A/N: Hi all. Surprise, it's another chapter! Things are getting a bit dicey for our heroine now ;) I hope you enjoy. Would love it if you let me know what you think!
The 23rd chapter, in which a city goes up in flames
Elena looked around frantically, trying to find a clue as to where she was or where she should go. But looking at the street names was futile. Rue d'Amsterdam, Rue de Saint-Petersbourg – as if any street name in Paris would have rung a bell. She could be right next to the Eiffel Tower for all she knew, its iconic tip hiding just behind that house at the corner with the pharmacy on its ground floor. Or she could be at the other end of town.
Just then Elena noticed a young woman stepping out of the apartment building behind her, scanning the street tiredly and leaning back against the wall next to the entrance. She had unusually blonde hair, but it didn't have the yellow tint of bleach. It looked natural, which meant that she probably wasn't French. A thick layer of makeup, a shade too dark for her skin type, covered her face. She was wearing pink lip gloss and blue eyeshadow, a teenager's color palette, although Elena guessed the woman to be in her twenties. Her bright blue eyes were searching the crowds of passers-by, until they landed on Elena and a suspicious look crept into them.
Elena shook herself out of her inertia and closed the few steps between her and the woman.
"Do you speak English?" she asked, praying that the answer would be yes.
"Yes," the young woman replied skeptically.
"I need to get to the Eiffel Tower. Can you tell me where it is?"
The blonde's eyebrows shot up. "The Eiffel Tower?" she questioned and now Elena could discern a thickness to her vowels that spoke of Eastern European heritage. She nodded quickly. "Is that way." The woman waved her left hand to indicate an indistinct location somewhere to the West of them. "But is far," she added. "Like one hour."
Elena's heart sank. The woman had to have picked up on her disappointment, because she hurried to offer an alternative: "Take Metro," she said, pointing towards a sign suspended under an iron arch on the island in the middle of the crossroads. Métropolitain was written on it in ornamental Art-Deco lettering.
"The metro goes there?" Elena asked, feeling new hope.
"Yes. You take metro. But you must change."
"Yes. Thank you!" Elena said. She had never been on a subway. And changing lines in this foreign metropolis was daunting. But it beat out running down strange streets for an hour. "Thank you so much," she reiterated. The woman's glossy lips stretched into a wide smile, one that made her eyes glint and her nose crinkle. Maybe she was younger after all.
Elena darted off quickly, crossing the street in the shortest possible way, only giving the traffic a quick look. A cab unexpectedly rounded a corner and almost hit her, the driver angrily yelling at her in French, but she didn't care. She had a plan now. She had hope. She sprinted down the steps to the underground station, looking frantically for a map of the subway system. There it was, colorful lines zigzagging across the beige layout of the city. A red dot marked the station she was at – Place de Clichy. Her eyes skimmed the map. The woman had motioned towards the western part of town so Elena concentrated her search on the left part of the map. Her eyes flew over strange names and words, along blue, green and purple lines, and finally found what they were looking for: Champ de Mars – Tour Eiffel. There it was. Line C. She followed the yellow stripe to find a connection to the light blue one that she could take from the station she was at. They intersected at Invalides. Her heart skipped. She knew where to go. She looked around, scanning the signs on the ceiling with numbers inside colorful circles indicating the location of each metro line for the number 13 on a light blue background. Just as she was about to sprint towards the indicated platform, she noticed the ticket check points. Several large doors formed a barrier that stretched from one side of the station to the next, where passengers had to insert their tickets into little slots to prove their validity before the metal planks slid open and allowed them to pass. Anger rose up inside Elena. Vicki hadn't allowed her to take her purse; she didn't have any money, no credit cards, nothing. The gates were too high to climb over and there was a booth right next to the barrier where agents were selling tickets and – Elena assumed – watching that no one tried to breach the doors without a valid ticket.
She swallowed down her anger and headed towards the booth. She would explain to the agents what was going on. They would understand. They had to. It was her only chance. But it would lose her precious time.
Just then she noticed a young man who had been lingering by one of the ticket machines suddenly take a few quick steps towards the wall of doors, just as a teenage girl with large headphones was inserting a ticket into the machine. As the doors slid open and she walked through them, the man jumped forward, pushing up against her backpack and slipping through the barrier with her as the planks fell shut behind him with a mechanical thud. The girl barely seemed to notice, just giving the zipper on her backpack a quick checkup as the man was already sprinting away to catch his train. Elena's eyes shot over towards the ticket agents who indifferently continued to go about their business.
