by Cédric Sire
But her pursuer had not lost any time. Once again, she was hovering right above her. Eloïse tried to move faster, but she was not quick enough. The scalpel came at her right hand. The girl released the hand, screaming in terror.
She was dangling in the air, gripping the bar with just her left hand.
Overwhelmed with panic, she screamed.
The woman, crouching over the edge of the roof, raised the scalpel once more.
Eloïse managed to grab the bar with her right hand just as the scalpel came down and slashed her left hand to the bone. Broken, lost, Eloïse twisted on herself, hanging precariously by her right arm.
When her shoulder could no longer sustain the weight, Eloïse knew she had no choice. She had to let go.
With a shriek, she fell.
The next moment, she crashed. A wave of pain coursed through her body, blasting her ribs and knocking the wind out of her. Tiles shattered all around, and once again, she was slipping down a steep rooftop.
She struggled to find something to grab and managed to get an arm around a chimney. Using all of her protesting muscles, she pulled herself into a sitting position and rested for a moment against the bricks. She was breathless and badly cut. She was losing blood.
No sooner had she caught her breath than her pursuer landed on the same roof, just a short distance away. The woman’s hysterical laugh rose against the backdrop of the thunder.
Gasping, ignoring her pain, Eloïse began to climb the roof.
95
“I saw them!” Vauvert shouted over the thunder. “The girl is still alive! Saint-Clair is after her!”
Leroy, who had just climbed the iron rungs too, hauled himself up next to Vauvert and leaned against a chimney. The icy rain poured between them.
“Where? I can’t see anything!”
“Over there!” Vauvert shouted, waving toward them. “We have to hurry!”
“We’re going to kill ourselves if we go after them! We have no equipment!”
Vauvert was not listening. He began making his way cautiously along the edge of the tiles. He managed to walk for a good twenty feet, holding onto rusty pipes and parapets that ran between roofs like veins of some gigantic monster. The slippery tin crest, assailed by the storm, was reminiscent of a strange mountain where any wrong move could result in death. Vauvert walked over several skylights, none of them lit. The rain kept blasting down, making it nearly impossible to know how much distance he had covered. He kept moving, knowing he had a chance. If only he could catch up to them before it was too late.
“Can you see them?” Leroy called out from behind him.
“Not yet.”
He finally reached the edge of the apartment building. He spotted a small ladder attached to a ventilation shaft that led down to the adjacent facade. He realized that all the buildings in the neighborhood were connected this way. Before his eyes was a maze of passageways, ledges and ladders. A bit farther on, the planks and tarpaulin of a scaffold spanned the street, linking the roofs to one another. But just about everywhere, he could also see rectangular openings, which were no doubt inner courtyards. Falling into any of these abysses would mean instant death. The remainder of the rooftop landscape was terraces of varying sizes, abrupt inclines and gray slopes pounded by rain.
In the midst of the raging storm, he could not see Saint-Clair or her victim anymore. But this was the way they had gone. He was sure of that. If he reached the far end of this roof, he would get to the ledge Eloïse had fallen from. And he would see where she landed. He slowly climbed down the rusty rungs, praying that the ladder would support his weight. The ladder swayed a little, but held on.
Once he had set both of his feet on the next rooftop, he was able to stand more easily. The slant of this roof was not as pronounced. Still, he would have to move with extreme caution to avoid slipping on the wet tin.
A bolt of lightning blinded him again. It was only then, after thunder made the entire building shake, that he heard the screams.
He looked back in Leroy’s direction. His colleague was trying to get his attention. He was shouting something, but the racket of the storm was drowning him out.
“What? I can’t hear you!” he shouted.
“Behind you.”
Vauvert felt his blood curdle. He spun around as quickly as he could.
A wolf, ready to pounce.
Eyes like red flames surged through the rain and the dark. The beast lunged at his throat. Moving instinctively, Vauvert raised his arms to block it.
The impact was tremendous. The growling mass threw him off his feet. Vauvert crashed against the roof, while the beast’s nails tore through the sleeve of his leather coat and dug into his skin. Yet Vauvert managed to grip the animal’s neck. He squeezed it with all his might, keeping its black jaws, full of razor-sharp teeth, at arm’s length, away from his vulnerable throat. Now he could feel the beast clawing at his stomach and his thighs. The dreadful jaws snapped at his face. It took every bit of Vauvert’s strength to keep them at bay.
In the next moment, Vauvert realized that they had begun to slip down the roof. There was nothing he could do to stop the slide or the animal. He had lost his weapon when the creature lunged at him.
They hit a chimney. The beast yelped, then snapped its jaws again, trying to get closer to his face.
They continued tumbling down the tin roof.
And as they reached the edge, they toppled over and went into a free fall.
96
The fall was surreal.
Vauvert felt his bowels jump into his chest.
Then there was the collision that was breathtakingly brutal. His back hit the tiles, shattering them. He thought he might go all the way through the roof, but he did not. Although his arms and legs were free, his back was caught in the sharp-edged debris.
