Page 31 of Safari Murder Party
Something crashed, then twinkled. A lot like a plate of metal instruments skittering across the floor.
Maybe…Joplin tripped?
Another bang proved that theory unlikely. Fletcher’s stomach plummeted into kneecap territory as Joplin groaned, then yelped. A series of tinny beeps sounded, followed by a distinctly mechanicalthunk. After that, everything quieted, save the clicking of tasteful heels and the latching of the med spa door.
Until the screaming started.
Fletcher eased open the door, praying the hinges wouldn’t squeak. There was no telling what she’d find out there—and she didn’t want to fall in the crosshairs. But the spa floor was empty, the lights dimmed. Only a flashing blue LED illuminated the hallway.
A flashing blue light that, admittedly, wasn’t on before.
Fletcher tightened her towel and dared to go out into the main floor. The banging didn’t stop, but as she neared the lights, the screaming became more coherent: “Jackie, you bitch!”
The closer Fletcher got, the more obvious the blue blinking light became. The cryotherapy chamber had been turned on. With Joplin inside. And the blue light? That would be the lock.
Fletcher skidded in front of the glass wall separating her from Joplin. The designer’s eyes flared—hope quickly replacing fear. Fletcher hadn’t been able to save Theo. But Joplin wasn’t dead.
Yet.
Frost already lined her lashes. Blue tinted her lips.
“I’m going to get you out,” Fletcher said, but it was hard to hear herself over Joplin’s continued shrieking: “Hurry up! I’m going to kill Jackie!”
Perhaps some sense could be talked into Joplin when her skin wasn’t at risk of turning black and chipping right off.
Fletcher pivoted toward the backlit screen controlling the chamber. A big blue lock icon floated in the middle, and every time Fletcher jammed the buttons, a robotic voice chimed, “Chamber is in use. Chamber is in use.”
“I want it tonotbe in use,” Fletcher said.
“Chamber is in use,” the voice responded.
Come on. There had to be an emergency shutoff somewhere, right? Or maybe a power cord Fletcher could cut? But the chamber had been built inside the wall for a seamless finish. Sleek, sophisticated, and a complete safety hazard.
If she wanted to get Joplin out, she was going to have to break through the door.
Sparkling frost limned the glass’s edge. The on-screen thermometer read -50 degrees Celsius. And dropping. Machines like this easily reached -130 degrees. They were meant to be microdosed, but thetimer wasn’t dwindling near fast enough. Instead of a matter of minutes, Jackie had set the timer for an hour, and the override wasn’t responding.
Something heavy. She needed something heavy.
Scouring her surroundings, Fletcher searched for anything she could ram against the triple-paned door. As she pulled open drawers, there were Kybella syringes and single-blade razors.
“Holy fuck, what is taking so long?” Joplin bemoaned, a ch-ch-ch-chatter in her teeth with every word. The thermometer reading plummeted. No sign of stopping anytime soon.
Fletcher spun. Finally, her eyes locked onto the facial machine sitting neatly on a metal rolling cart. It had tentacle tubes protruding from every direction, but Fletcher wasn’t particularly concerned with that. She grabbed the cart and pushed, feet kicking, until it smashed into the glass door.
A hairline fracture, if anything.
She tried again, this time getting a running start. Her towel threatened to slip down, so Fletcher clamped her elbows to her sides as the cart slammed against the cryo chamber. The impact jolted her backward, rattled her teeth.
“Maybe I can get someone to help.” Desperation clawed through Fletcher’s voice. “Waylon, I can get Waylon.”
“Waylon?” Joplin’s usual volume quickly waned.
“Yes, Waylon! You like Waylon! Bubbles, right?”
Joplin’s teeth chattered. “Champagne. Long story.”
“I’m going to get help, and I’ll be right back, I promise.”
