TWENTY-SEVEN
THE IMMENSE SCREECH of the fire alarm started immediately as we went through. A part of me had hoped that this building, like more of these than one might think, didn’t have the emergency doors wired to a real alarm system, that the warning was just a decoy. But it wasn’t. The sound—a pulsing wee-wee-wee-wee-wee-wee! pierced through everything, blaring from a siren right by the top of the stairs.
I gave a last glance and nod at Debbie and Ayres—no words would be audible right now—and started my descent, taking three, four steps at a time, careful not to misstep and maybe break an ankle or wrist or something else in a fall. The shoes I had on—leather dress shoes—had not exactly been designed for this kind of activity. But I remained focused, clasping the flapping jacket with
