“Enough!”
My shout triggers a blissful moment of silence.
“If you want the harpoon to go first then she can go first.”
Three of the four crew members start to cheer, their high fives and feeble celebrations lasting only as long as it takes for me to strap in the fellow who’s a good fifty pounds heavier than I am.
Those fuckers didn’t think about that, now did they?
The tendons in my arms bulge and burn as we start to pull. Grunts and heaves break through the night air as the two men go airborne, their position by the columns giving them some leverage to do a bit of climbing on their own.
Finley does well, his agile strength helping to loosen some of the slack from the pulley. His technique is awkward but efficient, and in little time he manages to pull himself up and over the balcony.
The fisherman does not fare so well.
“Mother fucker.”
The curse comes from the guy on my right, the one barely breathing from the deadweight pressing down on us.
Hanging like a piece of bait on the end of an uncomfortably long line, the rambling storyteller finds himself swinging uselessly from column-to-column, his dense size and slow mobility giving the man no leverage whatsoever.
It’s a sorry sight to see, and as one of the guys having to pull his ass up two stories, I can confidently say mistakes were made.
“Come on, boys! Just a little ways to go.”
The cheerful shout is no match for the scowls marking the faces next to me.
Digging my heels into the turf, I force my hands to keep moving, ignoring the strain and damage I’ll have to face tomorrow.
My muscles clench and scream but I keep pulling. Over and over until a withered hand grasps the edge of the balcony.
“We did it!” Letting out a whoop, the fisherman is the only one celebrating.
The rest of us untie our ropes as quickly as possible, desperately collapsing to the ground and breathing through the exertion.
One breath. Two breaths.
And that’s when the screaming begins.
Scrambling back to my feet, I can’t see anything but blood raining down from the second story balcony. Fiona’s deadly edge peeks out from the ornamental railing, her size almost comical compared to the murderous mural depicted beneath her.
“What do we do?!”
Shouting in panic, the men look to me for an answer. I’m too busy scanning the balcony to offer them one, searching for the crew members who are no longer in sight.
Or hearing range.
The screaming stops as quickly as it began. Unease spreads across my skin like a rash, the steady pitter patter of blood the only sound for miles.
Off the balcony and onto the ground by our feet.
Drip. Drip. Drop.
Our heavy breathing breaks the silence, the panic level rising as quickly as the marble is staining itself red.
“Do you think-
One of the men screams when the door to the mansion bangs open.