The frothing creature remained on top of him, but still he kept it at arm’s length, his hands holding its neck in a vice grip. The thing roared and thrashed, its jaws snapping inches from his face. Then it began shifting, It had the appearance of a wolf, yet its red eyes held an awareness and cruelty that was beyond animalistic. Suddenly, Vauvert knew he had been right. That thing was none other than Roman Salaville, the man he had chased and shot dead once already. It was Roman Salaville reincarnated in this flesh that was not entirely real. It was his deranged spirit, anyway. He had followed his mistress all the way here.
You see, I came back, the beast’s eyes exulted. Exactly like I told you I would. And now I will slit your throat and feed on your guts. There’s no way out for you.
His muscles bulging, Vauvert squeezed the neck of this animal that had Roman Salaville’s eyes with all his might. And he managed to extricate himself from the bed of shattered tiles.
He rolled to his side and straddled the wolf in the torrent of rain. The beast’s eyes locked on his. Their red brightness was blinding, threatening to sap his energy. All around him, the world started whirling.
Vauvert stopped thinking. Relying on the strength in his abs, he righted himself, breaking more of the tiles in the process, and put a knee down, ready to pivot.
It was now or never.
With a powerful twist that shot pain through every muscle of his body, he swung and tossed the flailing animal over the edge of the roof.
Vauvert could not believe his luck. He kept waiting for the thing to come back. It didn’t. He had actually gotten rid of it, at least temporarily. Kneeling on the tiles, he was freezing. He was hurt. But he was alive. He put both his hands on the roof and let out a sigh that was almost a sob.
Then he got up, trying to catch his breath.
That’s when he saw Leroy leaning against the chimney on the other roof.
Arms extended straight ahead, he was aiming his gun into the storm.
And Vauvert understood why.
There was another beast.
It was perched on the parapet, a slim and black shadow silhouetted by the lightning. Claude. It had to be Claude Salaville. If the
one he had just tossed over the roof was Roman, the other animal could only be his brother.
Leroy shot at the creature.
It retreated, with amazing speed, easily navigating the tiles and gutters. In a single bound, it perched itself atop a gable. Its red eyes burned in the dark.
The wolf thrust its head back and began howling.
And from all sides, other howls answered, drowning out the thunder and the clamor of the rain.
Vauvert scanned the other roofs.
He saw another wolf advancing in the rain and then another. Close to a dozen beasts appeared. They climbed the tin slopes with tremendous speed. Their ink-like figures leaped on the chimneys. Their eyes made red swarms in the heart of the storm.
No, he corrected. Not a dozen. Dozens and dozens.
He looked around, trying to pick up any trace of Saint-Clair and the Lombard girl. They were nowhere to be seen.
All the while, the wolves were multiplying.
97
Eloïse was still ahead of her pursuer.
She climbed over a parapet to a flat concrete roof that was cluttered with pipes and cables. But at least she could stand straight up without the fear of falling off the roof, even if she was staggering. Tarpaulin-sheeted scaffolding covered the building’s facade and reached to the roof on the other side of the street. But she didn’t pay any attention. The glass rectangles of the skylights glistening ahead of her were what she cared about. She rushed to the nearest one and banged on it with her fist, to no avail.
“Come on. Come on!”
She hit the skylight harder, with her elbow this time, until the glass broke.
“Yes!”
The sense of jubilation was fleeting. Eloïse turned and realized that the woman was still in close pursuit. All she wanted to do now was live.
She struck the skylight’s glass again, trying to clear a way inside.
The shards of broken glass tore into her skin.
She pulled them out and prepared to drop to the floor below. If she did, there was a chance she could make it.
Suddenly, something landed on her back, sending her sprawling against the wet concrete.
She barely had time to comprehend what was happening. Pain shot up her legs, as though they’d been punctured by knives.
She felt herself being dragged, brutally and effortlessly, to the middle of the roof.
There was a terrible stabbing pain in her calves. Then the invisible things attacked her wrists. Her arms were yanked to the sides of her body. It felt as if blades were being driven into her forearms.
Which was, she finally realized, almost the case.
Four black beasts with red eyes were holding her limbs in their frothing jaws. Their teeth were stuck in her calves and wrists, nearly piercing her bones, and now the creatures were pulling her legs and arms apart.
The masked woman appeared above her. Eloïse saw that the monster was euphoric behind her mask.
“Oh, it looks like the gods are impatient. It’s time to quench their thirst, as they wish.”
98
No matter how the girl arches her back and thrashes, the wolves keep her pinned down, powerless, offered. Finally.
Judith Saint-Clair leans over her, taking joy in her screams of terror.
“That’s good. Oh, that’s very good,” she says, her voice drowned by the storm.
She clutches the girl’s sweater and pulls it toward her. The scalpel slowly rips through the wool, stripping the girl inch by inch. “Let me. You’ll see.”
The girl is sobbing as the woman tears away her blouse and then her T-shirt. With one hand firmly planted on the girl’s chest, Judith Saint-Clair slices away what remains of her clothing, exposing her breasts. The girl’s ribcage lifts and collapses faster and faster.
“Now,” she whispers. “Oh, now.”
The triumph of all that she was looking for, yes.
The count is reached, the sacrifice honored.
