It didn’t last. At one hundred I heard his breathing.
Pete’s.
I held my own light and shallow. Was he coming to rescue me?
Shouldn’t I call out to him? Tell him not to bother with the climb and I’d be right down?
I couldn’t.
Another ten treads. He had about fifty-five to go. There were long gaps of silence as he regained his strength.
Clomp, clomp, clomp.
One hundred and twenty, thirty. I knew that soon I’d see him, and he’d see me.
And there he was, hunched, panting, using the wall to keep himself upright. He stood at the multi-paned window, swaying. Then he turned and clasped the railing with both hands, raising his head and locking his gaze with mine. Without his beanie, he looked unnatural, almost inhuman. With that scar encircling half his face, he scarcely looked like the Pet
