Arranged By The Bravta King

12

Maria

Outside, the steady points of light from skyscrapers appear impossibly distant. I stick my head out the window, and fear laces into my stomach when I see nothing below me. But there's a ledge that extends a bit further to a perpendicular wall with a metal ladder.

I have no idea where the ladder goes, but I know that it's away from here.

Deep breaths. I'm just sneaking out of the house. This is no different than climbing down the trellis in Holtsville. It's just a matter of scale.

Except if you fall, it's a long way down.

"What choices do you have, Maria?" I whisper. "You wanna stay here and marry this maniac?"

With that, I push the window wide open, turn around, and wiggle through the small opening. My toe touches a narrow ledge. Crap. It's not only narrow, it's slippery. Even if I want to, I can't go back now, not from this bent position. Sliding down, I kick off my shoes as I cling to the side of the building, and the wind whips my hair into my face.

Don't look down. Don't look down.

I scootch over toward the ladder. My heart thumps wildly as I move, one inch at a time, toward it. It feels like it's taken forever, but slowly, my hand finally grips the rusty bar. I pivot slowly and grab hold, not daring to look down. With another deep breath, I swing myself until my bare foot touches the first rung. I almost scream when I try to take a step down and find nothing but empty air.

With no other choice, I force myself to move up the ladder with adrenaline-fueled strength. Molded concrete presses hard into my ribs, but I hold tight until I can fling my body up and over onto a flat roof.

Suddenly, I find myself climbing over the walls to a Gothic terrace.

Please let this be my way out.

I stand there for a moment, motionless. The sound of my ragged breathing drowns out the howling wind. The wet night air rushes over me like a wave and I gasp for breath, my lungs burning from the effort.

Looking around, I never would have guessed that this terrace could exist here. The moonlight casts eerie shadows on the sooty brick walls that surround the edges. Concrete moldings are shaped into Gothic scrolls and flourishes. The crenellation and parapets give the impression that I'm standing on a battlement, an old stone residence with turrets and towers more befitting a medieval castle than a New York skyscraper.

It has nothing in common with the slick modern penthouse I just escaped, and I conclude that this must be a different unit.

Perfect. Maybe the owner leaves the terrace door unlocked, I think. I'll just find my way in, take an elevator down, and then try to find Mercy. I spare a quick look at my bare feet. It's going to be tough walking through New York City without shoes, but that's the least of my concerns right now.

I crawl toward a stone bench and catch my breath, suddenly aware of the pain in my knee. Looking down, I inspect my bruised knee. I must've scraped it climbing up here, but I'll live. It could've been a lot worse.

The sky looks different up here, framed by ornate towers, placing it on display. The roof terrace has a tiled mosaic floor and places to sit built into the brick walls. Sighing, I lean back until my head hits something, then sit upright with a start. A gargoyle? I run my fingers over the grotesque face, letting my fingers slide in between its bizarre stone teeth.

Weird.

I slump against the gargoyle, taking in deep gulps of air as I try to steady my heartbeat and take in my surroundings more closely. In the distance, the tops of large windows peek along the floor, and I spot what looks like handrails for a set of stairs coming up the terrace. That must be where the door is.

I'm safe for now. I will my body to relax. Just a few more seconds, I think. And then I can try the terrace door.

A light blinks on, drawing my attention to its searching gaze. Someone is coming. I quickly get up on my feet, wondering what I can say that will get them to help me.

Will they even help? Or have I only gotten myself into something worse?

But there's no time to think about that anymore. The sound of a door opening at the bottom of the stairs reaches my ears, and I hear the footsteps of the owner of this terrace approaching. Unease rises in my throat. Something's not right. Whoever is coming isn't moving like they're investigating an intruder on their terrace.

They're moving slowly, almost as if with purpose.

Staring in the direction I came from, my heart races as I see the top of his head rising above the parapet. Slowly, a face emerges from below, and blazing eyes lock on mine.

Panic seizes my throat when I realize who it is. Dread swirls inside my stomach, and I scramble to my feet.

No ...

"Hello, Maria." Mikhail's handsome face swims into view, the same dark, knowing smile from earlier curling on his lips.

NO! NO! NO!