suddenly, then squared her shoulders. It was dark, she was wearing black … she could walk
the half mile to the convenience store on the main road and call Marie.
After making sure no one was watching, she slipped down the hallway and opened the curtain an inch. The solitary office
was neat and whimsical, but the best part was that the neat, whimsical person had left open one of the three high windows. The
cool night air beckoned. She could climb up and over the windowsill, then drop the eight feet or so to the ground and be gone
in a matter of minutes.
Stacking a sturdy stool on a chair beneath the window gave her enough height to reach freedom. Cursing her bulky coat, she
carefully climbed up and steadied herself on the stool, then reached up and grasped the sill. While propelling herself up on her
elbows, she kicked over the stool, which crashed to the floor, taking the chair with it. Janine looked down and made a face.
Nowhere to go now but up unless she wanted to drop back to the marble floor. Ouch.
But going up wasn't as easy as she'd thought, because she'd overestimated her upper-body strength. After a few seconds,
she'd managed to chin herself up to the sill, only to drop back and hang by her hands when her arms gave out. Then both high
heels dropped to the floor, leaving her hanging shoeless, suspended between the window and the floor, too weak to go up, and
too fond of her anklebones to go down. On hindsight, maybe trying to escape hadn't been one of her brighter ideas.
"Well, if it isn't Ms. Murphy," a man said behind her. She craned around, hanging on for dear life, to see Mr. Oliver standing
in the middle of the room, his arms crossed.
She gave him her most dazzling smile. "Hi."
"You neglected to tell me and the good doctor that you were also Bat Girl."
"Um, it slipped my mind."
"Do you need a hand back to earth?"
She nodded, her chin rubbing against the wall. "That would be good."
He was tall, and had no problem assuming her weight from below. When he set her back on her feet, he gave her the tolerant
look of an older, wiser brother. "Have we learned our lesson?"
Rubbing her arms, she nodded, then picked up her high heels. "I think I'll be going back to my room now."
He nodded. "Sweet dreams."
She found her way back to the stairwell, stinging from her failed jailbreak, and dragged herself up the flights of stairs. At last
she reached the eighth floor and retraced her steps to room 855, surprised to see Derek waiting in the hall, his face a mask of
concern. "Where did you go?"
Janine frowned at his impatient tone, not about to admit she'd been caught trying to escape. "I told you I was going to talk to
the doctor."
"Oh, right," he said, his voice contrite. He pushed his hand through his hair. "Sorry, I'm a little punchy, I think." Then he turned and extended his right hand to her. A peace offering, she thought, absurdly pleased. She smiled and put her small hand in
his for a friendly squeeze, and her heart pitched to the side. "I hope we can be friends when this is over, Derek."
But his smile seemed a bit dim. "That seems highly unlikely, Pinky." He extracted his hand and wriggled his fingers. "The
room key?"
"Oh." Her cheeks flamed at mistaking his gesture. Was she destined to forever embarrass herself in front of this man? She
shoved her hands into her pockets, hoping she might also find money she'd left the last time she'd worn the coat. One pocket
produced a quarter and two pennies and a half a pack of chewing gum. From the other she pulled an ancient tube of lipstick and
—she stared, incredulous—a brand-new strip of lubricated condoms. Marie. She groaned inwardly and slid her gaze sideways
to see if Derek had noticed. He had.
"All the necessities, I see."
"But these aren't mine," she began.
"Okay, okay—whatever. Just … give me … the key." His smile was pleading and his hands were shaking. "Please, can you
do that? No talking, just the key."
She swallowed
the half mile to the convenience store on the main road and call Marie.
After making sure no one was watching, she slipped down the hallway and opened the curtain an inch. The solitary office
was neat and whimsical, but the best part was that the neat, whimsical person had left open one of the three high windows. The
cool night air beckoned. She could climb up and over the windowsill, then drop the eight feet or so to the ground and be gone
in a matter of minutes.
Stacking a sturdy stool on a chair beneath the window gave her enough height to reach freedom. Cursing her bulky coat, she
carefully climbed up and steadied herself on the stool, then reached up and grasped the sill. While propelling herself up on her
elbows, she kicked over the stool, which crashed to the floor, taking the chair with it. Janine looked down and made a face.
Nowhere to go now but up unless she wanted to drop back to the marble floor. Ouch.
But going up wasn't as easy as she'd thought, because she'd overestimated her upper-body strength. After a few seconds,
she'd managed to chin herself up to the sill, only to drop back and hang by her hands when her arms gave out. Then both high
heels dropped to the floor, leaving her hanging shoeless, suspended between the window and the floor, too weak to go up, and
too fond of her anklebones to go down. On hindsight, maybe trying to escape hadn't been one of her brighter ideas.
"Well, if it isn't Ms. Murphy," a man said behind her. She craned around, hanging on for dear life, to see Mr. Oliver standing
in the middle of the room, his arms crossed.
She gave him her most dazzling smile. "Hi."
"You neglected to tell me and the good doctor that you were also Bat Girl."
"Um, it slipped my mind."
"Do you need a hand back to earth?"
She nodded, her chin rubbing against the wall. "That would be good."
He was tall, and had no problem assuming her weight from below. When he set her back on her feet, he gave her the tolerant
look of an older, wiser brother. "Have we learned our lesson?"
Rubbing her arms, she nodded, then picked up her high heels. "I think I'll be going back to my room now."
He nodded. "Sweet dreams."
She found her way back to the stairwell, stinging from her failed jailbreak, and dragged herself up the flights of stairs. At last
she reached the eighth floor and retraced her steps to room 855, surprised to see Derek waiting in the hall, his face a mask of
concern. "Where did you go?"
Janine frowned at his impatient tone, not about to admit she'd been caught trying to escape. "I told you I was going to talk to
the doctor."
"Oh, right," he said, his voice contrite. He pushed his hand through his hair. "Sorry, I'm a little punchy, I think." Then he turned and extended his right hand to her. A peace offering, she thought, absurdly pleased. She smiled and put her small hand in
his for a friendly squeeze, and her heart pitched to the side. "I hope we can be friends when this is over, Derek."
But his smile seemed a bit dim. "That seems highly unlikely, Pinky." He extracted his hand and wriggled his fingers. "The
room key?"
"Oh." Her cheeks flamed at mistaking his gesture. Was she destined to forever embarrass herself in front of this man? She
shoved her hands into her pockets, hoping she might also find money she'd left the last time she'd worn the coat. One pocket
produced a quarter and two pennies and a half a pack of chewing gum. From the other she pulled an ancient tube of lipstick and
—she stared, incredulous—a brand-new strip of lubricated condoms. Marie. She groaned inwardly and slid her gaze sideways
to see if Derek had noticed. He had.
"All the necessities, I see."
"But these aren't mine," she began.
"Okay, okay—whatever. Just … give me … the key." His smile was pleading and his hands were shaking. "Please, can you
do that? No talking, just the key."
She swallowed
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