At last. Under the furious dance of lightning, in the driving rain, the ultimate offering is fulfilled. She feels the vibration in the air. The gods are waiting, invisible and yet so close.
“For you!” she cries at the swirling elements. “For you, oh lords of death and resurrection, who bring disorder across the universe! Come, come, for this sacrifice is for you!”
As if in response, lightning blazes across the sky. With her eyes rolled back and her hips glued to her victim, Judith Saint-Clair begins to sing, to exult. The sound is more like animal shrieking than a song. It is vibrant with the raging power of the sky. The gods are hurling a rushing energy between the worlds just for her. She lets it course through every fiber of her being.
“Dark gods who live beyond death! I entreat you! May the blood flow to you and quench you! Come, come to the scarlet feast!”
And with a sharp movement, a swift and clean sweeping motion, she drives the scalpel between the girl’s ribs.
Eloïse opens her mouth in a red and hopeless cry.
The woman pulls out the blade, and immediately a burning crimson fountain splashes her. Blood sprays her face and seeps between her lips. Its deliciously salty flavor reaches her tongue and fills her entire being.
“Feed on her life, oh my sisters! And you, Zalmoxis, god of life and death who brings terror to mortals, may my blood be yours and your blood be mine!”
In the sky, bolts of lightning intertwine.
She continues, screaming in a voice full of bliss and metamorphosis, “May the feast be scarlet! May my blood be hers, and hers be mine.”
Suddenly, she freezes.
A cracking noise has torn through the night. Sharper than the thunder and much closer.
A sharp pain shoots through her shoulder.
A bullet has just ripped her flesh open before losing itself in the storm.
Judith Saint-Clair turns to the person who has fired the gun.
She recognizes the albino cop shakily perched on the tarpaulin.
The four wolves let go of their victim and bare their bloody fangs.
Then they dash toward the intruder.
99
When Eva saw the black beasts running through the storm in her direction, she fired, praying that it would have some effect on them.
It did. Her bullets struck them in midair, and the creatures dissolved in the rain, dispersed like mirages.
But she did not kill them, assuming such things could be killed. They reappeared, silhouetted on the rooftops, their red eyes fiery in the rain.
Eva raised her weapon and fired at them again. The beasts vanished and then reappeared just a bit farther away.
A gust of wind threw her off-balance. The inspector grabbed a cable to steady herself.
She was perched in the middle of the scaffolding, high above the street. After her colleagues had climbed the ladder and gone off to find Eloïse, she had decided to go up the ladder herself and head the other way. Her progress had been slow, and she had almost fallen off more than one rooftop. In fact, she thought she might not make it to the other side in time to save the girl.
But there she was, finally.
Clutching the cable, she turned toward Saint-Clair.
The woman was grinning at her with the twisted look of someone who’s demented or visionary, as though she had been waiting for this moment and knew it would exceed her every expectation. Eva realized how much she had changed. She was not an old woman anymore. She had grown younger. Her body had straightened. Her hair was real now, not a wig. All this was impossible, unthinkable, and yet it was true in an awful way.
As she held her victim’s body against her like a shield, the woman was swaying, as though her bones weren’t exactly in the right places.
“Saint-Clair! Back off!” Eva shouted, struggling to steady her footing on the tarpaulin.
The woman tilted her head to the side and pressed the blade against the girl’s throat.
“The gods are here!” she exulted. “The gods are waiting!”
“
Let the girl go! Or I shoot you!”
One step at a time along the scaffolding, Eva drew nearer.
She knew that if she slipped now or if a sudden blast of wind hit her, she would be hurled to the ground.
She put it out of her mind.
Judith Saint-Clair tightened the grip on her hostage. The blade of the scalpel drew a trickle of blood under her throat. Eloïse Lombard’s eyes bulged with terror.
“I’m serious!” Eva screamed. “Let her go right now!”
She finally reached the ledge and jumped off the scaffolding, landing in a puddle on the roof. She raised her gun and took aim.
Saint-Clair, protected by her victim’s body, threw her head back and broke into hysterical laughter. It merged with the rumbling in the sky.
“Talk about déjà vu. Don’t you think?”
Indeed, this had happened before and even more times than this crazy bitch could ever know. The girl in her clutches was Justyna. She was every innocent victim terribly mistreated in the arms of a monster. It was the same story always, and it was happening again before her eyes. Eva’s entire life seemed to come down to this one scene, and the panic increased tenfold. Yet she refused to show any of it.
Never show the slightest weakness. Not anymore. Not ever again.
She took another step on the roof.
She was close. With her Beretta steadied at arm’s length, there was no way she could miss her target now.
“I’m going to shoot!”
“You’ve come too late, little tiger. You always come too late.”
Judith Saint-Clair was still laughing.
As she aimed, Eva made out her face behind the porcelain mask, and she realized that, like the rest of her body, Saint-Clair’s features were changing by the second. Wasn’t it obvious? She was not a woman anymore, but a multitude of people. She was composed of the lives she had stolen, the lives she used to extend her own time in this world. Eva understood deep in the recesses of her being, in the same way she could read people’s minds around her. And now an infinite terror rose inside her, as no human being is made to witness such things without losing her sanity.
