Page 63 of Girl, Unknown

Ella’s hand reached the car door handle, but as she felt the smooth painted metal against her flesh, something suddenly pulled her down to the ground.

No. It wasn’t the door handle, wasn’t some overwhelming static charge.

The pain was at her neck, spreading down and tightening her ribs. It induced a full-body electric shock, blocking her passageways, kicking her legs out from beneath her. The rough concrete skinned her knees. Her ankle bent in a direction bones weren’t meant to. Something had caught her, ensnared her, stripped away her ability to move or think or breathe.

Then the world went black.

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

Ella’s journey into the abyss was swift and devoid of much sensation. Her stomach churned as she fell into the yawning blackness, waiting for the giant beast – with its deathly gray eyes and pyramid teeth - to swallow her whole and end her misery. But while the creature grew larger as she plummeted to the depths, it occurred to her that she had not yet fully abandoned the earth. Something tied her to the real world, something that didn’t want her to leave. A battle between the beast and the tangible world ensued, warring for ownership of her ethereal awareness.

The beast retreated into its hole because whatever pulled Ella back to reality had a vice-like grip around her neck and ankles. In a moment of unexpected clarity, she identified her savior.

It was pain.

She’d spent the past year of her life under constant physical stress: burns, bruises, gashes, gunshot wounds, broken bones. The sensation greeted her like an old friend, rooting her in reality like a ship’s anchor. Her eyes shot open and the abyss transformed into a parking lot that was fast disappearing from view. Something was pulling her along the ground, grating the skin on her back to ribbons. It was a new addition to her résumé of wounds, but it was all that was keeping her in the real world.

The parking lot grew smaller, and now she was up against a wall. Lights flickered far in the distance, but nowhere near close enough to catch her predicament. A black outline mounted her and pushed her down by the shoulders, smashing her skull on the bricks behind. The impact resuscitated memories of recent events; two killers, one in prison, the motel, the parking lot. She’d been battling with the idea of an incorrect theory, but the shadowy figure who’d dragged her away from civilization proved that she’d had it right from the beginning.

Two killers.

One in prison.

One on top of her.

This had to be the Ripper.

He’d been waiting for her outside the precinct, then subdued her, dragged her out of view.

Now he was going to kill her.

But in addition to the pain, the rage came in thick clusters. The two made for an explosive combination, one that had bested people more dangerous than the man holding her down. Now she made eye contact with the man. The same image that two other women had seen in their final moments. Much like the Rose Killer, he was nothing special. An everyman that slotted into society like a cog, and therein lay the source of his rage. This man thought he could become someone by killing, as though the mere idea of being alive longer than someone else was an achievement. By his own admission, the man on top of her was therealDavenport Monster.

Not tonight he wasn’t.

He swiftly withdrew a knife from his jacket, its silver blade gleaming in the moonlight. He brought his fist in towards his chest – a hunter’s stab, Ella realized – before she lifted up her knees and rammed her feet into his stomach.

The impact sent him sprawling spine first on the concrete, sending him rolling backward and onto his feet in a single movement. Ella managed to scramble to her feet using the wall as an aid, then tried to take in the man’s profile at a single glance. He was taller than her, sturdier than her. Broad shoulders, big arms, legs that seemed too thin for his torso.

“Come at me, you son of a bitch,” Ella shouted. She went for her gun but found only an empty holster. Either it had fallen out when the Ripper had dragged her along the concrete or he’d taken it from her. Regardless, she’d have to fight this one the old-fashioned way. No guns, just fists.

Her attacker, disguised by the night, stormed towards her with his blade directed at her chest. Ella had an awareness of her surroundings now. They were doing battle about fifty feet from the Davenport precinct, somewhere along the walls of the adjacent building. She didn’t know how far their voices were carrying on the wind, so she may have been stuck here without help.

Ripley, Sergeant Grant, and his team were still in the motel, so they were out of reach.

This had to be a solo mission.

Ella moved to one side, her priority to avoid a knife attack. She needed to disarm him so this had a chance of being a fair fight. She earmarked his weak points: ankles, eyes, wrists. A blow to any of them would give her enough time to remove the biggest threat.

Or perhaps there was another exploitable element.

Ego.

“Saw us on the news, didn’t you?” Ella called.

He came at her again, silent and confident. He began swiping at her in a frenzy, but Ella ducked, and rotated him around so his back was against the wall. She thought about running back to the precinct for safety, but she abandoned the idea the moment it cropped up. If she let this man out of her sights, she’d never see him again.

“I saw your bitch friend,” he laughed.

---