Page 89 of Sleep No More

“It’s okay,” she said. “He has a grip on my arm. He’s touching me.”

“I understand,” Ambrose said.

“Shut up,” Guthrie raged. “Drop the fucking guns.”

There were a couple of muffled clunks, the unmistakable sound of metal on concrete.

“Ron and I are unarmed,” Ambrose said. “You’ve got a clear path to the door, Guthrie.”

Satisfied, Guthrie wrenched Pallas toward the concrete steps. It was clear that he hoped to use her as a shield until he got as far as the door. Once there he would push her down the steps, lock the door, and take off.

Instead of trying to shut out the disturbing vibes of energy he was generating, she made herself focus on them. When she had the fix she deliberately began to dampen them.

Guthrie stumbled over a skeleton that was partially shrouded in a ragged, rotting sheet. A skull rolled out and bounced across the floor. Guthrie yelped and jerked back a couple of steps.

“Try that again and you’re a dead woman,” he gasped.

For a shocked instant she thought he had realized exactly what she was doing.

“I didn’t—” she began.

“You think I don’t know you tried to trip me?”

He used his sleeve to wipe his forehead. He hand tightened around her arm. If she lived, she would have some bruises. She heard a faint noise in the shadows and knew that Ambrose was trying to edge closer to the concrete steps.

“Don’t try it,” Guthrie shouted. “I’ll kill her. You know I will. Nothing to lose.”

“I understand,” Ambrose said. “Pallas?”

“Almost there,” she said.

“Stop talking,” Guthrie rasped.

They were at the foot of the steps. Guthrie started up, hauling her awkwardly behind him. She knew that if they made it to the top it would be too late.

He was on the second step now. She was on the first. Last chance. She steeled herself for the effort and unleashed everything she had into stilling the violent energy he was radiating.

“What the fuck?” he whispered, his voice raw and weak. “Something’s happening to me. It’syou. You’re doing this.”

Eyes wide with horror, he stared at her as if hypnotized. He was on the third step now, trying to raise the gun and aim it at her. But in the next second he lost his grip on the pistol and pitched forward.

She realized his trajectory would bring him down on top of her. They would land on the unforgiving concrete, but she would get the worst of it, because she was destined to be on the bottom. She tried to scramble aside, but it was hopeless. Instinctively she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to brace herself.

And then, somehow, Ambrose was there, deftly snatching her out of the path of the falling man. There was a bone-jarring thud when Guthrie hit the floor.

Pallas opened her eyes and saw Ron Quinn bending over to retrieve the pistol that Guthrie had dropped.

She suddenly had a million questions, but she could not ask any of them, because Ambrose had wrapped an arm around her and was crushing her against his chest.

She discovered she would have been content to remain there, pressed close into his heat, indefinitely, but a familiar voice interrupted.

“Guthrie’s out cold,” Ron announced. “He hit his head when he lost his footing on the steps.”

“What’s going on?” Theo mumbled from the shadows.

“Well, will you look at that,” Ron said. “There’s another one.”

He angled his flashlight across the space. Theo had levered himself up to a sitting position. He had a hand clamped to his head. He stared into the beam of light, dazed.