Quickly Elena changed her route, heading towards one of the doors furthest away from the agents' booth. When an elderly man in a suit approached the doors, ticket already in his hands, she quickly got in line behind him and when the doors slid open, she sprinted forward, almost stepping on his heels to avoid the heavy doors that slammed together behind her back.
She was through. She'd done it. She felt a rush of adrenaline course through her body and used it to run off down a wide, tiled corridor towards the platform that her subway was leaving from. She could hear the man bluster behind her: „Ça se fait pas, hein!" But she could care less. She rounded a bend and sprinted down another flight of stairs and finally reached her destination. The platform was already filled with people and she quickly pushed through them, trying to get away from anyone who might be following her. She turned around, checking to see if someone was after her, but there were only other passengers, none of them paying attention to her, everyone impatiently checking watches and phones.
When the train arrived and its doors fell open, she let herself be pushed inside with a throng of tourists consulting a large fold-out map. The cart was old and crowded. There didn't seem to be any air conditioning. She could feel heat emanating off the sunburnt arm of a large man who was holding onto the subway pole next to her. Her breathing, slightly elevated from excitement and exertion started to calm down again, but she could feel sweat now start to break out on her upper lip and forehead. She stared up at the display overhead, where the stops along the line were illuminated and started blinking as the train approached them, her eyes fixed on the word Invalides.
After an excruciating fifteen minute ride, the little lamp she had been fixating finally started to blink and she pushed through the other passengers to exit the cart.
As soon as she stepped onto the platform, her eyes were searching for the sign indicating the way to the C line that would take her to the Eiffel Tower. Again she rushed along crowded corridors and down chewing gum covered steps to reach the other end of the subway station. A few times she was afraid she might have gotten lost, the multi-branched tunnels making orientation difficult. But finally she reached the platform and jumped onto the waiting train. She had made it. She was almost there.
It was then she noticed that the train was largely empty. There were no tourists, no tipsy groups of teenagers, only a few people sitting by themselves, looking tiredly out the window.
"Excuse me," she addressed a young man standing next to her and reading the newspaper. "Is this the metro to the Eiffel Tower?"
He looked up from the paper and smiled apologetically. "Yes, but the stops are closed."
Elena could feel her heart sink. "The stops are closed?"
"They close at seven today. Because of the festivities. Too many people. Too dangerous."
Elena felt panic rise up inside of her again. "How do I get there?" she asked, one foot already out the train's doors, ready to jump as soon as the signal would announce its departure.
"You can try to take the line eight," the young man offered. "The stop École Militaire is right by the Champ de Mars."
At that moment the signal announced the closing of the doors and Elena dropped onto the platform just as the old metal doors slammed shut before her. The young man watched her through the window as the train sped away into the tunnel. Elena already scanned the signs again for a circle with the number eight inside of it. Her heart jumped when she saw one at the end of the platform. She sprinted off towards it and followed the light purple bubbles through the underground maze until she finally made it to the right platform. Apparently more people were trying to go this route. When the metro arrived, she could barely fit into the train.
After only two more stops, they arrived at École Militaire. Now, Elena no longer had to search for the right way. She could simply follow the endless stream of people heading in the same direction.
She only advanced a few hundred yards, before the crowds grew tighter and several people were standing by the side of the road, indecisively monitoring the situation. Elena squeezed through smaller groups of people standing together, finally reaching a low makeshift gate blocking the road, next to which an older policeman was talking to a small group of teenagers, while five more policemen were idling by a police car a little further down the largely empty road behind the barrier. The policeman was shaking his head and the teens were rolling their eyes in hyperbolic exasperation.
"Excuse me, is this the way to the Eiffel Tower?" Elena asked the policeman as the teenagers walked away. She pointed down the street behind his back.
"Yes. But the street is closed," he replied, surprisingly friendly.
"Can I go?" Elena asked, hoping to be able to appeal to his compassion. "My children are in there."
"No, sorry. Too many people," he explained matter-of-factly.
"But my children are little," Elena tried again, indicating how small they were by flattening her hand, her palm facing the ground, and leaning to the right slightly to lower her fingers to about thigh-level. "They're all alone. I need to find them."
"Why you let your small children go alone?" the policeman asked suspiciously?
