Chapter 1: Blind Rescue
Twelve-year-old, Emma Hughes, has been drawn into a deadly game of secrets and murder. She's running for her life and determined to bring her pursuers to justice... or die trying. But every survivor finds themselves on a ledge from which they need rescuing...
"What if she doesn't know?"
Emma Hughes shifted uncomfortably on the uneven chair, wincing when the plastic ties around her wrists pinched at the movement.
"She knows."
A congested sniffle on her right preceded the rattling crackle of a newspaper.
Frowning, Emma strained to hear the muffled conversation through the closed door.
Meat Hands, her bulky co-captor, had stepped out for a smoke; apparently he'd picked up a friend on the way back.
Her other abductor, Mr. Sniffles, sneezed, then coughed, then sniffled and Emma gave up trying to decipher what was being said on the other side of the door.
They had been waiting for her on the docks that afternoon and, in hindsight, Emma realized she should have expected trouble when she arrived in New York, but—she clenched her jaw. Should haves and buts were not going to help her now any more than they had helped her mother.
Emma's throat constricted and her eyes burned; shaking her head, she scowled. I'm done crying! she thought fiercely.
The door opened.
"Emma Hughes."
Emma blinked. The voice was familiar: nasal and masculine with the sharp intonation of an American businessman.
The man from London.
"The bindings are unnecessary," said the man dismissively.
There was a low grunt and heavy footfalls before a large, meaty hand gripped her arm, sliding a cool metal blade between her bound wrists. With the slightest movement, the ties came loose and Emma released the breath she hadn't been aware she was holding, unconsciously rubbing her tender wrists.
The man chuckled as he approached and she caught the faintest scent of expensive cologne. "You are a remarkably resourceful little twelve-year-old, Miss Hughes," he said, his voice amused and condescending.
Emma heard the scratch of wool against upholstery as he sat.
"Especially one with your particular… disability."
Emma clenched her fists but said nothing.
The man chuckled again, apparently noticing the gesture.
"Where is it, Miss Hughes?" he asked after a moment, his tone as casual as if he were asking for the time.
Stubbornly, Emma pressed her lips together and the quiet stretched into an uneasy silence.
The calloused palm that struck the side of her head was jarring and sudden. Emma felt weightless, dazed. Ears ringing, she heard the angry voices of the man and her captors but they were indistinct and seemed to fade away.
Slowly, she became aware of her body; her throbbing wrists, the sharp sting along her temple and cheekbone. She tasted blood. But it was another long moment before she realized she was sprawled on the floor, the worn carpet against her cheek.
Emma lay there for a long while, listening.
Waiting.
But there was nothing; she couldn't even hear the congested breathing of Mr. Sniffles. Frowning, she slowly sat upright, her elbow bumping the seat of her toppled chair.
"Disability," she grumbled under her breath, rubbing her sore jaw.
Emma Hughes was blind and had been since the day she was born. But for her, being unable to see was no more a "disability" than being born with an allergy or birthmark.
Her mum had never completely agreed with that analogy, but that hadn't stopped her from dedicating her life's work to—Emma swallowed hard and swiped at her eyes. Enough! she thought impatiently, slowly getting to her feet.
Cautious, Emma slid one foot forward, side-stepping her toppled chair.
She needed a plan.
A weapon, maybe?
Her foot bumped a piece of furniture and Emma gratefully ran her hand over the scratchy upholstery of an armchair tucked neatly against the wall. Dragging her palm along the peeling wallpaper, she came to a smooth, over-painted window frame. The windowpane was cold against her fingertips and she could hear the muffled sounds of the city outside as an idea started to form in her mind.
Raphael Hamilton shivered, despite his jacket, and swore. "Case, what the hell are we doin' up here?"
Casey Jones grimaced, head hunched against the bitter, January cold. "I, uh, thought we could use some fresh air."
Raph snorted, stuffing his hands in his pockets and looking up at the clear, starless sky. "Coward."
Rather than denying it, Casey just groaned. "Man, she's gonna kill me."
Raph chuckled. "Yup."
Frowning, Casey elbowed his friend, which got him a solid punch in the arm before the pair looked out at the lights of New York City.
