Page 64 of Girl, Unknown

“Everything she said was right.”

His stance changed, plunging his weight forward, applying pressure to his right side because it gave the illusion that an attack from that arm would be more powerful. It was an erroneous move, a misconception that trained fighters were fully aware of. Ella moved closer, within striking distance, then waited for the mistake to come.

“I’ll kill both you,” the man yelled, hacking away at the empty space between them. Ella felt the moment coming, let her instincts control her movements. He sliced the air inches away from her face, and that’s when her reflex kicked in. He was at his weakest; the longest time before he could hack again in the opposite direction.

It was barely half a second, but Ella stepped towards his center, clutched his attacking wrist and kept it at arms’ length. She drove her knee into his abdomen once, twice, three times. The Ripper hunched over, spewing acrid breath in her face. She felt the momentum shifting in her favor as she spun around to his back, keeping his wrist locked tightly. She hyperextended his shoulder, yanked it as far his joints would let her. She felt something give way, maybe a cracked bone or a ruptured ligament, but in the shock of the pain, the Ripper managed to turn his wrist and point the blade at her stomach.

She only had a millisecond to consider her counter, but the Ripper thrust himself back and buried the first inch of his hunting knife into her abdomen.

A stream of blood burst from within and soaked her hands. In the sudden adrenaline overload, she managed to pry the knife from his fingertips and send it crashing to the ground. Before she fell to the ground, she managed to kick it ten feet away.

The Ripper took full advantage of Ella’s weakness, spinning around and clocking her in the jaw with his uninjured arm. Ella toppled down to her hands and knees, spat out the vile taste of coppery blood and reassessed her chances of survival. Just a stomach cut, she told herself. People survived worse every day. She tried to crawl back to a standing position, but the Ripper began a relentless assault of body parts on body parts. A heavy fist smashed into the back of her skull, a foot pounded against her spine, something tore clumps of hair from her scalp. Dizziness came in violent waves, threatening to unlock the gates of the abyss one more time. Ella passed in and out of consciousness like a drunk, the cold ground there one minute and gone the next.

Not an unfamiliar sensation, not anymore. Her old friend agony had come to greet her again, and she was happy to see that smiling but twisted face she’d come to associate with victory. The Ripper was around her neck now, clutching her in a headlock, twisting her head like a corkscrew, grazing her neck muscles, and threatening to cut off the blood supply to her brain.

“I’m going to leave you here for your friend to find,” the Ripper screamed. “Then she’ll be next.”

For all the pain she went through, she had to remind herself that none of this was a selfish pursuit. She did this for the good of others, the voiceless people who deserved justice. Not just for the innocent victims, but for Ripley and Ben and everyone who she believed were worthy of occupying a better world. As someone better than her once put it, it was her job to darken the day and brighten the night.

She wasn’t going to let this man get to her partner. She’d vowed to protect her with her life, so if she had to die trying, so be it. The Ripper tightened his grip, and while Ella tried to punch him away and sweep his legs, her energy was fast depleting. Numbness was remedying the pain, and her nervous system was slowly succumbing to the increasing blood loss. If she was going to escape, she needed tactics; she needed cunning.

The pain began to fade away, leaving anesthetized limbs in its place. In the times she’d found herself in this state, she always thought of her dad, usually the photograph she had of him at the gun range wearing a straw hat and a stupid grin. Old Ken Dark made an appearance in her mind’s eye, but there was a guest appearance from Ben this time. A man who’d loved her despite her ridiculous lifestyle and constant flaking. A man who was at least one rung above her in terms of looks and probably two above in affability. She didn’t deserve him, and he didn’t deserve to be left alone because his girlfriend tried to trap a serial killer.

Headlock.

Her vision of Ben turned into a memory. Three days ago, she’d locked him in this exact position. He’d pulled her out of it with ease, but how?

Come on you silly bitch, think, she screamed to herself.What’s the point of a Goddamn photographic memory if you can’t remember the important shit.

There it was, playing out in her head in Ben’s dulcet tones.

Most people focus on the choking arm, but the trick is the locking arm. Yank that and the tension on the shoulder will free up the choking arm.

Locking arm. Of course. That was what she needed to do.

She shook life back into her hand, clenched her fingertips, then reached out and grabbed hold of the Ripper’s opposite arm. She wrenched with the last jolt of strength her body could muster, and she surprised her attacker just enough to wriggle free from his grip. Ella was out, into her own space, invigorated by the prospect of freedom, the prospect ofliving.The man behind her wasn’t worth dying for, and now she had her last chance at putting him behind bars.

Ella spun around with a clenched fist at the ready. The Ripper was bolting at her again, but she drove her knuckles right into his nose. The impact reverberated through her fist, up her forearm, into her shoulder. It shook her entire nervous system back to life, and now she was human again.

And in every good story, humans always beat monsters.

Ella’s breakneck assault was not driven by her conscious mind. She was on autopilot, maniacal, unleashing frustration on the man who called himself the Davenport Monster. She drilled both of her fists into his face, shattering bone and cartilage and dousing the early morning streets in a murderer’s blood. He collapsed spine-first, spitting up bile, coughing and spluttering as he lay sprawled out on the concrete.

“Mia was right,” Ella screamed. “If we saw you coming, things would end differently.”

Ella reached for handcuffs but found her pockets empty. She’d already used them on the first killer.

The Ripper stirred on the floor, but Ella wasn’t about to take any chances. She needed him grounded, unable to move.

One method took precedence over the others.

She thought of Ben again, laughed.You want kids one day or not?

“Dark!” shouted a familiar voice from across the way. “Hold him!”

Mia Ripley rushed across the parking lot at a speed most people couldn’t muster in their twenties, let alone their fifties.

“I got him.”

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