Elena debated with herself whether or not she should tell the policeman that her children had been kidnapped, but she was afraid that this would just result in an official process of questioning that would needlessly delay her further.
"Please just let me through," she pleaded instead. "Please." The suddenly stern expression on the policeman's face quickly robbed her of any hope she'd had of being let through.
Suddenly a second officer appeared from behind her.
"Qu'est-ce qui se passe?" he asked his no longer friendly colleague.
"Elle dit que ses jeunes enfants sont à l'intérieur."
Elena's eyes skipped from one officer to the next as she was desperately trying to gauge their intention from the tone in their voices and the looks they threw each other.
"Madame, c'est rempli," the second, probably senior officer said to Elena. "Is full. Fireworks."
"Yes, I understand," Elena tried, exceedingly unable to hide the desperation in her voice. "I don't want to stay. I just need to get my children, please. We will come right back out. I promise."
He scanned her appearance for a moment before giving a quick signal of the head to the group of officers behind the barricade. "Come with me, please," he said.
"No, I don't have time!" Elena refused, growing more and more anxious. What would she do if these men didn't let her through? Could she try to find a different route? How much time would it take? Would Tyler patiently wait for her to figure this out? What if all the roads were closed? She felt panic rise up inside of her. "Please," she pleaded. "Just let me through."
"We help you," the officer said. "Please come." At that he placed a hand gently on her elbow, trying to direct her to the side of the crowded street.
Elena jerked her arm away. No matter what happened, she couldn't let these men take her with them. She had to get to the other side of the barricade this instant.
"Hé!" the first officer exclaimed, apparently mistaking her reaction for resistance. He quickly took hold of her left wrist, pulling her towards him to try and subdue her.
Elena's right hand reacted before her mind fully comprehended the situation. It darted forward and slammed the heel of her upturned hand forcefully against the man's solar plexus – or against the place where his solar plexus would be. Unfortunately for Elena, France was still in a state of emergency after a rise in terrorism threats over the past years and the police were all wearing cevlar vests, even in baking hot weather like today. Her hand collided with the protective gear, the shock travelling up through her arm without having any effect on the man in front of her. His grip tightened instantly. Elena knew she only had seconds now before she would be arrested for assaulting a police officer, but her hand's reflex had made her mind spring back to that day on the beach, when Damon had shown her the solar plexus. She did the only thing she could think of. Before the man's second hand could grab ahold of her free arm, she pushed it forward again, reaching for the small, soft patch of skin just below the edge of his shirt's short sleeves, and twisted it forcefully, her nails digging sharply into the skin.
Obviously unprepared for this kind of physical resistance from a woman like Elena, he momentarily let go of her arm to instinctively pull away from the attack. Immediately Elena let go and turned to run away, darting into the thick of the crowds, hoping to get lost among the people. She hurried back down the street she had come from, checking frequently that no one was following her.
At the intersection she turned down another street and darted into a bar, the doors of which stood open to let in the summer air. Large groups of people holding wine and beer glasses were mingling about on the sidewalk and when the two policemen jogged past the bar, scanning the crowds for her face, Elena was able to quickly duck behind a group sitting closely around a table and laughing without drawing too much attention to herself.
Elena knew they would be back shortly, possibly looking a bit more closely. She would have to move quickly. She carefully stepped out of the bar and checked on the policemen's receding forms, quickly getting lost among the people filling the streets, before retracing her steps back towards the barrier. She had to find another way.
She kept away from the open street now, walking close to the buildings on the side of the wide road until she reached a scaffold that was scaling the last house on the block and ducked behind a loose piece of tarpaulin hanging from it.
She stood right beside the barrier again, only a few feet from the police who were on high alert now, scanning the crowds for her face, talking into their radios. While she was able to hide in the crowds on this side of the barricade, the street behind it was empty. Even if she were able to make a run for it and get behind the makeshift fence, there was nowhere she could hide on the other side.
She felt the adrenaline that had been coursing through her veins slowly subside, making her fingers tingle as the stress hormone left her blood. The emptiness it left slowly filled with despair. What could she do now? She had only made the situation worse. Why did it have to be her – here – now? She was the most unequipped to handle this. She would get caught any minute now and her children would be gone – and it would all be her fault. Because she was too weak. Again. She wished Damon were here. He would know what to do. He would be able to handle this situation, to save her children.