A movement caught Raph's eye but it took him a minute to pinpoint the source. Across the street and two buildings over was another apartment building; it was several floors higher than Casey's rooftop and completely unremarkable except for a window screen about five floors up, swinging in the breeze.
Raph blew out an impatient breath and started to look away when a denim-clad leg slid slowly over the windowsill, its booted foot cautiously taking purchase on the narrow ledge just below it.
"What the—" Raph muttered to himself, pulling his hands out of his pockets. "Hey, Case—"
Casey grunted in response as another booted foot settled on the ledge and the slim torso of a young girl pressed close to the building, her long, dark hair wild in the wind.
Raph cursed, racing toward the fire escape, Casey shouting after him.
Emma's breath caught in the icy wind and her heart hammered hard against her ribcage. The skin over her knuckles was pulled tight as she gripped the windowsill and her boots shifted slightly on the impossibly narrow ledge.
Fire escape, she thought to herself resolutely. Get to a fire escape.
With a shuddering deep breath, Emma slowly slid her foot along the ledge, her fingers finding purchase between the brickwork.
Raph landed hard on the cracked pavement in the alleyway alongside Casey's building before racing out into the street, rolling over the hood of a passing Buick, horn blaring.
Cursing, he looked up.
The girl was slowly making her way along the ledge.
Raph swore again, vaulting over a construction barrier and sprinting toward the building's fire escape.
Emma's fingers ached as she dragged one foot along the ledge before carefully sliding the other forward again. The wind was merciless; her hair whipped around her face and her eyes watered. Tender fingertips dragged along one brick, two bricks, three—nothing.
Emma quickly gripped the corner, pulling her body flush against the building.
A corner, she thought with a frustrated breath. Right, she could maneuver a corner.
I just have to figure out how…
Raph settled one foot, then the other, on the narrow ledge before grabbing another just above his head; it was too high for the girl to reach but he was grateful he wouldn't have to pinch bricks for support.
Muttering under his breath, he shuffled along the ledge as quickly as he dared just as Casey raced around the corner below, out of breath.
"Are you nuts?!" he gasped, scrambling to the fire escape.
Raph swore under his breath. "Probably."
Slowly, Emma scooted toward the edge, carefully reaching around the corner.
"Easy," said a low voice near her outstretched hand, warm fingers curling around her wrist.
Startled, Emma screamed… and lost her footing.
She heard the voice swear, felt her body drop and the fingers around her wrist tighten painfully before she was jerked forward.
Raph growled, straining to hold on. He yanked the girl toward him, but the corner of the building got in the way and she hit the wall, her head whipping forward and colliding with the brick.
Instant dead weight.
Swearing, Raph awkwardly shuffled back along the ledge, the girls limp body dangling from his grip.
"Almost there," said Casey from behind him, leaning out over the fire escape railing, arms outstretched.
With a grunt, Raph swung the girl toward his friend who managed to grab her under the arms before stumbling backward and falling on his butt, taking the girl with him.
Casey snorted, getting a good look at the shiner already starting to swell on the left side of her face. "Nice goin', hero."
Back on the fire escape, Raph let out an irritated breath. "Shut up," he snapped, picking her up and wincing when he got a good look at her face.
She looked like she'd gone three rounds in a boxing ring and lost. Her left eye was swollen and already turning a dark purple and there was a narrow gash above her eyebrow that was oozing blood along her temple and into her hair.
"You gonna take her back inside?" Casey asked as he got to his feet.
It made sense what Casey was suggesting; he should take her back inside. Get her help. Raph's eyes narrowed as he stared at the girl in his arms; hell, she couldn't be much older than his younger brothers.
He hesitated.
When he'd first seen her climbing out onto the ledge, he'd assumed she was a jumper. Suicidal. But looking closer, Raph realized her shirt was torn at the shoulder and there was a narrow trail of dry blood from a corner of her mouth along her cheek.
"Raph?"
"No."
Casey stared at him. "No?"
Raph just shook his head, readjusting his hold on the girl and moving around his friend toward the fire escape steps. He needed to get her home; Donnie would know what to do.
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