Even at a hundred and ten pounds, she had to take off her belt to fit. She took careful steps, each meeting with the collapsing of something else as she scaled the pile. “Is she breathing?” Julian said. “I don’t know.” Panic crept into Elsa’s voice. “Open the other door. Hurry.” “It’s stuck.” Elsa fidgeted with the lock and pounded the door with her fist. “Hit it with something. It’s probably jammed.” Elsa picked up a rusty pair of pruning shears and beat the knob of the lock until it gave. She lifted the door, and Julian rushed in. Colby Monroe lay on the floor next to a brown stain that appeared to have come from a tipped soda can. Julian pulled on a pair of latex gloves and pressed two fingers to the side of Colby’s neck, feeling for a pulse.