Elena felt her breath quicken and her chest tighten around her lungs. She felt panic grab at her, spreading from the pit of her stomach into her extremities. In only a few moments it would envelop her whole, like it had so many times before. This, she knew. It was an old friend. It had come to her often and swallowed her up.
Elena closed her eyes, praying for a miracle, for Damon to appear next to her, like he had on the plane, assuring her that everything would be okay, that he would take care of it.
But nothing happened. When Elena opened her eyes again, she was still by herself, surrounded by laughing and yelling strangers.
She had never felt more alone. No one knew where she was, no one knew where her children were. There was no miracle that could save either of them now. There was no Damon. The realization hit her that she was her children's only chance. It washed over her like an icy wave. If she didn't save them, no one would. She couldn't be weak now – couldn't allow herself to be swallowed up.
She looked around again. Maybe she'd be able to find another way; maybe she could walk up one of the side streets and try again at a different barrier. Maybe another policeman would be more sympathetic. Or maybe they paid less attention in a smaller street. She scanned the crowds around her, trying to assess whether it was safe to step out from under the tarpaulin. She pushed it aside only an inch to get a better view. The small movement shook loose some concrete dust that had gotten caught in it and the feeling of it trickling onto her hair made her look up for a second. Then it suddenly shot through her: There was another way she could go – up.
She saw the ladder leading to the next level only a few feet from her. The decision was made instantly. Before hesitation could set in, she had reached the metal steps and climbed them, then the next and the next, until she reached the third floor. The noise below her grew quieter as she moved further away from the street and she could hear her own steps on the metal planks beneath her feet. The windows to her left and right were dark, but she slowed down none the less, to stay as quiet as possible. She carefully leaned over the edge of the scaffolding to catch a glimpse of the police below.
The men seemed calmer, a group again lounging by the police car. Maybe they had come to the conclusion that the crazy American woman posed no real threat.
Elena looked up, assessing the rest of the way before her. There was only one ladder left to climb, but she heard voices above her and saw light streaming down the wall of the building beside her. She climbed the last ladder one rung at a time, slowly inching upward. When her eyes reached the next level, she discovered the source of the noise and light. The scaffold ended next to a large rooftop terrace that rounded the house. And the owners were throwing a party. Elena saw feet mingle behind the white marble balustrade, heard voices, laughter and clinking glasses. Two couples were standing right next to her head, enjoying a glass of Champaign and the soft caress of the summer breeze. She cursed inwardly. There was no way she'd be able to climb any further and remain unseen. She looked back down, her heart sinking.
At that moment, a woman's voice called something in French from the other end of the balcony and miraculously the two couples started moving in her direction. She followed their feet with her eyes until they disappeared behind a large plant and then slowly climbed the last steps until her chest reached the height of the banister. She leaned over carefully, gauging the situation. A small group of people was still standing at the other end of the balcony, but they were looking in the other direction. It was now or never.
Elena reached over the balustrade and pulled herself up as far as possible, before quickly slinging one leg across and finally dropping down onto the terrace. She'd made it. She scanned her surroundings quickly. So far no one had noticed her. But the people in the distance told her that she was criminally underdressed for the occasion. She quickly pulled off her jacket and dropped it back down onto the scaffold. The she took a few steps towards the large plant and grabbed a glass of wine that had been left precariously balancing on the railing by a careless guest. She ran her hand through her hair and prayed that she looked at least a little bit like someone who had arrived at this party hours ago.
She then took a deep breath and put on her most winning smile. The one she had perfected over years of attending balls and bashes she hadn't wanted to attend. It was wide and welcoming, she knew, and made people feel appreciated. She knew that in these circles self-importance was all it took to convince someone else that you really were important. She took a few long, confident steps towards the corner of the building and rounded it, hoping to find an open terrace door on that stretch of the balcony, allowing her to escape into the apartment and then further into the hallway, before she was stopped dead in her tracks.
There it was. At the end of a large park, about 500 yards from where she was standing, the Eiffel Tower shot majestically up into the night sky. It was illuminated, thousands of lights twinkling from its metal beams, like a colossal Christmas tree. And just then, a single ball of glowing fire burst up from behind it and zipped upwards, leaving a trail of sparks in its path, until it reached its zenith and slowly extinguished into darkness before in its place a hundred smaller glimmering orbs sprang away from each other and rained down onto the ground underneath. It took a few seconds for the sound of the explosion to travel to where Elena was standing and as the muffled thud reached her ears, more sparklers were already shooting up into the night sky. This was what had induced the couples to move. They were enjoying a magnificent view of the Bastille Day fireworks. For a second, Elena was dumbstruck. She had never seen anything more beautiful. The tower was calling to her like a beacon, summoning her towards its magnificence – and her children underneath it.
