Chapter Seventeen
Daphne
Afreezing rush of wind fills the elevator when its doors glide open to the fourth floor parking garage.
I instinctively hug myself and rub my arms to offset the chill drilling into my bones.
I squint into the darkness as I slowly step onto the coarse concrete, only able to make out a single flickering bulb at the far end of the lot.
The rest of the lights are out, leaving me to rely on my sense of touch and memory to guide me.
The weather forecast predicted warm temperatures, but this is akin to a meat locker, with the added bonus of random wind gusts to steal my balance.
Like most nights when I close up, the lot’s mostly deserted. Even the security booth is unoccupied. There’s a fire extinguisher under a set of instructions riveted to the wall, but that’s of no use to me.
Already succumbing to an overwhelming sense of helplessness, I thrust myself back into the elevator and hurry to press the buttons, any of them, in hopes it will take me away from this nightmare.
But nothing happens. The doors don’t close.
The buttons don’t light up. And much to my dismay, I realize the elevator has lost power.
I’m alone. And I’m stuck. There’s a sign that catches my eye, but it’s hard to read.
It has a zig-zagged arrow pointing toward stairs beyond the blinking light.
A way out!
With a need to focus my efforts on reaching those stairs, I take a deep breath to calm my nerves.
Get out of here. Now.
There’s no way I can run in these stilettos.
So, I do the logical thing and kick them off before taking my first stride toward the door.
But I only make two steps before the wind dies and the lights in each row turn on and off in alternating sequences.
The elevator doors slam shut behind me before opening and slamming shut again.
Terror begins to wash over me. I cover my face and let my weight fall against the closest hard surface.
This isn't happening, Daphne. Just get to the stairs and it will all go away.
I uncover my eyes and find everything is dark.
See? It's all in your head. Maybe the doctors were right. Maybe you are crazy, Daphne.
Again, I try to make for the stairway, and a powerful blast of wind knocks me back against the wall. A sea of tremendous pain surges through my body. I try to regain my bearings, but another wave slaps my body, and I think I hear something. Or, someone.
Is that a voice?
"Who's there?" I shout into the void but get no answer.
Dammit, Daphne. What are you doing?
The wind subsides again, and I know now is the time to make a run for the stairs. I drop my purse and sprint toward the blinking light at the end of the lot. The singular objective is to reach those stairs behind the steel red door a good hundred yards away.
Ninety feet into my dead sprint, I remember my high school years of running track.
I was the fastest girl the region had ever seen.
I sucked at math, but damn, could I move.
Then another blast of air sends me toppling down on my right side, and I know I hear a voice.
But it’s too late to stop now. Rising back to my feet, I continue my flight toward freedom.
And again, I'm knocked to the ground. My shin begins to bleed through my sullied stocking from a set of newly formed cuts. The feeling I’m beaten is overbearing, sending tears streaming down my face.
“Why are you doing this?” I cry out, but there’s still no answer. I try to shake it off, but the throbbing in my back, legs and feet is nearing agonizing. No amount of breathing is going to calm me down. Not with my adrenaline spiking.
I’m not sure how, but I find myself vertical and moving, limping and moaning. Blood oozes from my leg with each step.
I'm getting closer.
Twenty yards to go.
Fifteen.
Ten.
I'm almost there.
Then, the largest explosion of wind yet hurls me the rest of the way. My body crashes against the concrete beside the doorway to the stairs, and like a slab of beef on a butcher’s cutting board, my head hits the ground.
Managing to prop myself up on one elbow, I cough and spit a small pool of blood onto the ground in front of me.
Tiny specks ricochet and splatter onto my poor white dress.
A sting of slicing fire radiates from my tongue.
I scrape it against my teeth until I feel it catch.
The blood that spurts across my gums in another fit of scorching pain confirms it—I bit through my tongue during the fall.
Better still, I can feel my breath laboring, and there’s a sharp pang beneath my ribs.
I bear down to take a deep breath, wincing, trying to push myself to my knees, but again I’m thrown down. A pop thuds inside my chest, and seconds later streams of crimson flow from the corners of my mouth.
“You fail me.” The words hit my ears as if spoken within inches of my face, and amidst the struggle, my heart fires like a piston.
It can’t be. HE can’t be.
Coughing harder and harder, I know now my doctors were wrong. I'm not crazy. My dreams aren't dreams at all.
“You fail me.” The words slap me from nowhere again, the air still thrashing my body.
“What—do you—want from me?” I mumble through the exhaustion, gagging on blood and tears. I watch the fourth floor lights flash on and immediately back off, followed by the elevator doors opening and slamming back from where I came.
I can’t give up.
Despite the pain. Despite the terror. Despite the wind, I refuse to let myself die in this parking garage.
Reaching forward with my right arm, I pull myself to the door, using my feet to help push my weight.
The now-ruined nylon curls up my legs as they poke through.
I take deep breaths between each movement, swallowing bits of tongue mixed with sanguineous mucus.
Just a few more feet and I'll be there.
On my knees again, I reach for the door handle to pull myself to my feet. My arms vibrate while I use every ounce of strength left in me. I cry out, but I won't give in.
Finally, I'm standing in front of the doorway to the stairs. With the wind swirling again, I turn the doorknob in a hurry and throw open the door and scream.
“No!”
I can't believe my eyes. After all the torture. After the cuts and bruises. After what I am sure is a broken rib and punctured lung. After I’ve fought my way across a football-field-sized lot to get to this one available exit.
I find It—this massive figure, standing more than seven feet tall, covered from head to toe in disgusting dark rags with nothing more than a pair of brilliant red and yellow eyes glowing and bloodshot, peering out at me.
“You fail me,” the monstrous being whispers with wretched ice-cold breath.
“No, no, I–” I can’t finish the thought, and when I try to speak once more, my assailant barks, “You. Fail. Me!” And with one swift movement, it crushes me into the concrete floor at its repulsive feet.
Fuck.
After one final gasp for breath, I’m taken.