Free The Girl Who Tweeted Wolf by Nick Bryan Page B

and this stairwell the only other way up. So the kid was safe in reception alone, surely? He texted her: Choi, sit tight, going to check all clear up there. Text if anything happens.
    Breathing deep with anticipation, Hobson clenched his fists and started climbing the stairs.
    *****
    Angelina wasn’t sure if this was a good strategic position. She cowered behind the reception desk, staring at the crap underneath it: books, magazines, couple of dusty pairs of shoes, bin overflowing with tissues and crisp packets, wires and receipts leaking from the drawers. Jacq did not keep a tidy workplace.
    All this filth hung around her head as she pressed further into the footwell. She liked being encased on all sides, away from the dripping corpse.
    Should she go outside? Run away home? Follow Hobson upstairs?
    Her phone pinged, and a text from Hobson popped up. Sit tight, he said? At least she had permission from her supervising adult to do nothing, but it still didn’t feel right to her. As she read his text, Angelina realised — she had a mobile.
    Feeling stupid for taking a few minutes to notice her beloved smartphone, she flicked to the telephone keypad and dialled. Waited a few seconds for someone to pick up, then said: “Yes, hi, police please? I’ve got a, um, corpse over here.”
    *****
    The blood never ran out, all the way to the third floor. It flowed softer as Hobson climbed, though. Matt’s grip on his injuries must’ve weakened as he descended the stairs.
    No sign of his severed forearm, nor a dog running along chewing it like a lucky bone. Every so often, the trail of half-shaded red footsteps thinned or thickened, as if Matt had swayed back and forth, but never fallen. Fair enough, Hobson could respect that. Matthew Michaelson may have been a scrawny, maladjusted loser, but he’d fought to survive.
    And failed, but nonetheless, credit where it was due.
    Hobson reached the door to Social Awesome. The lights were still on. He stole a glance through the window into the office, trying not to be obvious.
    No humans nor animals, not a single sound, but quite the fucking blood stain. Filmed over Lettie’s desk at the front, all the way to Matt’s own chair at the back. It was thin but obvious; the dark carpet shone with red highlights. The centrepiece of the whole awful tableau, of course, was Matt’s forearm, white with red specks, flat in the middle of the stain. Horrible teeth marks in the wrist — the dog had seized it as a plaything after all.
    Hobson pushed the door open gently and stepped inside, wincing as the carpet squelched underfoot. He’d been so careful to avoid standing in the blood until now.
    Moving aside to escape the slime, he looked across the room. There were signs of a struggle, a few stains on computers, books strewn around, but this hadn’t been an epic battle. The dog swiped into its victim until it was pulled away, leaving Matt alive to embark on a post-attack hike down the stairs. Why?
    Squinting, as if that helped him see into the past, Hobson made his way towards Matt’s desk at the back.
    There was a crunch underfoot, shuddering up Hobson’s leg. Oh good fuck, please don’t be a tooth. When he looked down, though, it was a piece of plastic — one of many, strewn along the floor. A mobile phone stamped into fragments, probably by a human heel or handheld weapon. Crucially, didn’t look like animal jaws had tried to bite it.
    He took another look around the room, but nothing and no-one jumped out at him. Nearly time to call the cops and let Ellie have a go, see if her forensic chaps could turn up anything.
    As Hobson went for the door again, there was a sudden mechanical hum, shaking out of the walls themselves. It took a second to realise it was the lift coming back to life, the lights above it flickering on. The glowing arrow indicating it was heading down from the second floor, towards the reception area where he’d left Choi.
    *****
    Angelina sat against the front of the