Suddenly, Elena caught a glimpse of a man standing only a few feet away, looking at her with confusion in his eyes. He was obviously trying to place her.
Elena quickly snapped out of her stillness and plastered her smile back across her face. She lifted the glass in her hand as if to toast him in a gesture she hoped looked like they were old friends. Then she took a few assertive steps and entered the apartment.
The building had to be old – probably turn of the century. The varnished hardwood floors had wide cracks in them and the ceiling was adorned with decorative plaster. Well-dressed people were mingling around her and heading out onto the terrace as she drifted from room to room through the large apartment, trying to find an exit. But luckily, no other guest looked at her suspiciously. Finally she found a large, carved wooden door that had to lead outside. Light summer coats were slung across an old fashioned coat rack and chair next to it. She put the glass down on a small table by the wall and took a short look around to make sure no one was near her, before carefully pulling open the table's small drawer. Just as she'd hoped, there was a large bundle of keys inside it. She prayed that they would lead to where she hoped they'd lead her. She quickly grabbed the bundle, shut the drawer and opened the front door to step out into the dark hallway. She'd made it. She felt elation and revulsion war within her. She had basically broken into someone else's home. But she had pulled it off.
The old staircase she found herself in spiraled downwards back towards the street she came from. But to her right a smaller staircase led towards an inconspicuous door. She climbed the few steps and then held up the bundle of keys, searching for one that looked like it might match the look. It was a new lock that required a flat, serrated security key and only two keys on the bundle looked like they might match. Elena prayed that all of this wouldn't turn out to have been futile, as she pushed the first option into the lock. It entered easily, but she couldn't turn it. Elena cursed inwardly, anxiety rising inside her. She grabbed the second key and pushed it into the lock. Like the first one, it entered easily, but this time, she was also able to turn it and Elena's heart jumped, as the door swung open into pitch black darkness.
Without hesitation, Elena stepped into the obscurity and pushed the door shut behind her. The last thing she needed now was one of the guests stepping outside and seeing her. Only after the door had fully closed, enveloping her in complete blackness, did she allow her hand to reach out and feel around for a light switch where she expected it on the wall next to the door. She found it and suddenly weak, milky light filled the room. A short corridor stretched out before her, lined by gates made from wooden planks leading into three partitions on each side of the small passage. At the end, another short wooden staircase led to another door.
Elena felt her hands grow damp as she hastened towards it. The metal door was rusty. An old padlock hung from the lever Elena needed to pull to open it. She fumbled with the wad of keys again, looking for one that seemed able to open this final obstacle.
This time, the first key she tried did the trick. With a click the padlock fell open. Elena pulled it out of its loop and then jerked on the lever. It moved reluctantly and with a clanking sound the heavy door popped open. Elena hung the padlock with the wad of keys back into its loop and stepped out onto the roof.
Just as she had hoped, an expanse of the flat rooftops Paris was known for stretched out ahead of her. At the very end of it, fireworks were still illuminating the night sky. They reflected blazingly off of the windows in the houses across the Seine and the river itself seemed to be aflame in red, white and blue fire. The whole city sparkled.
She sprinted across the metal slabs until she reached the edge of the building. She had to sit down on the edge of the roof and let herself drop onto the adjacent one to be able to keep going. When she reached the third house on the block, she walked over to the edge and looked for a way down. Underneath her was another rooftop terrace. This one, however, seemed abandoned for the night. She let herself dangle from the gutters and then drop onto the terrace. She could feel her knees buckle lightly. The running over the past hour and the adrenaline pumping through her veins were starting to take their toll.
