“I’ll go this way,” Dorian says, pointing to his left.
I nod and we part ways, me heading in the opposite direction past several opened doors on both sides of me, each room revealing that this might’ve been a school at one time. Now that I think about it, I do recall seeing what resembled an old running track a block over, and other red brick buildings much like this one, and a basketball court—it and the track overrun with weeds made it harder to identify in the dark, initially.
I take my time down the length of the long hallway, stopping at each door to make sure the rooms are clear before walking past them, and minutes later find myself at a set of closed metal doors, with strips of silver running horizontally along the centers, waiting for me to place my hands upon them to push them open. I step up to the doors and press my back against one instead, carefully turning my head at an angle to see inside the vertical piece of glass running from the top of the door to the horizontal push-handle. Moonlight barely penetrates the room from the frosted glass panels high up in the tall ceiling. All I can see are rows and rows of seats drowned by the darkness. And a stage, I finally make out the longer and harder I look. It’s an auditorium.
Taking a deep breath, I press my hip against the push-handle and open the door. The handle pops and cracks, just like I remember it when I was in Jr. High school, and I wince. When I believe I’m still in the clear, I begin to move farther into the room, crouched low as I move down the center aisle. The carpet smells like fifty years’ worth of dirt and mildew. The air is dry but cool, and getting cooler as November approaches, and it too stinks of old, abandoned building and weather damage.
I stop cold in my tracks and adjust my eyes in the semi-dark. There is movement below; what looks like a figure is sitting in one of the seats on the second row close to the stage. I drop closer to the floor, my finger ready to pull the trigger if I have to, and I watch for any more signs of movement, hoping my eyes were only playing tricks on me in the darkness.
A foot sways back and forth, propped on the back of the chair in front of what I’m definitely certain of now is a figure.
A loud bang resonates through the auditorium, and then another, and I see Niklas and Dorian entering from two different sides below, both with their guns raised and pointed right at the figure.
“Put your fucking hands up! Put your fucking hands up now!” Niklas shouts as he rushes the figure, his voice echoing throughout the room.
I duck down behind a row of seats and stay out of the way for now, just in case there are others, and I need to come in later from behind.
“Where’s Tessa!” Dorian screams at the figure and it looks like he’s shoved the barrel of his gun into the side of the figure’s head. “I’ll splatter your brains across the fucking seats if you’ve hurt her! Where is she?!” he roars.
“Back off, Dorian,” I hear Victor’s voice carry over the auditorium and then see his figure walking across the stage, the sound of his dress shoes tapping against the wood floor.
I look up and all around me for any signs of movement, or shadows moving along the walls, but still there’s nothing. Could this person have come alone? I’m not buying it and I doubt Victor is, either. We didn’t even come alone; there are four other men outside on the rooftops who scouted the outside before we made our first move around the back of the building. But they found nothing either. No signs of anyone lurking about the buildings, or on any rooftops waiting to get us in the sights of their sniper scopes.
The figure stands from the seat, and I see long white-blonde hair tumble against her back. Her hands are raised out at her sides and although I can barely make out what she looks like from behind, I get the distinct feeling that there’s a smile or a smirk dancing at the corners of her mouth.
Finally, I push myself back into a stand and step out into the aisle. Niklas is the only one who looks up as I make my way down. Dorian won’t take his enraged eyes—or his gun—off the woman.
Finally, Victor looks at me. He nods his approval.
In a flash, the woman braces her hands on the backs of two chairs and her slim body lifts into the air, her feet swinging around in one swift sweep, her boot making contact with Dorian’s gun, sending it flying. A half a second later, her other boot makes contact with his face, a nauseating crunch ripples through the air as Dorian goes down. A single shot goes off with a vociferous bang and a flash of light dies in front of Niklas, but his gun too is sent flying. The woman leaps over the back of the seat and lands in the center aisle, crouched perfectly. The second she stands eye-level, Niklas rounds on her with an upper-cut. She falls backward into the seats on the other side of the aisle.