C. Archer - The Wrong Girl

"Sylvia!" I reached for her, but Tate grabbed my arm and pulled me into his side. His breath reeked worse than rancid meat, and heat swamped me. It was like opening an oven door and being blasted by hot air. There were no sparks or flames, but it was almost too hot to bear.

"Miss Langley! Miss Smith!" Tommy tried to free himself, yanking at his chains and twisting himself about on the bench. It achieved nothing except a great deal of frustration if his grunts and curses were any indication. "What's going on, you cur?" he snarled. "If you harm them, I'll kill you!"

Tate didn't seem to hear him, or care what he'd done to Sylvia. "Hannah," he said, voice feather-soft in my ear. "Oh, Hannah. I'm so glad you've come back to me. I've been searching for you for a long time. A very long time. Sweet, little baby Hannah." He touched my hair, my cheek. I turned my face away, but he let go of my arm and grasped my jaw instead, forcing me to look at him. His fingers dug into my skin, crushing the bone. Heat and pain shot from my jaw to my neck and cheeks. I couldn't move my head, couldn't speak. "I've waited years for you. Years . I will not let anyone take you away this time. I need you."

The man had only one arm. Surely I could free myself. I tried pulling away, but he held my jaw too hard. My face hurt. My cheeks mashed into my teeth. I punched him in the chest and to my surprise and sheer relief, he grunted and let go.

"You little monster!" he snarled.

I raced to Sylvia's side and was about to bend down to her when a thick arm circled my waist and pulled me back. Ham. My feet rose off the ground, and the massive arm held me so tightly I felt like I was being sliced in half.

"Let go!" I screamed, clawing at Ham's arm and kicking out at Tate who stood in front of me. I missed and Ham made no sounds of pain as I shredded his shirtsleeve and drew blood.

"Hannah!" Sylvia got to her feet and ran to us. Ham deflected her with a fist to her shoulder and she fell onto the floor once more. She slid into a burnt set of drawers with a missing leg. Somehow it had managed to remain upright throughout the fire that had destroyed the factory, but a bump from Sylvia sent it crashing onto the rubble.

"Sylvia?" I called. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," came her shaking voice.

"Bloody 'ell!" Tommy growled. "Let me go! Fight like a man, you one-armed dog."

I didn't think name-calling was going to achieve much, but I didn't say. I was more worried about the brute squeezing me. I couldn't breathe.

"Easy," Tate said to Ham. "Don't kill her. I need her alive. The other two, however, are unnecessary."

Sylvia sobbed into her folded arms. Tommy's chains rattled violently and he grunted again as he tried to free himself. Ham eased his grip, but he was too big. I couldn't get away. Not by any conventional means anyway.

Get angry, get angry, get angry.

It was useless. I was much too afraid. Tears blurred my vision and dripped down my cheeks. Tommy and Sylvia were going to die because of me, and I would become a prisoner again, this time of Tate's. All because I couldn't call on my temper at will. My fear was much too powerful. I'd once thought myself brave—how wrong I'd been.

A high-pitched grunt had me opening my eyes again, just in time to see Sylvia raising a piece of ceramic pipe above her head.

But Tate had heard her too, and he turned in time to catch the pipe. He wrenched it from her grip as sparks flew from his fingers and shot in all directions. He had no difficulty growing angry.

Sylvia fell back onto her rear, but Tate went after her, holding the pipe like a bat. She screamed and put her hands up. I screamed. Tommy shouted and cursed, his chains rattling furiously. Still Tate descended upon her.

A small light to the right caught my attention. Flames danced atop a piece of broken wood. Tate's sparks must have set it alight. Much of the factory's contents were already burnt to ash, but there was enough left to provide fuel for another fire. Sylvia and Tommy would burn to death, if Tate didn't smash their heads in first.

He'd been distracted by the fire too, but now he turned back to Sylvia. She cowered on the floor near the fallen drawers, her face buried in her arm, her feet pulled up to make herself as small as possible. Huge, gulping sobs wracked her body.

"No," I begged Tate. "No, please don't. I'll do whatever you ask. I'll help you willingly with your research if you leave them unharmed."

"You'll help me anyway. You won't have a choice. I can't leave witnesses." He raised the pipe.

Something bright whooshed past my ear and slammed into his chest. He fell backward, crashing into burnt tables and equipment, splintering wood and sending objects flying. His eyes and mouth widened in shock. I could see his expression clearly thanks to the bright ball of fire that had sent him reeling and now set his waistcoat alight.

I turned to see the source of the fireball just as Ham let me go.

"Jack!" Sylvia cried.

Jack stood in the open doorway, sucking in deep breaths, his fists at his sides as if he would draw holstered guns. Another man stood a little behind him, his mouth ajar as he took in the scene. I was so relieved to see Jack I almost ran up and hugged him. But there was no time for that. Ham lumbered up to him and swung his massive fist. Jack easily ducked it.

"Stop!" the stranger shouted. "I am Inspector Ruxton from Scotland Yard, and I command you stop this at once!"

A policeman. Oh thank God.

But his announcement changed nothing. It was as if he weren't even there. Ham struck out at Jack, but Jack was fast and dodged it. Indeed, he was so fast it was difficult to distinguish his movements. He must have hit Ham because the man tumbled backwards, but not before he landed a punch that Jack hadn't seen coming.

Jack grunted and doubled over. The inspector rushed in and ordered them to stop fighting, but Ham swatted him away like an annoying bee. The inspector fell to the floor near Sylvia, hitting his head on the corner of a steel box, rendering him unconscious.

She checked to see if he still breathed. "He's alive," she said. "Now what do we do?"

Tommy coughed. "Uh, ladies. Perhaps you can free me before the fire comes any closer." He coughed again and pointed his chin at the fire that had spread from those few sparks of Tate's. It was very near him. Too near.

I helped Sylvia to stand. "Get out," I ordered.

"But Tommy!"

"I'll help him." When she hesitated, I pushed her gently. "I can't burn, Sylvia, you can. Now go, and take Inspector Ruxton with you!" He was making noises on the floor and rubbing his head. If she could get him to stand, she might be able to stumble outside with him. "I can't save Tommy unless you're safe."

She glanced at Tommy and the fire, so close to him now that he'd turned his face away from the heat. His body shook with his coughs as the smoke filled the small factory. Breathing was difficult for me too, but not impossible. Not yet.

I might not be able to burn like normal people, but could I die from breathing in the smoke?

Sylvia whimpered then seemed to come to a decision she was happy with. She nodded and helped the dazed inspector to stand. Together they made it out the door, wheezing and coughing.

I headed toward Tommy, but Tate stepped in my way before I reached the bench. Sweat trickled down the edge of his hairline and dripped onto the floor. It was hot in the factory from the growing fire, but bearable, yet he looked as if he were melting.

"I won't give up this easily," he snarled, grabbing a fistful of my hair. I'd lost my hat at some point, and my wild mane had come free of its pins.

He pulled. I winced, but did not cry out. I didn't want to do or say anything that would distract Jack. He was still locked in battle with Ham and couldn't afford to lose his focus. The brute would see the opening and pound him for sure.