by B Branin
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I don’t think I blinked but the next thing I saw was an umbrella rushing up to meet me. The umbrella was a large canvas creation that provided shade for an outside table with a spectacular view of the estate’s grounds. The table had been placed on a balcony that was conveniently built below the window that I had leapt from.
Thankfully my adrenaline soaked nerves were too full of endorphins to register the shock and pain of my short-lived flight. I crashed through the canvas, landing hard on the painted steel of the table underneath. I remember letting out a few choice curses but I was too motivated by the need to escape to allow something like a tumble out of a four story window to slow me down.
Rolling off the table with a grunt, I tried to get my bearings. You’d be surprised just how disorientating it could be having your consciousness bounced between realities. Shaking my head to clear it, I took stock of my surroundings. The balcony I found myself on was rather impressive, a nice place with a great view for lunch or dinner.
But I wasn’t going to stick around and find out what was on the menu.
Limping over to the sliding glass door that led back inside the enormous house, I thanked the powers at be that it was unlocked. Opening it gingerly, I slipped inside. Once in the hallway, I strained my ears. There were no sounds of panic, cries for help or general hubbub.
Whatever chaos I had caused upstairs had not simmered down or managed to spread. After all, I had just leapt from that window five seconds ago. I’m certain that Mr. Killington was dead and probably Kelly/Mrs. Killington as well. The closest of the cultists were probably injured thanks to the shrapnel which would add to the disarray. And, if Murray was indeed killed by the blow to the skull I had given him, that meant that the suits were running around like chickens with their heads’ cut off.
Perfect.
This entire estate was going to be turned upside down in just a few minutes. I doubt the cops would be called because everyone involved in the fiasco upstairs was an accessory to kidnapping which meant everyone was going to make a break for it as soon as possible. The security detail was probably going to bail immediately which will tip off all the other staff members that something really, really bad has happened. I don’t think that even Lorraine’s mystic powers would be able to keep everyone from trying to save their own hides.
Now Mr. Killington seemed to be the type of man to treat those who served him like dirt. That meant the servants probably wouldn’t call the police either, on the account they’d be too busy stealing everything of value to make up for their sudden loss of a job. The police would probably be tipped off by a neighbor that something wasn’t right at the Killington estate…most likely in a day or two.
So I’ll capitalize on the mayhem by getting the hell out of here. First I’d rescue Fiona and the Twins, assuming they hadn’t already managed to escape. After all, they were my ride. They were being kept in the boiler room, right? Well, if I was on the second-to-top floor, that means they’d be in the basement area.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
Leaning against the wall for support, I hobbled down the hallway, my body protesting with every step as my adrenaline died down. Soon I came across a door that looked inconspicuous, which hopefully meant it was a good place to hide and catch my breath. Besides I needed to get out of the main halls before the bedlam from the upstairs began working its way lower.
Ducking through the door, I found myself in a large kitchen which made sense since the lunch-time balcony was just down the hall. The scent of foodstuffs and cooking hung so heavily in the air it made my stomach growl.
Heroic escapes really worked up an appetite.
Before I could even consider making a sandwich, I realized I wasn’t alone in the kitchen.
“You!” The butler cried, pointing a finger at me as he dropped the bottle of wine he had been sampling.
Son of a bitch.
“Yes, me.” I grunted, not overly concerned by the dandy.
“Y-You are not an investigator! You are a liar!” The butler declared, “I demand you remove yourself from this premise at once!”
“I’m trying too!” I shot back, “Just tell me where the boiler room is!”
“I certainly will not!”
“You remember that girl I was with? Well your senile boss locked her up and I’m trying to get her back!”
“Liar!”
“Spill it!” I shouted, slamming my hand down on the nearest countertop.
The butler sneered at me. Reaching over he drew a large meat cleaver from a rack that hung from a cupboard to his left.
“You’re an intruder!” The butler stated, brandishing his weapon, “Stay there while I call the police or I’ll…I’ll chop you!”
In my current condition, I wasn’t about to go toe-to-toe with a cleaver-wielding butler…even if he did dress like a complete knob. Looking down, I saw a few drawers underneath the counter to my side. I threw one open, hoping to find a weapon that could contend with a meat cleaver.
I found silverware.
“Don’t try it!” I growled, reaching in and pulling out the closest thing to a weapon I had available.
A spoon.
A motherfucking spoon.
The butler let out a stiff laugh, obviously believing he had the upper hand since he was armed with what was essentially a cross between a knife and a freaking axe. Taking a step towards me, he raised his weapon high.
With a flick of my wrist I hurled the spoon. It spun towards the butler and the heavy butt of the utensil struck the snobbish bastard dead center in the forehead. Letting out a cry of pain and surprise, he slapped his free hand over his thumped brow. It was all the distraction I needed as I snatched a wooden peppershaker from the nearest spice rack and charged forward. Caught off guard, the butler didn’t have any time to react before I smashed the end of the peppershaker into his nose.
Two more strikes and he went down, curling up in the fetal position.
“Now,” I growled, tearing the meat cleaver from his hand and holding it in front of his face, “About the boiler room…”
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