Free Night Runner by Max Turner Page A

“There’s no way out of here but the window, and it’s barred.”
    The bed was moved and moved and moved again. The mattress was lifted and the sheets pulled off. The room was only about eight feet wide and twelve feet long. It didn’t take them long to search it.
    â€œI’ll check the next room,” the nurse said.
    â€œNo, he’s in here somewhere. There’s no way he could have gotten out.”
    I listened while they moved the bed again.
    â€œWait a minute,” Johansson said. “Give me that chair.”
    I heard the sound of people shuffling around, then the tile underneath me popped up just a hair. That got a reaction. I had to get moving. Pipes ran in every direction. So did the metal heating ducts, but they didn’t look as strong. I took my best guess and slid, hand over hand, foot over foot, along the pipes in the direction of the kitchen.
    â€œGet me a light,” Johansson continued. “I can hear him. He’s in the ceiling.”
    An instant later the tile disappeared. Johansson’s head and shoulders rose through the space. He had a small flashlight in his hand.
    I got lucky. There was dust everywhere, and the beam of his flashlight didn’t penetrate very far into the darkness. He scanned straight ahead first, then on one side and the other. By the time he looked behind him I was even farther away.
    â€œHe’s heading that way,” Johansson said.
    A tile to my right popped up and then disappeared. Then another one off to my left. The two police officers joined the search. The beams of their flashlights lit up the dust all around me.
    â€œOver there,” said a voice. I tried to speed up, but it wasn’t easy hauling myself along. Unless I found a way to turn invisible, they were going to catch me.
    I kept moving in the direction of the kitchen. I was starting to slowdown because my wrists were getting tired. I was breathing heavily. All the dust made it difficult to get a full chest of air. I couldn’t hang on much longer.
    Then a tile popped up right in front of me. I waited for the officer underneath me to look up, but he didn’t, because someone started yelling at him. It was Nurse Roberta.
    â€œYou can’t do this!” she shouted. “This is a mental ward. Anything out of the ordinary throws these people for a loop. Our job is difficult enough. Tearing the ceiling apart like this is out of the question.”
    I could have dropped to the floor and kissed her. Instead, I slid, as quietly as I could manage, back the way I’d come.
    The officer ignored her. He tossed the tile to the floor and removed another. It gave me a better view of him. He was standing on something. A chair, or a ladder, maybe. I thought he might turn his flashlight on me, but he didn’t even have it out any more. I scanned the darkness above the remaining tiles. The other officers must have stopped using theirs, too. The beams were no longer shining through the dust. They were simply tearing down the ceiling one tile at a time. Soon, the whole network of ducts and plumbing would be exposed. And so would I.
    The officer removed another tile, and another. As the tiles disappeared, more light danced up through the dust. I was going to be in plain view very soon.
    Then I heard another voice shouting, “He’s in here! He’s in here!”
    It was Jacob, my red-haired neighbour from across the hall. I could hear him giggling.
    The officer in front of me stopped pulling out tiles. A second later, I heard the heavy sound of his feet as they hit the floor. Then he ran off in the direction of Jacob’s room.
    This bought me a few precious seconds. I considered what to do. The dining hall would still have a few patients lingering in it.
    So would the kitchen. So would the common room. There was nowhere I could drop where I wouldn’t be seen.
    Another voice started shouting, too. It was Sad Stephen. He had chronic depression and