Chapter 46: Jump on it
Eleanor’s POV
Helplessness washed over me, a cold tide threatening to pull me under. Who could possibly help me? The police were thirty minutes away. I was utterly, terrifyingly alone.
My phone vibrated in my hand, the screen lighting up the dark closet. I didn’t look at the caller ID, my mind still clinging to the hope of the 911 dispatcher.
"I can’t stay in one place," I whispered frantically into the phone, my voice cracking. "They’ll find me. I don’t know what to do!"
But the voice that replied was familiar, sharp with concern. "Ellie? What are you saying? What’s happening?"
Mira. My breath hitched. For a second, I was too stunned to speak, the sound of my best friend’s voice a lifeline I was too scared to grab. "Mira... it’s... it’s nothing," I managed, forcing a calm I didn’t feel. "I’m fine."
"Don’t you dare tell me it’s nothing!" Mira’s voice was fierce, cutting through my lie. "You sound terrified. Who are you running from? Is it Dickson? I swear to god, I’ll—"
"No! It’s not Dickson." I couldn’t involve her. The image of Mira, with her bright laugh and fierce loyalty, being grabbed and thrown into a van because of me... it was unthinkable. "I’m just... watching a scary movie. That’s all. Got a bit carried away."
There was a rustling sound on the other end, then a new, gruffer voice came on the line. Roxy. "That’s a stupid lie, Eleanor, and you know it."
My heart sank.
"I can feel you’re lying through the phone," Roxy continued, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You’re in danger. So why are you pushing us away? Let us help."
Tears pricked at my eyes. I wanted to. More than anything. But the risk was too great. "I’ve already called 911," I said, the words feeling hollow. "They’re on their way. There’s nothing you can do."
"We’re coming," Mira’s voice came back, determined.
"No! Don’t! Please, Mira, don’t come here!" I begged, my voice rising in panic. "It’s not safe for you!"
But the line went dead. I stared at the screen, a fresh wave of terror crashing over me. They were coming. My friends were walking right into the same danger I was trapped in.
I had to move. I couldn’t let them find me here, cornered. Peering out the grimy hallway window, my heart plummeted.
Below, more figures were piling out of a nondescript van, fanning out and entering the building. I counted five, six... too many.
And among them, I recognized the three from the hotel, their faces etched with grim determination.
How will I escape this?
We don’t escape, Beatrice’s voice was a low growl in my mind, thrumming with a ferocity I couldn’t feel. We fight.
Fight? A hysterical laugh bubbled in my throat. I couldn’t fight. I was a librarian, an overthinker. I am still getting the hang of this supernatural abilities I have. I couldn’t take on one trained man, let alone a small army.
The stairwell was a death trap leading down. The elevator was a cage. My eyes traveled upward. The only direction left was up.
I burst into the stairwell and took the steps two at a time, my lungs burning. The sound of heavy footsteps echoed from below, growing louder, closer. I didn’t look back. I just ran, pushing my body until I slammed against a final, heavy metal door marked ’ROOF ACCESS’.
It was locked, but the lock was old and rusted. I threw my shoulder against it, once, twice, the impact jarring my bones. On the third try, with a scream of protesting metal, it gave way.
I stumbled out into the cold, open air. The city lights sprawled below, a beautiful, indifferent panorama of safety that felt a million miles away. I spun around, searching for anything. The door had to be blocked.
There. A length of rusty metal rebar, discarded near a ventilation unit. I grabbed it, my hands slick with sweat, and shoved it through the door’s handle. It was a flimsy barrier.
Bend it, Beatrice urged.
I gripped the cold metal, my muscles straining. I felt it give in, just a little, the iron groaning in protest. But I stopped.
What if I used up all my energy on this? What if I needed every ounce of strength I had left to run, or... or to fight? I couldn’t afford to be drained.
I left the rebar as it was and frantically scanned the rooftop. A broken brick. A piece of piping. Anything that could be a weapon.
My gaze landed on a heavy, ceramic planter that had long since lost its plant. It was the best I could do. I hefted it, the weight a small, desperate comfort in my trembling hands.
I backed away from the door, putting distance between me and my pursuers, my eyes fixed on the entrance, waiting for the inevitable crash.
My phone vibrated again, a frantic buzz against my palm. I glanced down. Mira. I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t risk the sound, or the distraction. A second later, a message popped up.
Mira: Ellie, look at the building next to you. Can you jump?
My breath caught. Of course, she knew where I was; I’d shared my location with her ages ago for safety.
Another message.
Mira: Just hold on as long as you can. Or try to jump. We’re almost there.
I looked across the chasm to the next building. It was so much farther than the last jump.
