“I’m not a sinner!” Gemma pleads.
“You are, and I’m going to make sure the world knows it.”
“Why?” I shout. “Why are you doing this?”
“People like her, like you”–he points at me with the baseball bat—“are a disgrace to humanity.” Sunlight filters through the window behind him, which is so dirty it blocks out most of the light.
“We’re not the ones killing people, asshole.” I tug on the ropes again.
“I am doing the world a favor.”
“You’re fucking crazy, that’s what you are.” I’m egging him on, pissing him off, I know. But I’m hoping I can distract him from hurting Gemma and try to buy as much time as I can before backup arrives.
He comes over and hits me hard across the face with the back of his hand. “You have the devil inside you.”
“I wish I did. It’d feel a lot better than this.”
He brings the bat down on my side, and pain radiates through my ribs. “Keep talking, whore. It’s not going to change your fate.”
He kneels down in front of Gemma and wraps his hands around her throat. He’s going to strangle her. I have to do something.
“Stop!” I yell, twisting my hands around to feel the rope. It’s old and fraying, digging into my skin and making me bleed.
It can burn.
I wrap my fingers around it and feel the fire erupt from inside me. The rope ignites, burning away from my hands. I push myself up and slide down the machine. With the pressure of being pulled tight gone, the knots around my ankles loosen, but the killer rounds on me before I can get my feet free.
I hold up my hands, and he stops short, eyes widening with fear. I can see the reflection of the flames in his eyes, and I yank one foot free.
“Maybe the devil is inside of me after all,” I sneer.
He swings the bat at me, and I raise my arms to block it. It hits me hard in the palms of my hands, but the fire cushions the blow, protecting me somehow. I yank it back, out of his hands, and pull my other foot free.
The bat catches on fire, glowing red-hot in my hands. I swing off the machine, head pounding and every muscle in my body aching.
“You’re the disgrace.” I swing the bat, hitting him hard in the stomach. He pitches forward and I bring my knee up, catching him in the nose. Blood drips from his face and he stumbles to the ground, slipping on his own nose blood and cracking his head against the corner of a machine.
I flick my hands, putting out the flames, not taking my eyes off the killer. He’s knocked out but not dead, and I’m not taking any chances. Walking backwards, I pick up the charred rope he had bound around my wrists. It’s burned and too short. Dropping it, I get the ropes from my ankles and bind his hands behind his back before going to Gemma.
Her eyes are wide, but she’s not looking at me with fear.
“Careful,” I tell her, helping her sit up. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“You…you saved me.”
“Yeah, yeah. Thank me later. We need to get you out of here.” I undo the ropes around her wrists and move to the ones on her ankles. “Can you walk?”
“I think so,” she pants, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. I help her to her feet. The killer starts to stir and Gemma shrieks with fear. My fingers prickle with heat, reacting on their own accord to my fear. Helping Gemma over to another machine so she can sit, I go around to find my gun. It’s next to my smashed phone, and still has all its bullets, thank God.
And then I hear sirens.
The killer rolls over, struggling to get to his knees.
“Move and I’ll shoot,” I threaten, pointing the gun at him.
“I’ll tell them!” he cries. “I’ll tell them you have the devil’s power.”
“Go ahead. I’m sure they’ll believe you.”
