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She raised her handsand made a shield forged from sheer will.
'Stop,' Ellacommanded, walking closer to the gun barrel. ‘Look at me. You want someone tounderstand you. Well, I'm here. I found you here. I found out about yourmother. I know you, probably better than you know yourself.'
She was unprotected,vulnerable, her fate hanging on the threadbare sanity of a man torn apart byhis own demons. In his hands, he held the power to end her life with a twitch.The fire, the rage that had been burning in him, seemed to waver, flickering uncertainlylike a flame caught in a draft.
‘Kill me,’ Ellacontinued, ‘and you're killing the only person who might ever understand you.'
Ella could visualizethe internal battle, the war between the need to end the pain and thedesperate, clawing hope for salvation. She saw the boy he might have beenbefore the world taught him to build walls of anger and corridors of fear,before he learned to navigate life with pain as his compass. She could see himas he might have been, as he still could be, if only he could step back fromthe precipice.
Then, she saw thebeginning of a transformation.
A change in hisposture, the tension in his shoulders easing. There was a flicker of humanity,the first signs of his crumbling resolve.
Ella felt a surge ofcautious hope. This was the moment, the razor's edge on which the fate of allthree of them balanced. He was no longer the supercharged embodiment of rageshe had confronted moments ago. Instead, there stood a broken man, wavering onthe brink of a decision that would seal his fate.
She remained composed,despite the knowledge that his finger still rested on the trigger, that hisdecision still hung in the balance. If he chose to fire, there was nothing shecould do to stop the bullet. Yet, standing there, in the eye of the storm, sheknew there was nowhere else she'd rather be.
This was it. Theculmination of all her years of training, of understanding the human psyche, ofbelieving that beneath the worst of humankind, there might still lie somethingsalvageable. She had to believe that, even in the darkest of times, understandingand compassion could make a difference.
'That's it. Drop thegun and come with me.'
Then, like a bolt fromthe blue, Gail Banks erupted into motion, a desperate blur aimed at the pistolin the unsub's grip. In a heartbeat, the precarious balance that Ella hadacheived shattered into pieces. The world seemed to freeze, time slowing to a crawlas the potential for tragedy skyrocketed in that split second.
'No!' Ella's voicetore through the wind, but it was a futile attempt to halt the impendingcalamity.
The unsub's reflexessnapped taut as steel traps, his hands shoving Gail with brutal force as shedesperately clawed at the weapon in his grip. Gail stumbled backward like aragdoll caught in the storm's breath, crashing onto the jagged embrace of therocks below. The fire that had died in his eyes reignited, fanned into fury byGail’s reckless gambit.
Ella's heart, fullyinvested in the humanity of the moment, screamed in protest. The progress, theconnection she had fought so hard to establish, was on the brink of beingundone by a single, frenzied gesture.
Ella lunged forwardagain, her own survival instincts overridden by the imperative to prevent acatastrophe.
Her hand struck out,grappling for the weapon, and with a heave fueled by desperation, she wrenchedit free. It sailed through the air, swallowed by the hungry waves below.
In the void left bythe gun’s absence, the killer turned his wrath upon Ella. His hand shot out,fingers coiling around her throat with the ferocity of a man fighting againstthe inevitable tide of defeat.
The pressure wasimmediate, a vice-like grip that threatened to snuff the life from her. Hertraining kicked in, muscle memory honed from years of self-defense drills, butthis was no controlled environment, no sparring match in the safety of theprecinct gym. This was raw, unbridled survival, and she knew now that anychance of talking this man down had dissolved into the aether.
Air dwindled, crushedbeneath the vice of his grip. Ella's survival instincts flared to life, herlegs pistoning up in a wild arc that connected with his midsection. Thekiller's hold shattered, granting Ella precious gulps of rain-soaked air as shescrabbled to regain her footing.
Adrenaline surgedthrough her veins as she rose to her feet and launched herself at the man,fists driving home with the precision of countless hours in the training ring.She faced him, fists raised, every sense heightened, every nerve alight withthe electric current of survival. He swung, a wild, haymaker punch fueled bydesperation, but Ella ducked the blow, feeling the air shift above her head.She countered with a punch of her own, a solid jab that sent him reeling back,the taste of victory bitter in her mouth because this was not how she hadwanted it to end.
The unsub stumbled,hitting the cold wall of the lighthouse. For a moment, he seemed to deflate,the fight draining out of him as visibly as his breath misted in the cold air.But then, with a roar born of pain and despair, he launched himself at her oncemore. They collided to the squelch of flesh on flesh, and the air whooshed outof Ella's lungs as their feet left the ground.
Ella was first toland, the back of her skull bouncing off a rock. Stars burst in her vision,exploding in a disorienting light show. Pain flared, sharp and insistent, andthen the unsub was on her in an instant, crushing her with his whole bodyweight.
Panic lurked at theedges of her consciousness, a dark, swirling tide waiting to pull her under,but she couldn't succumb, not now, not ever.
With a grunt, sheshifted, trying to unbalance him, to find some leverage in the slick, uneventerrain. But he was relentless, his hands finding her wrists, pinning them withmiraculous strength. The rain plastered their clothes to their bodies and turnedeach breath into a labor. Above the fray, Ella glimpsed Ripley on the bridgeabove.
Her pistol was drawn,but Ella knew she wouldn't have a clean shot.
She had to finish thisherself.
In the unsub's eyes,she saw the chaos, the swirling maelstrom of his psyche, but she also saw fear,a mirror to her own, yet fundamentally different. His was the fear of exposure,of consequence; hers was the fear of failure, of not doing enough.
But fear was adouble-edged sword, and Ella wielded it with the precision of a seasonedwarrior. She channeled it, let it sharpen her focus, strengthen her resolve.With a sudden, jerking motion, she managed to free one wrist, her handimmediately going for the weak points - the eyes, the throat, the vulnerablespots that nature didn't armor.
Her palm, rigid andforceful, struck upwards, targeting the soft, vulnerable eye of the man who'sname she still didn't know. His head reeled back, a visceral, guttural cryescaping his lips. Pain, raw and blinding, flashed across his features, astark, unguarded moment of pure, unadulterated human agony.
