellar floor, was for records only – rooms for credit files labeled A-C, D-G, E-H, all the way down to U-Z. Lucy already had what she'd come for in the clear plastic envelope tucked below her arm. It was her reason for going in and her reason for going out. She didn't even know what was inside.
Halfway down the hall, she looked up at the hole in the ceiling – her mode of entry. She'd fallen two floors down an empty shaft into this dungeon of a basement. Dust still floated down, debris swinging on thin stringy fibers of plaster hovered over her head. She wondered if she could climb back up. Lucy jumped, catching a hand on the edge of the leftover plaster. It snapped and she fell back down. Nope. There had to be another way.
One last door waited for her at the hall's very end. Unlabeled, and, hopefully, unlocked. Lucy reached out to the knob; she prayed, to whatever deity might still have the patience to listen to her, for the door to open.
The knob started to turn from the other side. Lucy pulled away. Who would go down to the bottom floor of a building that's on fire? Had to be security.
They knew who she was.
They knew what she looked like.
She ran.
The red silhouette sprinted behind her this time, leaving a fleeting trail in her wake.
“Hey! Wait! Stop!” The orders were muffled by the siren, but she still heard them. Though her vision was pin-holed by adrenaline, she saw him as she turned the corner: a security guard headed her way.
Lucy leaped behind the front desk and nestled below the desk surface, behind the receptionist chair. She tried to control her breathing, tried to sink into the floor and channel some kind of calm. The shaking subsided, the sudden withdrawal of adrenaline replaced by sharp exhaustion. She closed her eyes, leaning her head against the side wall.
The day before yesterday she'd been a normal person, and now she was this.

Chapter Two – The Day Before Yesterday

The Rutherford Facility for the Aging and Elderly served themed meals to keep their clientele entertained. Mediterranean Monday, Tortellini Tuesday. Lucy came by to visit her father everyday at lunchtime. This day was his favorite: Wednesday Wieners and Baseball. Carl hated the food served the rest of the week. Every time Lucy visited he complained about the strange flavor of felafel or the audacity of the caregivers who didn't allow him meat at every meal.
“I am an American, damn it, born and raised. I want my barbecue beef, and I want it when I want it, as much as I want it. Just cause I'm old doesn't mean I don't know what I need. I don't care if it's not good for me; a man needs his meat!” And then he'd go on about the ridiculous cleanliness and constant quiet of the facility. “I'm telling you, Luce. It drives me nuts.”
“Dad, you and I both know that you don't have to stay here,” Lucy said.
Carl shook his head. “No. I do, Luce. I really do.”
“You're lucid. You're healthy. You're okay financially. You don't need this place.”
“All true,” Carl agreed, “I don't need this place, but you and I both know that I need to be here. That will never change.” Carl took a huge bite of his ballpark dog. He said, through his mouthful of meat and onions, “News this morning reported another case of petty theft at the gas station around the corner. A thousand bucks just up and disappeared over night. You hear about that?”
“No. No, I didn't. How strange.”
“Lucy.” Her father leaned farther over the table. “You have to stop.”
“I donate everything,” Lucy hissed. “It's not about the money. I just want to keep in practice.”
“Keep in practice? For what? We swore we were finished, you and me. You remember that? Are you trying to end up in jail?”
“I'm not going to end up in jail.”
“Keep pulling nonsense like this every week and you will. That's a guarantee. Is it so horrible that I want you to grow old like I have, that I want to see you get married?”
“Ha!” Lucy scoffed. “Dad, you and I both know that I'm never getting married.”
A nurse walked by them to start a tape of an old baseball game – the black and white fuzzy type in which the commentators all sound like Mr. Movie-phone.
“Well, the weather doesn't look to promising, but nonetheless, here in Boston we're preparing for a challenging match-up between the Sox and the San Francisco Giants today at Fenway Park.”
Lucy's father avoided her eyes, staring pointedly at the television. “Come on, honey, let's watch, the game.”
“Dad, I know that you don't like this place -”
“It's not perfect, Luce, but it's a good enough fit. Here comes the pitcher.”
“And the crowd goes quiet as Rogers approaches the mound.”
“Dad.”
“A firecracker of an athlete in his first three seasons, Roger seems to have fallen behind this year, but he remains in the pitching rotation despite his inconsistency. I think he's just too greedy with those fastballs. The kid can't slow down, and now everyone else is catching up with him.”
“Dad.”
“Baseball's a tough sport to predict, folks. And statistics can only go so far. Coach Rayne has said that he has faith Rogers can redeem himself, and the rest of his teammates agree. He did lead them to two division championships and one series appearance, so they know that he's an ace, and that he could be one again. I say, what's wrong with a little faith?”
Carl was a man blessed with inexpressive eyes, a genetic gift also bestowed upon his only daughter. They were useful because they made one difficult to read and unpredictable, and these advantages made them especially valuable to a man who made his living by lying and stealing. He looked at Lucy and he knew that she could see that faint trace of sadness in his face. There were so many things he'd never been able to hide from her, but he knew that this could not be one of them.
He reached across the table and took his daughter's hand. “I can't live on the outside, Lucy. I can't. That promise we made to each other five years ago? If they let me out, I'll break it. We swore that neither of us would ever again take what isn't ours, and staying here is the only way I can do that. You should start figuring out what you're gonna do. How you're going to control yourself.” Carl returned his eyes to the baseball game and refused to look away.
“Three balls, no strikes. This is Roger's last chance to throw a good pitch. The wind up, and...oh! Folks, it's a home run. First inning and Giants lead one to nothing. Maybe some players can't be redeemed after all.”

Chapter Three – Plan B

A shadow passed Lucy on the other side of the front desk; a small gust of air tickled her back. Lucy's eyes flashed open.
She strained to listen through the fire alarm, but there was nothing – static, like being deaf. It's ironic how that is, she thought, so much noise that she couldn't hear, like something so hot that it feels cold or vice versa, being suffocated by air. Lucy read once that if someone were to fall a distance of over five hundred feet, accelerating at ten meters per second, per second, they wouldn't die from impact. They would die during their descent because they'd be falling so fast that the air resistance would make them incapable of exhaling. They would be long gone, choked by their own breath, before they reached the ground.
The guard's navy pants came into view. He crept slowly across the small office, gun raised, reaching his free hand toward the open utility cabinet.
Cautiously, Lucy rolled the desk chair out and stood. Then, head lowered like a charging bull, she rushed the chair at his back, using it's momentum to knock him to the ground. She slammed his head against the wall. He went limp.
Lucy snatched the guard's gun, radio, and keys. She ran to the stairwell door, fumbling to try every key on the ring. None of them worked. She'd smashed in the cylinders when she'd tried to open it by force. Now she'd trapped herself. Plan B was the gun. She didn't want to waste bullets, but she didn't see any other way. Besides the elevator.
Lucy shoved the keys in her pocket.
Not the fucking elevator.
She aimed the gun at the wood around the door handle, and emptied a clip into it. She kicked the remnants of the frame, and the door swung open.
Now that Lucy had somewhere to run, the adrenaline was back. She hiked up the stairs two at a time. The handle on the door marked 'Garage' was hot-cold. Lucy recoiled immediately, her hand throbbing and numb.
Garble sputtered through the security guard's radio. She held it up to her ear as she crept farther up the stairs.
“Officer Dave, do you read? A firefighter reported the sound