The alley between them was a black pit. The first jump had been a desperate, adrenaline-fueled fluke across a narrow gap. This? This was suicide. I wasn’t an athlete; I was a woman holding a flowerpot on a rooftop.
BOOM.
The metal door shuddered under a massive impact. I tightened my grip on the planter, my knuckles white. BOOM. The rebar I’d wedged in the handle groaned, bending visibly.
It stopped. A deafening silence fell, broken only by the wind and the frantic thumping of my heart. Were they giving up?
The silence lasted three heartbeats. Then, with a final, splintering crash, the entire door exploded inward, torn from its hinges as if it were paper. I screamed, throwing myself sideways as the heavy metal door flew across the rooftop and skidded to a halt.
They swarmed in. Eight men, their figures silhouetted against the light from the stairwell. And at the front was him—the man with the cold eyes from the hotel. A smug, triumphant smile twisted his lips.
"Nowhere left to run, little bird," he said, his voice a taunt. "Unless you fancy a flight." He gestured to the deadly drop behind me. "But even if you do, a dead body is still a useful asset to us. Doesn’t go to waste."
I backed away until my heels hit the low parapet, the cold edge pressing into my calves. The city yawned below me. "Why?" I begged, the word tearing from my throat. "Why are you doing this? Why me?"
"A big asset doesn’t just walk away," he said, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. "I don’t let valuable things slip through my fingers."
"I called the police!" I shouted, clutching the planter like a talisman. "They’ll be here any minute!"
The man threw his head back and laughed, a harsh, ugly sound that echoed in the night. "The police? Sweetheart, the police won’t save you. They never could."
His confidence was a physical blow. It confirmed my deepest fear: these men operated with an impunity that went far beyond ordinary criminals. I was truly on my own. My back was against the edge of the world, and there was nowhere left to go.
Beatrice’s voice in my head turned from a growl to a grim, chilling command. Stop holding back! Take their lives! Do you want to be treated like a useless object? Can you imagine yourself being used, wasted, and left for dead? Is that what you want?
No. It wasn’t. A hot, sharp rage ignited in my chest, burning away the fear. My vision tinged with red. With a scream that was part terror, part fury, I hurled the ceramic planter with all my might. The pot shattered against the head of the nearest man with a sickening crack, and he dropped like a stone, unconscious.
The lead man’s eyes widened, not with fear, but with a twisted, greedy delight. "No wonder the Chief wants you back," he hissed. "You’re not human at all, are you? A supernatural creature." His smile widened. "That doesn’t stop me. It just increases your value by a hundred percent."
On his signal, the remaining seven men surged forward. I fought. I fought like I’d never fought before, swinging my fists, kicking, biting.
But my blows felt like they were hitting stone. Theirs, however, landed with brutal force, punches and kicks driving the air from my lungs, making spots dance in my vision.
In a final, desperate move, I felt my claws erupt from my fingertips. I slashed wildly, hearing curses as I made contact. But it only made them angrier, their grips on my arms and legs becoming vise-like.
One of them locked a thick arm around my throat from behind and squeezed. I couldn’t breathe. I clawed at his arm, but my strength was fading. The world began to dim, the city lights blurring into white streaks. I was slipping away.
Then, a new voice cut through the roaring in my ears. It was sharp, mocking, and utterly familiar.
"Took eight of you to restrain one woman? Pathetic."
I thought I was hallucinating. But the pressure on my throat suddenly vanished. I collapsed to my knees, gasping, choking on the sweet, cold air. The sounds of struggle erupted around me—grunts of pain, shouts of "Where the fuck did she come from?"
My head was spinning, my lungs on fire. A hand grabbed my arm, firm and sure.
"Ellie! You alright?"
It was Roxy’s voice. I looked up, dazed. "Huh? you’re...you’re here?" I couldn’t see her clearly through the tears and the disorientation.
"Hold on to your ass," she said, her tone gruff but laced with a wild energy.
Before I could process it, she scooped me up. There was a moment of weightlessness, a terrifying rush of wind against my face, and a jarring impact that shuddered through my entire body. We had jumped. I didn’t see it, I just felt the impossible fall and landing.
"Wake up, we don’t have much time!" Roxy’s voice was in my ear as she dragged me to my feet. I was in a daze, my legs like jelly, but she half-dragged, half-carried me. We were running down stairs, through a hallway. "Move!" she roared at startled residents, who scrambled out of her path.
We burst out onto the street. The cold evening air was a shock. Roxy yanked open the door of a waiting car and shoved me into the back seat.
"Mira, go! Now!" Roxy yelled, sliding in beside me.
I heard Mira’s voice from the driver’s seat, tight with fear and determination. "Hang on!"
The car tires screeched, and we shot forward, throwing me back against the seat. I could only stare, breathless and bewildered, as the nightmare rooftop shrank in the rear window.