Elena quickly headed over to the edge of the terrace and looked down. Another balcony was right below her. She took a deep breath, trying to gather all the remaining strength and courage she had and climbed over the ornate metal railing. On the other side, she bent her knees and tried to get as low as possible before letting go of the handrail with her right hand and gripping the bottom bar instead. She then let her right foot drop as far as possible without allowing its weight to pull the rest of her body with it, before dropping her left hand to the bottom bar as well. She slowly loosened the hold her left leg still had on the balcony and let it follow her right one, until both dangled precariously over the below balcony. She was a bit too high to reach the railing below her with her feet, but she was able to get her legs to swing a few inches, before letting go of the handrail above. She tumbled down and landed on the balcony below, scraping her knee but otherwise in one piece. She could feel her heart beat a mile a minute, both from exertion and fear. But she didn't have time to allow her heart and muscles the rest they were demanding. She swung her scraped knee across the next railing and repeated the movements from before until she dropped onto the next balcony below.
On the drop to the last balcony, she landed in an unfortunate angle, toppling over slightly. When she tried to catch her fall with her hand, a sharp pain shot through her arm. It took everything Elena had to not cry out in pain. Tears instantly shot into her eyes but she swallowed them down with determination. She stood back up as quickly as she could, relying on her other hand to push her up, and then tried to inspect her wrist in the light of the moon and the still ongoing fireworks. Pressing against it didn't hurt too much, but moving it was uncomfortable. If she had to guess, she assumed that she had sprained it.
Anger rose inside Elena. She still had one more floor to go before she reached the garden pad underneath. The last thing she needed was a hand that was out of commission. She took a deep breath and gave her hand a little shake, hoping the injury wasn't as bad as it had felt at first. She let her leg swing over the last railing and tried to let herself slowly dangle from the balcony again, but her wrist was too weak to hold her properly and she had to let go sooner than she liked, letting her fall heavily onto the grass below.
This time, however, she was able to roll over and cushion the fall somewhat, leaving her covered in dirt but with no further injuries.
She stood up and looked around. She had reached the garden behind the house and could see the park she was trying to reach just behind a tall, spiked metal fence, about seven feet high. Elena heaved an exasperated sigh. She hadn't come this far to be stopped by a fence.
She looked around and spotted a set of garden furniture underneath an overgrown gazebo to her left. She rushed over and tried to gauge the stability of the chairs. The table would have been preferable, as it looked sturdier, but Elena feared that it was too heavy for her to quickly carry it over to the fence. Even though it was dark now and no one seemed to be nearby, she didn't want to lose too much time dragging heavy furniture across a backyard she had broken into.
She decided on a chair and carried it over to the fence, leaning its back against the metal rods to hopefully prevent it from toppling over. Then she climbed onto the seating area and reached up to grab hold of the connecting bar at the top of the fence. She was still too low to have any hope of being able to push herself up and over it, but she thought she might stand a chance. Carefully she stepped onto the rounded back of the chair with one foot and tried shifting some of her weight onto it.
She felt the plastic underneath her foot curve slightly and felt the feet of the chair skid a fraction across the floor underneath, but she determined the construction to be sufficiently stable. Slowly, she pushed herself up onto the back of the chair. She moved her arms to get a better grip of the metal bar and felt the plastic underneath her feet bend further. Just as she gave herself a last push to prop her body up on her arms, the material of the chair gave way with a loud crack and her foot dropped somewhat, leaving her with less of an upwards momentum than she would have liked. The muscles in her upper arms strained painfully as she tried to push the weight of her body up onto fully extended arms, her injured wrist pounding agonizingly.
Just then light suddenly flashed on behind the windows at the other end of the garden and a shape appeared in the room behind them, quickly gauging the situation and rushing towards the terrace door. Elena was still pushing herself up on the fence when the door burst open and an angry man sprang forth from it, yelling at her in French.
Fear clasped around Elena's heart as the man came rushing towards her. With a last adrenaline-fueled burst of energy she swung one foot onto the bar she was holding onto, trying as best she could to not get skewered by the fence's spikes. When she tried to pull her second foot up, the man had reached her and grabbed for her ankle, making panic shoot up inside Elena and a squeal escape her throat. She blindly kicked behind her and managed to loosen the arresting grip around her foot before pulling it up onto the bar as well.
She had no time to reposition herself or let herself slowly drop down on the other side. All she could do was jump and hope for the best, which was exactly what she did, under fuming protests from the man on the other side of the fence.
She leaped onto the sandy path, scraping her second knee and the heel of her uninjured hand. As she sprang back up, she could hear the man behind her still yelling.
"I'm so sorry," she said, hoping he would understand, but not really having any effect. "So sorry," she repeated while already turning around and starting to run off across the wide lawn towards the burning Eiffel Tower in the distance.
Oh, and also: Happy Halloween!