Free Deadly Visions (Nightmare Hall) by Diane Hoh Page A

horrified gasp, Rachel began falling to the hard tile floor below.
    Just before she hit the floor, she was vaguely aware of a door closing. The closet disappeared into darkness, followed by the sound of a key turning in a lock.
    Then her head smacked into the tile. Rachel cried out in pain. Her eyes shut, and she disappeared into a deeper darkness of her own.

Chapter 9
    T HE FIRST THING RACHEL was conscious of as she came to was a sharp, unrelenting pain at the back of her skull. When she put a hand back there and withdrew it, it came away warm and sticky.
    She was bleeding.
    It was so dark. Why was it so dark? Dazed and dizzy, Rachel felt a moment of terror, wondering if the blow to the back of her head had rendered her blind.
    Then she remembered where she was, and how the light had gone off just before she fell. She was in the storage closet in an art studio on the tenth floor. And she was locked in.
    Fighting nausea and confusion, she struggled upright. The room whirled like a carousel. She leaned against the shelves for support and closed her eyes.
    When she opened them again, nothing had changed. She was still sitting on the cold, tile floor of the pitch-black closet.
    The first thing to do, she thought weakly, is get some light in here. All she had to do was stand up, feel her way to the door, and flip the switch. Such a small thing, such an easy task, no problem.
    But by the time she’d accomplished it, her nausea had increased tenfold and her vision was blurred. Her legs were so weak, she could hardly stand. She had to keep one hand on the shelving unit to hold herself upright.
    Still, having the light on helped.
    Rachel rattled the doorknob. Definitely locked.
    Rachel leaned against the door, trying to gather her thoughts and figure out what to do. First, it wasn’t as if she was in a deserted building with no one to help her. Rudy was around somewhere, and besides, this was the last day of the art exhibit. People would be coming to the building to see the paintings and the masks and sculptures before they were gone for good.
    If she yelled and screamed, someone would hear her. Someone would come and let her out.
    Okay, okay, don’t panic, stay calm, she warned, keeping her breathing steady. This building is not empty. All you have to do is scream, at the top of your lungs. Someone will hear you.
    Screaming wasn’t easy, however, not when she was so sick and weak and dizzy. Getting enough air into her lungs to propel her voice through the thickness of the storage closet door and out into the hallway, maybe even all the way down to lower floors if there was no one else on this floor, was difficult. She had to try three times before she could summon up a sound above a whisper.
    Gradually, she managed several loud cries for help. They echoed shrilly in the narrow space around her, each one stabbing at her already aching head like long, sharp needles.
    When no one came in response to her cries, she tried again. Once, twice, three times—screams for help that made her throat raw and her chest ache.
    Nothing.
    There must be no one on the top floors but her.
    And her screams would never carry all the way down to the lobby, where by now people were probably arriving for the exhibit.
    Rachel took a deep breath, painful to her raw, throbbing throat. Okay. So no one had heard her. She couldn’t just stand here and do nothing. There must be something …
    Her purse. She had several plastic credit cards in her purse. Couldn’t she use one to open the door? She’d seen it done on television. It had looked as if all the detective or policeman did was slip the piece of plastic between the door and the frame. Could it be that easy?
    It was worth a try. The paint fumes in this place weren’t helping her headache any. She wasn’t going to wait around to be rescued.
    Rachel glanced around for her shoulder bag. She had dropped it on the floor when she began her climb up the tower of boxes. It should be here somewhere.
    But,