Page 12 of Boardroom Mask

He takes his time calming down again. That’s another thing to add to my scant list of things I know about this man: He wants to stand out from the crowd, he doesn’t like being lied to, and hesmells extremely good. Can’t wait to run straight to NYPD withthatairtight description, assuming I make it out of here alive.

Slowly, he sinks and joins me in kneeling on the floor. He touches a finger under my chin and tilts my face up until I’m meeting his eyes. Half his face is blotted out fully by the darkness. Shadows pool in the pits of his eyes, so all I can see is the mask-covered ridge of his proud nose and the cruel slash of his mouth.

“Whoareyou?” I whisper.

“Someone who pays attention.”

“You broke into my apartment to let me know that you’re paying attention?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head with what is—improbably, unbelievably, but, yes, undeniably—sadness. “I broke into your apartment to kill you.”

5

JILLIAN

“And in the dark / I can hear your heartbeat”

— “Cosmic Love” by Florence + The Machine

To say my stomach drops doesn’t even begin to cover it. It passes right out of me and deeper. The floor might as well not exist anymore. I’m falling through it, through the building, through the earth itself, and there’s nothing to grab onto as I hurtle down, down, down into the void.

I broke into your apartment to kill you.

Those words all make sense individually, but when you add them up, you just get a wordless scream instead of a cohesive sense of understanding. Things like that can only make sense in the abstract.

This is not abstract at all.

When there’s a man who smells like smoke and fire stroking your cheek with a gloved finger, kneeling in front of you with an aura of solemn melancholy surrounding him, things feel very real indeed.

My mouth is open but empty and useless, no matter how hard I try to say something, anything. He just kneels there and watches. Patient, like he’s giving me time to catch up to what he said.

But the choice of how to respond is taken away from me when a sound interrupts us.

A knock on the door.

It’s three tentative raps, followed by a muffled voice from the hallway. “Hey, Jillian…? You okay? I heard a noise.”

I recognize it right away. It’s Elliot Wilkinson, my nice but nosy neighbor from down the hall. He’s like a shy little puppy dog transformed into a human being and is still getting the hang of this whole “how to be a grown-up” thing. He tried to tell me to call him “El,” when we first met, then sheepishly admitted that he’d made the nickname up and no one ever calls him that. He brought me cookies when I moved in, insists on delivering my mail up to my apartment himself, and has mustered up the courage on a handful of occasions to gaze up at me with those big, soulful golden retriever eyes and ask if I maybe, perhaps, if I’m free and in the mood, and of course he’d pay for it, his treat, really, no he insists, but like, yeah, would I want to get a drink or a bite to eat or perhaps see a movie together sometime?

I’ve gently, repeatedly, and unmistakably declined, but Elliot, bless his soul, seems determined to keep on trying.

Unfortunately, he’s picked a really bad time to take another swing.

He’s no white knight. I know without even having to think about it that the Masked Man in my apartment would snuff Elliot outin the blink of an eye, like crushing a little bug beneath the heel of his boot.

This is all too much. I’m in a bad enough situation as it is, but if an innocent guy like Elliot gets murdered right along with me, then I… I…

Oh, God, the world is starting to swim, getting murky and indistinct around the edges, I feel my chin lolling toward my chest, my breath stuttering, as I—as I?—

No.No. I’m not going to faint. I’m not going to spiral. Because if I don’t handle this perfectly, Elliot and I arebothgoing to die. That thought snaps me into focus faster than anything else could.

“Jillian?” Elliot calls again. “Hey, looks like your lights are out. Mine, too, actually—I think the whole floor blew. Want me to call the super?”

Go away,I think desperately, trying to beam my thoughts in his direction.Please, please, please just go away.

“Answer him,” the intruder murmurs, so quiet I almost miss it.

I swallow. My throat is dry and tight. “I’m—I’m fine, Elliot!” I push the words out and try to sound normal. “It’s just the breaker. I’ve got it.”